Becoming a Parisienne (Part three)
Day Five- February 10, 2020
“Dumb Monday”
Ed and I used to refer to Mondays in France as “Dumb Monday” as most cultural sites, museums and even food shops are closed. In fairness, many of these same places are also open Sundays to accommodate locals and tourists. However, with Paris being sleepy town on Mondays, this is when I normally fly home. Otherwise, it is near impossible to find anything interesting to do.
There is one exception, however. A really big one, too: The Louvre, the world’s most popular museum with nearly 10 million visitors last year. As it is the only game in town on Mondays, it becomes a madhouse magnet for all the tourists. I went anyway on my last trip despite this nasty reality. With a regular ticket in hand booked in advance, my real scheme was to snag another one once inside the museum for the block-buster Leonardo da Vinci special exhibit. I was prepared for a long wait too, but, unfortunately, the show was “fully booked.”
ROUND THE CLOCK VISITS TO THE LOUVRE
Ironically, there was so much demand for this once-in-a-lifetime exhibit that the Louvre extended it by three days offering nocturnal visits between 9:30 PM and 8:30 AM. In the Louvre’s quest to attract younger visitors, not only did it offer free tickets, but it also had a pop-up bar with complimentary beverages—coffee and green or black tea—along with small paper bags of Madeleines, with a sign, “Servez-vous” or help yourself. Don’t you just love the French and their sensitivities to both food and art. I know I certainly do.
A LADY WITH A MISSION
But back to my Dumb Monday experience. Even though I couldn’t partake of the Da Vinci show, I was at the Louvre so why not stop by and enjoy a few favorite paintings? I passed through security at the first entry point with no difficulty. The problem arose when I tried to access the interior main entrance. When I printed the ticket back home, I had forgotten that the French paper size was different from ours. Inadvertently, part of the scan was cut off so it couldn’t be read. The attendant instructed me to go to a special help desk. This was on the other side of the football field-size main hall under the I. M. Pei glass pyramid. I stood in line for 20 minutes before getting to someone to help retrieve my information. When I arrived at the guichet, I was summarily told to step aside and wait until a phone call was made.
Another ten minutes went by. At last, the dull-looking lady at the desk called my name. In anticipation I jumped up and rushed over expecting to be handed a newly printed ticket. Before retriving it, however, I asked for my original ticket back as it had the number for my coat’s storage bin on it. (That maneuver using the Louvre’s new do-it-yourself coat checking system had already taken me ten minutes to figure out!) My level of frustration was slowly mounting. Madame insisted she had given me back the original scan. But she hadn’t. I asked politely in French if she wouldn’t mind looking for it. Reluctantly, she reached down into her trash bin and delicately pulled out the top several pieces of paper. No luck, she indignantly informed me.
BATTLING WITH A BATTLE AXE
When I insisted Madame look further, still ever so politely, she grabbed the can, upended the whole thing onto her desk and started to wildly throw around its contents her arms becoming propellers. “Boff,” she exhaled in exasperation, looking me straight in the eye. “I told you I never had it.” I wasn’t giving in as I needed the number of my coat cubicle. “How is that possible that I never gave it to you when you required the information to sort this out in the first place,” I countered? My French rapidly deteriorated as I became madder and madder. Not a good idea, however, to question someone who has your ticket in their hand! Truce? My pathetic smile must have done the trick. Finally, Madame handed me my ticket with a wicked sneer of imperious power. I quickly grabbed the new ticket, anticipating a tug-of-war, thanked her as nicely as I could muster and headed up the escalator to the Denon wing desperately trying to recall the number of my coat bin. After several attempts, I hit upon the right combination for both the bin number and lock combination.
Relieved, I proceeded to the audio guide desk where I handed my driver’s license to the young attendant. “Oh, no, Madame,” she snorted in an officious manner. “You must go downstairs and buy a ticket first.“ “Merde,” I whispered under my breath. Downstairs I went again, paid for the ticket after waiting in line for another ten minutes, then headed back up the escalator. I later calculated that it took longer to get inside the Louvre than it did for my actual museum visit. By the time I finally made it back upstairs past the Winged Victory, I was in no mood to enjoy art. A little self-talking to was in order. Granted, I had just experienced some glitches in how the Louvre receives its visitors, but this was also my last day in Paris. “So, get over it, Marsha!,” I lectured myself.
EXPLORING TEXTBOOK MASTERPIECES
Even if I couldn’t see the da Vinci’s special show, at least I could check out one of the great artist’s masterpieces: the Mona Lisa. As I had seen it many times before, I appeased myself by walking along the periphery of some 200 worshippers, cell phones held high, queuing up to see Leonard’s most celebrated work. Even though the painting is behind protective glass and is much smaller than you might expect, the Mona Lisa is unquestionably a beauty, especially with her enigmatic smile.
Giuseppe Arcimboldo’s series of paintings called the “Four Seasons” was close by. This 16th century Italian artist is known for his imaginative portrait heads made entirely of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. My favorite is “Winter” with its eerie interpretation of a man’s face made from pieces of wooden bark, branches, bird feathers and mushrooms.
DISCOVERING THE WORLD’S GREATEST DIAMOND
I did a quick walk-by of the Louvre’s 18th and 19th century Romantic period admiring massive paintings by Géricault, Delacroix and David. Remarkably, all the great ones we studied in our college art history classes are there. Strolling down the long hall, the paintings switched from French to Italian masters, Raphael, Titian, and, naturally, Michelangelo. I found myself in an area totally new to me: an adjoining corridor filled with glittering Royal crown jewels. I reminded myself that the Louvre had once been a royal palace before being converted into one of the world’s grandest museums. However, I wasn’t expecting to encounter “The Regent,” the flawlessly brilliant, 140-karat diamond the size of a Key Lime! Unlike the Mona Lisa, there were neither guards nor crowds around what is considered the finest diamond in the world. Surprising, to say the least.
It was 1:30 pm when I left the Louvre still lamenting the missed the Da Vinci’s exhibit but also starving. Where could I go for lunch and avoid the crowds of tourists? The Palais Royal—which is still somewhat of a hidden gem—was across the street. Parisians enjoy it for its rose garden in the middle where they can sit, relax and eat their take-out lunch. The Palais Royal is also known for its four-sided arcade filled with chic boutiques including ones showcasing Stella McCartney and Marc Jacobs. One of my late husband and my favorite lunch spots, Restaurant du Palais Royal, is in one of the far corners. It was not open. Of course not, it was “Dumb Monday.” How could I forget?
ALWAYS HAVE A PLAN B
Where to next? Realizing how close I was to the Place des Victories—the famous round “square” with a statue of Louis XIV straddling a horse in the middle—I meandered over to Les Fines Gueules. Put this on your list as it is a great fall back restaurant opened seven days a week. It never disappoints thanks to its charming ambience, good food, and affordable price. I enjoyed a lunch of fresh oysters, scallop ravioli in a saffron foam sauce (yes, some chefs are still making foam!) and a finale of four cheeses: a fresh chèvre, chaource, tomme de Savoie and Comté.
On my way home I thought I’d finish up my shopping at Roellinger, a popular spice store several blocks away. Naturally, it was closed! Monday, again! I contented myself with a stroll through one of Paris’ most charming covered passages, Galerie Vivienne. I window shopped a bit, admiring the tiny boutiques and bookstore finally landing in front of Caves Legrand. I checked out the menu in the window of this popular wine bar thinking it should be added to my to-do list for a future trip.
LAST MEAL IN PARIS-AN ICE BOX CLEAN OUT
At this point, I was exhausted from all the standing and slow walking. So I bussed home on No. 29 enjoying the sites along the way. By the time I reached the apartment, the heavens opened up flooding the streets with torrential rain. No way was I venturing out that evening. I stuck my head inside the fridge and saw there was enough for an “ice box clean-out” dinner. Luckily, there was also a nice piece of leftover Tarte Tatin. I paddled around the apartment in my slippers getting ready for an early flight home the next day.
As I packed, I also made a mental note to try avoiding “Dumb Monday” on any future trips to Paris. Why waste precious time in a city I love so much fighting the crowds and being closed out of interesting places to explore? Of course, there was another option which I had completely forgotten: Centre Pompidou which opens at 11 AM on Mondays. Maybe I’ll give that a try if I get stuck in Pari again on a “Dumb Monday.” What is definitively certain, however, is learning to track all museum tickets purchased in advance on my iPhone! “Dumb Monday” but also “Dumb Marsha.”