Paris 2015

Ta-Da: This past Tuesday, March 1, was the official Pub Date of my garden book:

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I got an email from my publisher that already this book has been tagged as an Amazon Best Seller — it’s #1 in Gardening and Horticultural Essays. And that’s all because of YOU, Dear Readers; all because of your advance orders (and a glowing Kirkus Review). Thank you, Thank you, Thank you. How can I thank you? Check out the bottom of this post (surprise ending!)…but for now I’d like to go behind the scenes, if you don’t mind.

I think the cover of the DGB is a beaut because it’s the view from a friend’s London balcony — an enchanting view that I photographed in three seasons (you can read all about it in the chapter about the Chelsea Physic Garden).

London is a city that I, like any English-speaking Anglo-child of the suburbs, have had lodged in my brain since the first time I heard of Peter Pan, Mary Poppins, Pickwick and the orphan Pip, etc etc etc. When I was 20 years old I finally got to see London with my very own eyes and it lived up to every fairy tale…London is a trip.

However, London was not the first foreign city I set foot in. When I was 19 years old I lit out for the place that was truly my heart and mind crush: Paris. So that’s why I made Paris the first chapter/garden in Gardens of Awe and Folly. Specifically, I headed into the lovely little garden called The Square du Vert-Galant:

awesome map of Square du Vert-Galant

The one thing that makes my garden book different is that I insist on mapping every garden I write about. I’m the kind of person that needs to see a map in garden situations. Also, when I’m reading a book I just can not stand to read descriptions of landscape, except for the ones I’ve been reading lately about climbing Mt. Everest. But in all other circumstances, I skip the paragraphs about the color and light and mood and topographical features of the land. Bores me to tears.

So I give my Dear Readers a map so that in less than five seconds you get it. Like this bit of Parisian real estate (map, above) in the middle of the River Seine — here’s a picture of that same garden spot from my most recent visit, in December of last year:

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The other thing that I’m fussy about, garden-wise, is making note of the garden entrance:

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To me, the entrance is a crucial component of the entire garden experience — especially for this garden of the Vert-Glanat, as the threshold is so dramatic (even in lovely Winter, as seen below):

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The Vase Gate

I like to visit gardens in Winter because I like to see the “bones” of a garden on display, and hoo boy are they ever “on display” in Winter. And I was thrilled to see this, my No. 1 Paris garden, revealed thusly when I was there last December.

But OMG, May I digress here? Because we here on Long Island just got our first taste of Spring this past weekend with a 60 degree day! In February! So Top Cat and I took our usual 5-mile walk through the neighborhood and my oh my, how we gloated over the fact that Winter is vanquished in our neck of the woods. Ha! Take that, yon filthy piles of left-over snow:

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And just think, a mere five weeks ago we were ravaged by Winter Storm Jonas — Ha! Now all that’s left is hardly enough make a ski jump for squirrels!

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Hard to believe that this is all that is left of a 20-inch, knee-deep, white-out blizzard :

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There’s not even a snowball’s worth of sow left here!

If I lived here (below) I would have shoveled that little pile out of my driveway weeks ago just to be rid of it once and for all for cripe’s sake:

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By chance we crossed paths with this little guy …

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…who, according to his collar goes by the name of Rusty. He flopped down onto the road there and started rolling from side to side in what looked like a fit of Spring Fever. Our squeals of delight regarding this cuteness attracted the attention of Rusty’s pal, who also came by to say “Hi”:

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It was when we ambled to the local Whole Foods that Top Cat and I came across this:

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Top Cat and I have a bet about whether or not this mound will be gone by St. Patrick’s Day. If I win, I get to go back to Paris in June.

Oh, right. I think we better get back to Paris tout de suite, nest-ce pas?

So back to my No. 1 fave Paris garden: The next thing that I want to show you about the Square de Vert-Galant is this view, which you can gander by walking to the far end of this garden and turning around and looking back towards the Pont Neuf —  this is the view in Summer:

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And in Winter:

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Picasso painted this same exact view:

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Yeah, I agree with you: Picasso’s picture stinks.  (You can see his tableau in the Musee Carnavalet, a darling museum about a ten minute walk away which covers the history of Paris.)  And that white pointy thing in the bushes on the right hand side…what the hell is that?? Could that be the kiosk of the garden guardians?

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Oh, how I love this little, one-third-of-a-third-room building:

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The architect was probably Gabriel David, the same Second Empire artist responsible for many of the distinct and lovely street furnishings of Paris, such as its newspaper and magazine kiosks:

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I even see a similarity to the famous Morris Columns all over the city:

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Have you ever wondered how they load up a Morris Column??? Now you know!

I know!! I was on a bus (last December) when I saw this, a sight I have never seen in all of my 40 years of visiting and living in Paris and I jumped out of my seat and ran to the front of the bus to get a good photo of it, and thank DoG the bus was stopped at a red light so I could get a photo, and I am sooooo chuffed that I am able to show this to you!!

Back to the guardian’s kiosk in the Square du Vert-Galant: of course I had go peeping. I had to know what this wondrous space looked like on the inside:

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BTW, it still looked the same last December:

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I could do so much with this space. I desperately want to own this little place, or at least get a 99-year lease on it. I want to spiff it up and spend my days lounging in front of a little fire, with my notebooks and my radio and my books, whilst quaffing a culturally appropriate beverage:

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I can definitely see it. I belong here. (Inside joke: That’s Monet’s water lilies on the carpet.)

And so, in keeping with this wintery theme of Fantasy Garden Spots Where I (and You) Belong, today I am painting for you Dear Readers a Pub Date Celebration Triscuit of that same theme:

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But first. . .another digression. If you read last week’s Comments you’ll see that last week’s Triscuit winner, Deborah Hatt, dedicated her win to her two dearly departed Cats of the Heart. Well, what else could I do but put those sweet kitties into her Monet’s Giverny  Garden Triscuit? My darling Readers, please say Hi to Percy and Buster:

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Long may they stroll the perfumed paths in that beautiful flower garden in the sky.

OK, now we can back to painting this week’s  Pub Date Celebration Triscuit.

As always, I work wet-in-wet to make some interesting grassy textures:

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Oh, yeah — this Triscuit’s going to have a tea cup and a cat . . .

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. . . and a wicker chair with a golden cushion:

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White is the only acceptable color for wicker furniture, don’t you agree?

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When I saw that the detail of the wicker was too washed out by the pale background, I decided to go back and paint in some dark stuff in between the wicker-weave. I am probably one of the few people on Earth who find this kind of fuss-budget work to be very relaxing:

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Now for lots and lots of fleurs:

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And done:

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This is the kind of place where you, and I, and cats belong on any old Spring Fever day, right?

I am giving away this special Pub Date Celebration Triscuit to my Dear Readers in honor of, well, my new book and all, and how it’s the perfect gift for everybody you know, maybe even two or three times each. I’ve heard that it only takes one bulk sale of 8,000 copies to get on the New York times Bestseller list so if anyone out there has 8,000 friends please buy this book for them all and make them (and me) happy. Thank you.

All you have to do to claim this Pub Date Celebration Triscuit for your own is leave a Comment below, with your guess of a number between 123 and 8,071…no, wait. That’s too complicated.

Guess a number between 100 and 175. When the Comments close after 5 days (I have to shut it down to reduce the number of days that I get 1,000 spam comments per hour) I will have Top Cat pick a number at random and hope that one of you Dears had mental telepathy. Or is it pre-cognition?

Every one who Commented last week or the week before is eligible!

And now, because Thea wrote a Comment last week that “Taffy beats any sports mascot”, here’s your weekly dose of our favorite beige cat:

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This is me and Taffy and that’s our feral pal Bibs, at my ankle, in front of the tomato patch in August of last year. I don’t know why I didn’t use this as my author photo for the DGB.

Speaking of which, next week we’ll have to talk about all those 5-star reviews that you, my Dear Readers, will be posting to Amazon for Gardens of Awe and Folly, n’est-ce pas? ( 5-star reviews = another V. Swift book in the future for you. . .  publishers take sales and reviews very seriously). For all you Dear Readers who take the time to vote in favor of me keeping my job, I’ll have a special thank you for you. Stay tuned.

Have a great weekend, everyone, curling up with a good book. You know which one I mean.

P.S. in response to Comments last week that I did not get to answer in the roll: Leslie you’re right! I am contemplating a new embroidery project, and when it’s stitched I’ll be sure to show it here.

Patricia: I wonder if there is some kind of Myers Briggs test that would match up personalities to most likely crafts, altho I’m pretty sure that if left to science I would never have been pegged as an embroiderer. I’m too easily bored, except by things I’m obsessed with, which seem pretty random. I think it’s hit or miss, like love. Or maybe it’s fate, like love. I can’t decide.

 

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This is, so far, my No. 1 Favorite Flower Thing of 2016:

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This big-ass bouquet of my favorite flowers (Roses and Hydrangeas!!) was deposited on my doorstep on my b-day eve ALL FOR ME!!!

The card said only “From your fans everywhere” and Top Cat swears it wasn’t him which I believe because this came from a fancy florist  and Top Cat wraps my birthday presents in the weekly grocery store circular (so very colorful) so, to my Dear Readers and Fellow Flower Lovers, I thank you for this, and all your birthday wishes in the Comments last week — you are all my favorite part of turning 30 x 2. THANK YOU.

But you know what they say, even birthday girls have to clean cat boxes, so I was putting clean newspaper liners in the downstairs cat boxes last weekend when I came across this:

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It’s the December 25 edition of the New York Times. I don’t usually read The Arts section (like any sane American I have no interest in dance, theater, jazz, or the art world in general) so I missed this but Lo! I never thought I’d ever see The Crown of the Andes again!

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It is news to me that this crown is now on display in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan ( you can read all about it here). The last I heard of this South American knick-knack was in 1995, when I was a  VP at Christies in charge of Faberge and every other ridiculously expensive jeweled object that wasn’t actually jewelry. Due to professional ethics, I can’t tell you the details about the consignor and the sales terms, but I can tell you that The Crown of the Andes came to Christie’s in a very old, very tattered cardboard box after having been in storage — and not fancy storage — for decades. The lore around it was, to put it mildly, dubious.

So, since I was in charge of cataloguing the thing, I had to research both its provenance and its intrinsic value, that is, I had to ferret out its true backstory and I had to determine the material value of the gold work and the emeralds. I brought in a consultant gemologist to count and measure the 450-ish emeralds on this crown and the first thing he discovered was that the big center emerald was not the 50-carat monster that its consignor claimed; if memory serves, it was 19 carats, which is still huge for an emerald, but if you think you can tell someone that their 50-carat emerald in less than half that size and not have that person scream and yell and accuse you of being either incompetent or a swindler, you are sadly mistaken, my friends.

I see that the Metropolitan Museum of Art has catalogued that center emerald as 24-carats…well, maybe, maybe not. We auction house people tend to have  low opinions of the expertise of museum people. We had to deliver certifiable information to our customers or else we’d be sued; museum people only had to footnote their hypothesizes. However, in this case, as the emerald is mounted, taking its measurements requires some careful hypothesizing so I can concede that there is wiggle room when it comes to fixing a definitive carat weight. But 24 carats is at the top of what I would call an educated guess.

Anyhow. Christie’s made a huge PR campaign to get this crown sold, making a spiffy catalogue and inviting all kinds of international dignitaries, rich people, and media to come and get up close and personal with this object. This is the press conference we held at Christie’s old home on Park Avenue (they moved to Rockefeller Center in the later 1990s):

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Yes! There were TV crews there! The spokesman for Christie’s, who was my boss at the time, was a debonair Englishman who headed the Silver Dept. :

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His name is Christopher Hardtop and you can still see him from time to time on old re-runs of Antiques Roadshow. What an excellent person he was.

And this is me, standing next to him, looking more ghostly than the fair haired Englishman:

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It was my idea to put the crown on a circle mirror atop a plinth draped in black velvet.

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I remember my outfit clearly: I am 39 years old, the Faberge expert at a world renown auction house, wearing a thrift store skirt that was a little too big, a thrift store over-sized turtle neck sweater, and an old crochet bureau runner as a scarf because I’d seen a girl wear something like it in France in the 1970s and could never find the exact right old gossamer crochet thing so I substituted this bureau scarf because I thought it would still look OK.  I miss my auburn hair.

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Look at I, I’m Lady Di.

Note the fierce looking chap in the background, below (the one in the drawing):

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That’s the last Incan emperor, Atahualpa. He’s there because this crown came to us with the provenance that it had been the property of this fabled warrior, which I proved was nonsense once I researched the gold work, which was clearly a marriage of 16th and 17th century Spanish colonial goldsmithing, which we clearly stated in the catalogue. Remember: we’re legally liable for our assessments. But we kept the Atahualpa legend in the PR, because, you know, Inca.

The consignment material attached to this crown also claimed that it was displayed at the 1939 World’s Fair (the most famous of the World’s Fairs) but I researched archives and found that although the then-owners of the crown begged the Fair organizers to put it on display (I suspect to drum up interest in it, as they were trying to sell the damn thing), the crown never made the cut. And yeah, the consignor was pretty pissed about that, too, which is usually the case when you tell people an inconvenient truth, isn’t it?

This whole faux-World’s Fair provenance is why I read this sentence in the New York Times article (see the link) with interest: It was taken out of storage only for momentous occasions like [sic] the introduction of new Chevrolets in 1937 and the New York World’s Fair in 1939.

I think this is outstanding writing. This sentence is written in such a way that the reader is left with the gleaming impression  that the crown was at the spiffy  1939 World’s Fair, but close inspection reveals that the writer is only liable for the claim  that it was simply “brought out of storage”, which I can assure you, it was. Nicely done, Kathryn Shattuck.

BTW, I regretted that hair cut of 1995. I grew it out and by my 40th birthday I had a shoulder-length blonde do, which was a whole other regrettable set of circumstances.

This is a more representative picture of me as an auction house executive, in 1992, taken while I was doing an appraisal of an estate in New Orleans (the guy was a hoarder of expensive clocks, and this is how he lived):

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Yeah, my hair was that long, and yeah, I’m wearing my ex-boyfriend’s unlined khaki sports jacket, leggings, knee high boots, and a thrift shop cashmere sweater. It was November and that mansion had no heat.

I can’t tell you the value that Christie’s contracted to sell the Crown of the Andes for, but if you google Christie’s sale Crown of the Andes, you can watch the old tape on YouTube of the crown being hammered down for 2.2 million dollars and if you listen closely, you can hear the auctioneer mumble “Pass” at the end. The crown did not meet its reserve and we did not sell it. I wonder if the Met had to pony up the full asking price.

Oh well. Here is where I transition from this lengthy digression on my hair c. 1992-5 to something more relevant to today’s VivianWorld, which is indeed quite flowery. If you recall from last week’s post, I promised to paint this Squint view:

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This is the little brook called the Ru, which runs into Monet’s water garden and fills the famous lily pond there. Monet painted 250 pictures of the reflections of his flowers and the Normandy sky in the Ru, which is why I chose to isolate this particular view. I began by painting the clouds and the far shore, and putting masking fluid over the tree trunk:

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And then I painted the rest of the picture:

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I put more masking fluid over the painted surface here:

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And then I picked up the masking:

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OK, now I’m ready to pick up the masking on the tree trunk:

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With a small paint brush loaded only with clear water, I can go back over a painted area and “pick up” some dry paint — this is how I make “ripples” on what is supposed to be a watery surface:

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See the ripples in the upper edge?

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Even though I think that this is not the best Squint I’ve ever painted, I can say that painting in this small scale is very relaxing for me. This is my comfort zone — my instincts as a painter are perfectly suited for this tiny format.

But what I learned in illustrating my Damn Garden Book (Gardens of Awe and Folly) is that gardens often can not be Squinted at…they need to be stared at, perused, and contemplated. This means that I have to paint a wide-eyed landscape when I paint something like this:

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Oh, lordy, it is a struggle to put so much information in such a large space.

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But you know I’ll try and try and try again until I get it right, and I’ll show you all my trials and errors in detail. Also, according to the best predictions it looks like I’ll be breaking out the 2016 Champagne-O-Meter tomorrow, and I haven’t made my annual blue birthday cake yet, so I’m inviting you to my Blizzard Party when we all get together next week. See you here!

 

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I highly recommend Paris in December.

When I was there two weeks ago, the tourist crowds were almost non-exisitant so there was less camouflage for the natives to blend into. They were all over the place, doing adorable Parisian things, like walking their dog after school…

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…shopping for fabric at Tissus Reine (the best fabric store in all of Paris!)…

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…riding their scooters to appointments…

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Yes! Adult people are riding scooters in Paris! And the Rent-A-Bikes are still as popular as ever:

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And under the bare trees the sky was opened up for miles and miles (that’s the Canal St.-Martin below, looking south all the way to canopy of plane trees on the Boulevard Jules Ferry):

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This is the Quai du Louvre:

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All is calm, and all is bright.

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Especially the museums! I went to my favorite Paris Museum, the Musee Carnavalet, and it was almost empty.

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Yeah, that’s a selfie in a XVIIIeme drawing room in the museum, and I can see now why my husband doesn’t like my Ugg (they are actually Sketchers) boots. The really do give my feet a dorky proportion to the rest of my body (but oh, my…when you walk 12 miles a day on Paris pavements, there is NO BETTER encasement for the ten little piggies, I tell you).

I discovered other rooms — ROOMS! — of stuff I’ve never seen there before! The room where Proust composed A La Recherché du Temps Perdu:

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And the entire 1900 shop designed by Alfons Mucha (famous art nouveau illustrator) for the Parisian jeweler Georges Fouquet:

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It was such a sleepy day in the Musee Carnavalet that even the guards were not en grade. This one was drawing in his little sketchbook:

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And this one was reading his iPod, craftily hidden in the drawer of his desk there (same trick I used to pull in high school, only with an actual paperback book, probably The Unauthorized Biography of The Beatles, in algebra class):

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And THIS I never saw before:

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So now I know how they get those posters to hang inside those Morris Columns — cool!

And I also never saw THIS before…no, it isn’t the itty bitty Christmas tree in the window of this bar that  I passed every day and night that was right next door to my AirBnB room near the Opera (on the right bank, metro stop Opera)…

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The thing that I never saw before is the thing I saw only when I backed up into the street to get this picture (below) and saw it there, in the lower right corner of the bar:

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It was THIS!

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It is a lighted running fountain of water for the neighborhood pooches (in English?!) and I thought it was adorable.

And then I went to Giverny, and if you want to read about my weekend visit please stay with me (but you might want to get another cup of tea, just to make the story more mosey-able).

The famous garden at Giverny is not open for visitors in December, but I have already seen Claude Monet’s garden several many times already … I went to Giverny because I like Giverny very much and I wanted to see what there was of “Winter Interest” in the village. Turns out that there is plenty going on in Giverny (pop. 509) and I can only tell you about the half of it (because I know that you do not have all day to read this blog). So let’s begin with my BandB, Les Rouges Gorges:

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My room was rustic but very comfortable:

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And the resident cats were cuuuuuuute:

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It was close to 4 in the afternoon when I took my walk out into the country lanes of Giverny:

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I was of course thrilled with the color and views here, but sooner or later one’s stroll down the Chemin du Roy (King’s Lane) leads you to the back end of Monet’s garden:

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From this vantage point it is possible to shoot some pictures of Monet’s garden at rest, which I did just for you, Dear Readers.This is the allee, which wis usually covered in blooms, that bi-sects the flower garden and leads to the front door of Monet’s home:

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And here is a peek at the water garden…

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And this is a view of the famous arched bridge over his lily pond (far right):

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The wisteria that cloaks this bridge in romantic petals of lavander during high season is, in December, just a tangle of hibernating vine:

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Giverny is such a small village that the folks who live here would have to go to Vernon ( 4 kilometers away) to get bread and croissants, so the BIG news this year is all about the new boulangerie that opened!

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It’s at 73 rue Claude Monet (easy address to remember) and the food and the ambience is excellent (note to self: must review this on Yelp, so that everyone who goes to Giverny in season will stop by here for lunch and make this place successful). I see that you’ve noticed the cat in this photo. That’s Fifi. I got to know her when I came back here for the special Saturday night Diner Spectacle:

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Wine, food, and song…

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… and if you’re lucky…CAT:

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The Madame La Soprano is a music teacher from the village, married to an elected official in Giverny:

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Monsieur Le Baritone sings for the Rouen Opera:

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Sunday was full of more wonderful social gatherings in private people’s homes (the Givernois are such friendly people!) but the next public spectacle I attended was an afternoon party of the kids of Giverny, held in the Impressionism Museum (which is also closed for the season, but open for local functions). I loved the kid who brought his panda bear with him when he went on stage to help the magician with her trick:

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Then my friends took me to the Town Hall to vote!!!!

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It’s normal for the French to vote on a Sunday, and it’s normal to hold these regional elections every five years (for the National Assembly). But it was very unusual this year to hold elections with the National Front (think: Trump, only more so) as a strong third party.

When you go to vote in such a small village as Giverny, you get your voting card stamped by the officials, and then you go around kissing hello to all the poll watchers that you know as neighbors. Then you pick up your ballots, go into a curtained stall, choose the ballot for the party you want to vote for, fold it up, and put it into a little blue envelope. Then you put your little blue envelope into a clear box:

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When the clock struck 6, it was time to count the votes.

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There wee two people opening each envelope and handing the ballot to the mayor (that’s him, with the beard). He reads out the name, and the head tally-man reads out the count after each vote, which has to agree with the count being recorded by two back-up tally-ladies.

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I was fascinated by this process, and my friends were tolerant and let me watch this go on for half an hour. I stood off to one side, snapping photos, and no one gave me so much as half a stink-eye, which is amazing when you consider that it’s illegal in France to take the photo of anyone without their permission, even on the street.

The day before, I’d been in Vernon’s Christmas village, and I snapped a photo of this:

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And I got a polite, and joking, but definitely serious, scolding for it.

Anyway, by the time we left the vote-count at Village Hall to get ready for a diner party, the center-right candidate was leading, and the left candidate was making a close showing, but the big surprise was that the National Front was polling a very very strong third, despite my friends (split evenly, two for the right-center/two for the left) assuring me that the National Front could never win a seat in Normandy.

The final results, with  75.25% of eligible voters taking part in the election, were:

Center-right: 42%

Left: 30%

National Front: 27%

Blank votes: 1%

How exciting!

Anyhow, Top Cat is going to mention to me again that my blog posts are too long, so I’d better stop here, for now…because don’t we all have some champagne that needs to be taste-tasted before the arrival of 2016??? And shouldn’t we be getting to it right now???

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I love to watch the tiny bubbles rise in candlelight.

Happy Saturnalia, everyone.

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I very rarely get the idea to flit off to France for a quick five-day visit. In fact, for me, not being of the Taylor Swift branch of the family and all, it’s pretty much a once-in-a-lifetime kind of whim. But that very thought crossed my mind recently, and that’s how I found myself in Paris last Friday, going “Huh?”

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Paris in its holiday bling can be perplexing.

The famous department store Galleries Lafayette went with a “Christmas From Another Planet” theme this year…yeah, I don’t get it either…and they went all out to put up a huge Cosmic Christmas Tree in the center of their main floor, under their famous stained-glass rotunda:

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I think those are supposed to be either atoms, or planets, or carbuncles of silicone-based life forms, bubbling on the surface of the cone/Christmas tree-shaped object:

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You might already know how this store was constructed around that enormous open space in the center — which means that you can gander at the Cosmic Christmas Tree from every  floor:

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Dyed mink from Fendi:

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Yeah…I don’t get that either.

Down the road from the Galleries, the other famous department store of Paris — Printemps — was celebrating its 150th year in business:

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The interior of Printemps only allows for a three-story exhibit, which includes a mock-up of the store’s facade…

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…and a traditional Xmas tree — bedecked with this large, bug-eyed metallic creature with a flower-like pustule growing out of its head:

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It is in typical French earthiness that this creature’s head-canker includes globules in the exact color of pus. That mutant Pillsbury Dough Boy is the mascot of Printemps 150. Do you sense that the running theme of this post is “I don’t get that either“?

The outside of Printemps is laden with the flowers that have, presumably, been exploded out of the craniums  of millions of metallic mutants:

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Under this canopy of blossoms are the store’s famous Xmas windows, each one sponsored by a fashion brand. This is the Burberry window (note the sneakers on the kid on the right — and the antenna on his hat!):

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In France, sneakers are called baskets. When you think about it, calling them baskets is not a whole lot dopier than calling these kinds of shoes sneakers.

This window is Sonya Riekyl:

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Those little dolls moved like go-go dancers. Very Christmasy, you think?

Guess where the other grand explosion of Xmas cheer is? Here’s a hint:

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Right: The Champs Ulysses!

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These Christmas Villages run almost the whole length of the Champs — and if you look real closely at the background (below) behind these ice skaters (there were several rinks set up on the sidewalk of the Champs Ulysses — how cool is that??)  you’ll see the REAL Eiffel Tower, lit up like gold:

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In general, though, Christmas decorations in Paris are rather low key. I was sure that the ultra-luxury shops around the Place Vendome would be all a-glow for the make-or-break shopping season, but I was wrong:

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Yes it’s tasteful, but I like to be WOWed. Here’s some other random decor I found along my ambles in the City of Light:

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That last picture was taken in the Canal Saint-Martin area, at a cafe called La Bonne Biere:

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At the Bonne Biere on November 13, ISIS killed five people.

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The cafe has recently re-opened in defiance: Je Suis en Terrasse I am on the Terrace — is how Parisians mock the terrorists with their joie de vivre (which includes cafe culture…sitting out in the open, on terraces). I made it a point to have lunch at the Bonne Biere because, although I do not like sitting out on the sidewalk (it’s the smoking section, now that you can’t light up indoors any more), to give my personal Fuck You to ISIS.

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La Bonne Biere serves decent, 2-star pub food. I just wish the pasta hadn’t come garnished with dandelion greens. Even when you push them aside, they leave trace bitterness on the plate. It’s a Princess and the Pea situation. I have the same problem with cucumbers. Just can’t stand them.

Yes, there is still a make-shift shrine to the innocents of November 13 in front of the Bonne Biere…

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…but the main shrine to all 129 innocents is at the Place de la Republique:

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Meme pas PeurStill Not Afraid — is playground French, something that kids say to a call the bluff of a bully; it’s like blowing a raspberry in ISIS’ face. It’s also very silent and sad here, the way I remember it was on certain street corners in New York City after 9/11. All those innocents…yeah; I just don’t get it either.

Ah, Paris. Beautiful and beguiling even on an ordinary day on the cusp of Winter…

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Just goes to show you that Paris does’nt need the glitz of Xmas in order to shine…

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…she already, and always, glows, just being herself.

OMG, look at the time, it’s getting late and I haven’t even told you about the real reason I went to France. Well, Dear Readers, that will have to wait until we meet here again, next Friday!

 

 

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