I just finished A Better Man  by Louise Penny.

And now I have to write a post. And find another book to read. But my head is still back in Three Pines. I know those of you who read her understand. She is a superb writer.

Back to Paris.

Breakfast the next day:

Fresh squeezed orange juice, coffee (Don brought his own mug), pastries, bread, and jam. Yogurt, cheese, fresh fruit, etc., on the sideboard.

The room:

We walked to the Jardin du Luxembourg. We wanted to spend some time there before we had to leave for a 4:30 matinee way across the Seine.

We plopped down on some chairs and watched people walk by. We could see all the children running around in the playground, as well.

Don was changing the film in his Holga camera.

You can see the pétanque courts off to the rear.

Eventually, we headed over there to watch some games. But while we were waiting, Don noticed a stray ball or boule and decided to practice. I joined him, though I only have a photo of Don.

The boules are heavy. I did surprisingly well. We’d really like to learn some more and take a stab at playing. We almost have Rick and Doug talked into it. Stay tuned.

Don walked over to get some vegan hot dogs (with carmelized onions, so good!) and we ate lunch while watching some spirited games. It was Saturday and it was a busy day at the courts, with everyone grabbing whatever space they could.

Eventually, and reluctantly, we left. We had to trek to a theater way over on the right bank to the east of the Eiffel Tower to see some Molière – The Miser. It’s an old, old theater called Theatre Ranelagh. Don had researched the production and purchased tickets online. We arrived at the door and picked up our tickets. We were assured they were the best tickets for us because they were in the balcony where you could see the subtitles. Good idea. And it did help to read the subtitles.

We were even given an English language program, though I think I would have preferred one in French.

As Don went off to the toilettes, I stood in the lobby and noticed more and more parents arriving with children. An alarming amount of children if you were thinking (as we were) that it was a production for an adult audience. When Don returned, I gently mentioned that I thought this might be a production geared toward kids. He looked around and agreed.

Dang.

There had been nothing on the website or in the description of the show that indicated it was for children. Sighing, we made the best of it by saying that what we really wanted was to hear Molière spoken in French, that was the important thing. And we did.

As for the production, it was ultimately disappointing. It was low-budget. The costumes were just so-so. And, for me, the most maddening thing was that every line was delivered downstage (at the edge of the stage) facing outward. Didn’t matter if the characters were carrying on a conversation. They faced the audience. I wanted to scream. I suppose you could call it stylized, but it didn’t have enough style to call it stylized. Some of the actors were quite good and it was  a delight to hear the text in French. That part was lovely. But it was badly directed, which wasn’t fair to the actors, who were doing their best – especially the lead actor playing the Miser.

I don’t think Molière is the best subject for kids as it’s satire. Satire that they didn’t get, as was obvious when there were built-in pauses for audience laughter, which didn’t happen. On the other hand, it’s lovely that parents are taking their children to see France’s greatest playwright, to see the theater.

A mixed blessing which only made us more determined to see the Comédie-Française next time we’re there.

But we got to see Molière in Paris and that’s neat.

After the show, we traveled back to the Left Bank and ate dinner at a café near the Musée D’Orsay.

This was the ceiling in the café. (We’re in Paris, after all!)

And then, as we had planned, we walked along the Seine at night. It’s magical any time of day, but at night? Oh my goodness.

A late-night bouquiniste.

We sat on a bench in the middle of one of the bridges and waited until the hour was struck so we could see The Eiffel Tower light up with twinkle lights for five minutes. It’s really glorious.

Looking down the river to the Île de la Cité.

Beautiful, isn’t it?

That night, the clocks were set back one hour.

Tomorrow: the flea market and our treasures.

Happy Thursday.

Okay. Where were we?

Ah yes…Paris!

After breakfast the next day, we headed out, stopping on the Boulevard Raspail to spend some time at the weekly market.

It stretches for a few blocks. Don bought a mini quiche which he never got around to eating.

We crossed the street, planning to head back to Rue de Rennes, our main route toward the Seine, when we saw a lovely shop full of dishes. Of course, I had to go in. The shop’s name was Au Bain Marie.

Absolutely gorgeous – a combination of new and old.

Why didn’t I buy that pansy plate? Isn’t it gorgeous?

I saw some ceramic egg cups, new and beautifully made, from a company I know of. Though I loved them, I knew I could get them any time. The next thing I knew, Don was asking if they had any other egg cups. Claire, the lovely manager, brought out several antique silver egg cups. I’m not a person who is especially fond of silver and I don’t collect it. But I thought: okay, I’ll look at them. Since they were antique and pure silver, they were pricey. The one I really loved was beautiful and less expensive and very special. Don encouraged me to get it. Only when Claire was wrapping everything up did I realize I had misread the tag and it was more expensive than I thought. I was ready to cancel the sale, but Don (my enabler) insisted I get it.

It’s by far my most expensive egg cup. But it’s exquisite.

It’s from the late 1800s and that beautiful Art Nouveau design makes my heart sing.

I carried around some major guilt about this purchase until I looked at the egg cup again when we were packing to come home and I realized that I had let it go. It’s a beautiful memory of Paris and it’s worth it.

We headed down Rue de Rennes toward Rue Bonaparte, our usual route to the Seine. This time, we stopped at Ladurée to get some macarons. I didn’t cheat with sugar at all in Paris except for macarons, which I had already decided to indulge in.

Inside the shop.

Let it be noted: If you need to use a toilette, Ladurée has a beautiful one just behind that door.

Two little tables for dining downstairs, more tables upstairs.

We made our choices and headed for the Seine, where we stopped to take pictures of our little box.

Oh, lordy. Spoiler alert: they were incredible.

We crossed the Seine and walked through these arches to the Louvre.

On the other side, beyond the Louvre, are more arches where you exit and see this:

The famous Comédie-Française. The theater where Molière’s works premiered. Where, during a performance of The Imaginary Invalid  with Molière playing the lead role of Argan, he collapsed and later died. So much history here. We are determined to see something there when we go back. We tried this time, but couldn’t get tickets, as there were only two performances while we were there and they were sold out.

Don is excited, as you can see.

By the way, the logo for the Comédie-Française is a red target. The first time I saw the building, while driving by in a cab and not knowing what it was, I thought, “Oh no! Target is in Paris!!!” Greatly relieved to find that wasn’t the case. Don said “There’s not one American who will see that and not think of Target.”

Right in front of the theater is this entrance to an underground passage:

Gorgeous.

Place Colette borders the theater building.

And right around the corner, this huge sculpture and tribute to Molière:

We found it very moving.

Paris loves Molière and rightfully so. (We do, too.)

Across the street, I found a favorite door, though Paris has a seemingly infinite number of beautiful doors.

It’s the window above the door that kills me.

We walked a long distance toward the Boulevard Haussmann and the famed Passages. There are several Passages (covered passages – an early form of a shopping arcade) in Paris. At one time there were over a hundred passages. We were headed toward the Passage Jouffroy, but we also stopped at a couple of other Passages.

Here is the interior of the Passage Joufroy:

Truly beautiful.

Of course, by this time we had to use a toilette rather desperately, so we stopped at a tea room in the Passage and had some lunch so that we could avail ourselves of the facilities. (So much time spent doing this kind of thing!)

We had a lovely lunch in which Don took pictures of people looking in the windows behind us to see what pastries were on display. They were wonderful. Luckily he published those photographs on Facebook because they were lost when his phone was stolen.

After lunch, I visited two shops that sold miniatures, my real reason for being there. I had planned to get there last year, but ran out of time. There are two shops, Pain D’épices and La Boite à Joujoux – both of them a combination of toy shop and miniature shop. They were delightful.

I forgot to get a picture of the outside of the other shop.

To be honest, most of the miniatures that I saw I can get anywhere. I recognized many of the manufacturers. So I decided to get a few things I couldn’t find anywhere else and that reminded me of Paris.

This painting.

This miniature electric kettle, very reminiscent of the ones the British use. It will go perfectly in my English cottage.

Mini macarons! Eeek!

And, wait for it….

Mini egg cups! I don’t mind telling you they were a challenge to photograph.

Once again, we walked back to the Louvre – another very long walk – looking at all the stamp dealers along the way. By the time we reached the Louvre, we were sore and tired (we really did walk miles and miles and miles while we were in Paris) so we caught a cab back to the hotel, where we read and rested and wrote in our journals. Don went to a local place that has great cooked veggies and he bought a bunch of them and we had dinner in our room.

We saved a lot of money that way. Meals are not inexpensive in Paris and we are vegetarians. Though the French love their meat, there is usually some vegetarian fare on a menu. Through trial and error, we have found a few places that have relatively inexpensive and tasty vegetarian food. Our needs are simple. We are not foodies. We don’t want to blow our money on a meal that will be over before we know it. We just want good and inexpensive food. We’d rather spend our money on visiting museums or at the Flea Market (or on macarons.) Last year, we found a place that makes the best vegan hot dogs just down the street from the Jardin du Luxembourg, and we make sure to get some and eat them while we’re watching Pétanque. We’re really getting to know ‘our’ neighborhood.

More tomorrow, my friends.

Happy Wednesday.

Morning brought us into the charming breakfast room once again. Norah brought us hard boiled eggs.

An egg cup!

And my favorite lamp was to my left:

We got on the Metro – where an elderly man was playing La Vie en Rose on an accordian in our car – and headed for Pigalle where there is a small street full of guitar shops. Don wanted to practice just a bit and a shop owner kindly let him play for about a half hour.

Pigalle itself can be rather seedy, depending on where you are. After Don was finished, we walked up a hill and found the famous Moulin Rouge.

Then we walked some more and saw a sign for the Cimetière Montmartre and headed in that direction. We love old cemeteries. We’ve yet to see Cimetière du Père Lachaise – that will be for another trip – but this cemetery is very, very old, and is on a hill, with each level going higher and higher.

We wandered around, looking at the beautiful monuments and graves, each one telling a story about someone who lived here in Paris, often in Montmartre itself, and passed away.

La Goulue, who was part of the invention of the famous can-can and danced at the Moulin Rouge. When we looked up her story, we found it was ultimately tragic. She was a huge star and known as the Queen of Montmartre. She was one of the favorite subjects of Toulouse-Lautrec. Eventually, she left the Moulin Rouge, invested her money in a traveling show that featured her and lost all her money. She was destitute and an alcoholic and ended up selling peanuts on a corner in Montmartre. She died at the age of 62.

A stray cat.

Famous composer Hector Berloz is buried here.

Nadia Boulanger is buried here. She was a composer, conductor, and teacher. Among the many students that traveled to France to study with her were Aaron Copland, Virgil Thomson, Darius Milhaud, Daniel Barenboim, Philip Glass, Quincy Jones, and Michel LeGrand. I’ve seemingly always known about her so visiting her gravesite was important to me.

She was a formidable force in music, as was her sister, Lili, who tragically died very young in 1918. Nadia was the first woman to conduct major orchestras in both Europe and America, among them; the Boston Symphony, New York Philharmonic, Philadelphia Orchestra, and the BBC Symphony. She lived to the age of 92.

I found her gravesite very moving.

Also buried in the cemetery, the famous ballet dancer Nijinsky.

One of his most famous roles: Petrouchka. Amazingly, before we had a chance to research it, I told Don I thought this sculpture might be of Petrouchka, and I was right. Amazing what little factoids stay in my brain. His story is also tragic, but I’ll let you look that up.

He was a star, the greatest male dancer of the early 20th Century. He was also a choreographer, choreographing Le Sacre du Printemps – The Rite of Spring – by Stravinsky.

Again, I was honored to be in his presence.

And finally, we made sure to visit a hero of ours, François Truffaut.

A brilliant director, he died too young at the age of 52.

We left two metro tickets on his grave in honor of his movie, The Last Metro.

Also buried in the cemetery: Edgar Degas, the painter; Alexandre Dumas fils, the writer; Marie Duplessis, French Courtesan and the inspiration for La Dame aux Camélias by Dumas fils, one of her lovers, which ultimately inspired Camille. She was also believed to be the lover of Franz Liszt. She died at the age of 23 from tuberculosis.

Foucault, of Foucault’s pendulum, is buried here, as well as the playwright Feydeau, whose farce,  A Flea in Her Ear,  was playing at the Comédie-Française while we were there. Jacques Offenbach, the composer, is buried there. Stendahl, the author, is buried there, as well as Adolphe Sax, the inventor of the saxophone.

It’s quite amazing. And very moving.

A lady comes and feeds the stray cats. We happened to be in standing right where she appeared, calling out to the cats, who came very quickly.

Here they are, obviously well fed:

We spent about three hours at the cemetery. The fact that we just happened on it made it even lovelier.

After our visit to the Cimetière, we grabbed a cab and went to the café where we had those great veggie burgers. Then we made one more stop here,

where I bought one more book and a tote bag with their logo.

We ended up in our favorite place, the Jardin du Luxembourg.

For a little Pétanque.

That night, our upstairs ‘neighbors,’ who had to be the loudest people on earth, kept me awake for hours. There was lots of noise, in addition to some vigorous and seemingly endless moaning accompanied by the sound of bed springs moving so fast that I thought they might crash into the room. It went on forever. I never complain about that kind of thing, but I did this time. I was not a happy camper. Our friend at the Front Desk spoke to them – though they were Russian and spoke very little French – and the next night was better.

More tomorrow, when we visit a Farmers Market, a beautiful shop, Ladurée for some macarons, the Seine, the Comédie-Française, and some miniature shops.

Happy Tuesday.