Today we pledge to continue life in Paris. Each morning we arise and fling open the shudders to our bedroom window, look out at the rooftops of Paris, and pinch ourselves that this is as wonderful as it is.
We have a plan. In the words of the great Yogi Berra, “ If you don’t know where you are going, you’ll end up someplace else.” We reassess our options and
what we still hope to do, factor in the weather forecast, and patter down the 70 steps of our apartment to the street. We have developed a fondness of this staircase. The iron spindles with the warm wood railing, the curve of the spiral turning as we pass each floor. The threads of the steps themselves are rich brown, worn by time and foot travel so that each is slightly different than the next.
The riser of the steps is painted a distinctive European green, fresh and bright but not garish. Think ripe flesh of an avocado. Set against the creamy walls it is another aspect of this life. At the bottom the small doors with a window opens the the courtyard. Open the white iron gate to the vestibule with its mailboxes and buzzers on the wall and its massive double wooden doors and we are out on our little street, the Rue Maître Albert.
We head toward the river thinking we will hop on a bus or train toward the Musée Marmottan Monet in the 16th arrondissement ( arrondissement is one of the few French words we can pronounce with attitude on demand). It is a museum we have not seen and displays impressionist and post impressionist art.
We do have a reservation for lunch at the Brasserie Julien. It is noted to be a classic French bistro. Hmmmm… it is not raining as was forecasted, while chilly, the walk is invigorating… revise the plan. Walk the river – we stop at the Ponte Neuf,
presently the oldest bridge in Paris, though not originally so. It is grand and strong. We watch the Vendettes du Ponte Neuf load and set off along the Seine. Old and stately house boats, some now restaurants or bars line the banks. A group of school children clamor across the bridge and down the stairs. It is their turn for a boat ride on the river. There is a universality among children. No matter the country, they are enthusiastic when faced with a chance to explore.
We wander back through the courtyard of the Louvre into the Tuileries. There are dog walkers and nannies pushing strollers, people taking photos and workers setting up for the Premiere Classe fashion trade show in a row of tent- like enclosures along the length of the garden. Chicly dressed men and women with badges directed the last minute organization and set up happening within. We stand at the window like children peering in to see the magic happen.
We continue to wander toward the restaurant taking in the sights of Paris as we go. The neighborhoods change taking on a different character as we move from one to another. The blocks with the fashion houses, Chanel and Louis Vuitton, Dior, etc, the theater, the opera house, each a little different vibe. The art work in the street manifests the talent and influence of the neighborhood.
The Brassiere Julien is a bustling restaurant. It is a restaurant which has maintained its 1900 decor, large spotted mirrors give the room an expansive feel, stained glass ceilings, ornate iron sconces with petal like glass globes light the space. Along the wall the banquettes with small tables allow for flexible seating for small and large parties.
In the center of the restaurant is a curved bar which is the hub of activity. We are entertained throughout our meal with the joi de vivre which imbues the patrons. Our lunch is delicious, but the most enjoyable moments come nearing the end of our meal. The joyful group next to us is interrupted by a phone call. The man leaned over to apologize for the disruption which lead to a wonderful conversation. Serendipity- our lunch neighbor is a retired museum curator who has worked with museums in Paris and with others such as the Peabody Museum in Salem Massachusetts. As our conversation continues, he provides us with some insider tips on museums to see and restaurants to try. His easy manner and friendly view of the world allows us to communicate despite our lack of facility with French. 
The tables are covered with a paper square describing the restaurant’s history, as the language differences arise he scratches out the names and addresses of some must sees. He shares his knowledge of Paris and his visits to Boston and Martha’s Vineyard. He talks about his work and how he has friends around the world – it is easy to see why. He is delightful!
After leaving the restaurant, we throw our “plan” out and embrace the good fortune of a chance meeting. Serendipity! Plugging in the address of the Jacquemart-Andre museum.
Perhaps because we had a personal story to open our hearts to this museum or perhaps because Patrick knows his craft, this museum is a gem. Set in the 8th arrondissement it is one of the grand houses of the upper middle class who created the suburbs of Paris. A wealthy bachelor marries the artist who painted his portrait, and together they ring in a new era. The house itself is a masterpiece.
The view from the street is noble, but walking through the grand gates up the winding driveway of crushed stone and granite blocks, we enter into a courtyard garden, the veiled secret! Two stately magnolia trees frame an arch way. The carriages would have pulled up the crescent driveway, allowing its guests to disembark and then continued on to the street. The terrace welcomed guests to a house that breathed art through its pores. Using the state of the art technology of time, this house was constructed with the ability to fold and collapse walls to allow three rooms to become one grand ballroom when a party was in order.
Both partners were art enthusiasts with Nellie being an artist herself. She brought her artistic eye and insight to the construction and decoration of the house. Even now the colors and the decor is stunning. It is particular to the time, reminiscent of Newport Mansions with guilded walls and mirrored halls. Each year the couple traveled to Italy and added to their art collection.
We thoroughly enjoyed this museum. And we replayed our lovely exchange with Patrick and his two lovely companions. It was such a delightful afternoon. We will treasure this day.
Our day is not done! Just around the corner from our apartment is a small Romanesque/ early gothic church which hosts concerts in the evening. We are attending a piano recital…an evening of Chopin. Chopin was born in Poland, but achieved fame in Paris. He is buried in Paris at the Le Père- Lachaise cemetery, though his heart was rumored to have been smuggled into Poland in a bottle of cognac for its final resting place.
The pianist was a spitfire. A petite Japanese woman whose technical skills wowed the audience. She skillfully played a very varied program popping up to bow to the audiences applause and quickly sit back down to plunge into another opus. The church is lit by candle light. Though a few electric lights are on the small windows and walls of stone make it dark and mysterious. It creates a very intimate setting to enjoy a wonderful performance. The walk home is short. The lights of the city glow in narrow streets. We reach our big wooden doors- home!
Maureen and David’s Travel Blog 