Day 67: Asian Diaspora

Listening to: "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison, "The Happy Wanderer" by Frank Weir and His Orchestra (no, not at the same time--though that would be an interesting mash-up)

Score! Hallelujah! 

In all sincerity, today was a great day. 

I'd like to announce, though, that I am officially a Parisian! 

"What makes one a Parisian?" you ask.

And, my friends, the answer is quite simple: carrying a whole baguette under your arm. Which I did today coming home. And I finally wasn't the one holding up the line! 

Today, still not giving up, I decided to give the Marais a try. I knew there were tons of museums, but I wasn't sure how long any of them would take--after all, Versailles was a surprisingly short trip. The Picasso Museum was my first choice, but it doesn't open until 11:30 am, at least on Fridays (I don't know the weekly schedule). 

So I decided on the Carnavalet Museum, and boy oh boy, did I make the right choice.

I adore topiary mazes. It's so Alice in Wonderland.

I did go a tad over the top with my photos: 590-over-the-top, to be precise. But I had to make up for the sad past three days of no fun and mean people.

First of all, the line wasn't long! There was a line, but it was only there because there was a tour group in front of me. (This museum is surprisingly popular with tours, it turns out.) And the next great surprise was that it was free. Yay! Then they let me check one of my bags, which keeps me from having to go to the chiropractor. So far, so good.

Now, the Carnavalet isn't quite that famous, and that's because it solely focuses on French history. However, unlike Natural History or American History Museums, it used paintings to show how France has changed over the years, and it was incredible. The paintings were so beautiful--even as construction sites, the bridges and museums looked incredible. And there were lots of pictures of train stations, which I've come to love. 

This place was sort of maze-like. It's hard to believe, considering you're going around in a giant square, but with the various renovations going on, you can't ever be sure you've done a full circle--unless you backtrack the entire way. 

Okay, first room: signs.

Not like stop signs or yield signs. These signs were from decades or centuries ago. They were all fascinating but A.) not everyone is fascinated with boring stuff like me and B.) I don't want this page to be kilometers long. So I'll stick with the really awesome stuff.

This kind of reminds me how someone would look after seeing Medusa. Which is strange, wince this person had hair like Medusa.

I feel like we need this sign outside of our house, to show that a family of a spoiled queen lives inside. The question is... Which Willard am I writing about? I'll leave you to decide. :)

Very appropriate for the Marais, as you'll see later.

The famous "Chat Noir" sign (both sides!), which was a cabaret in the late nineteenth century. Now it's a hotel, which is infinitely less exciting. But I'll still have to go because, you know, cats!

Now, these are as close to the Eckleburg eyes as I've ever seen!

I took two pictures with things in the museum. Gee, I wonder what they were with...

I thought of doing a move from that "McCavity" dance from Cats, but I instantly nixed the idea. That class, actually, was the reason of my theater friends stopped doing the workshops.

Gotta get a picture with those eyes that watch everything. T.J. Eckleburg is God. You may laugh and call me blasphemous, but just read literary criticisms.

The two best things in one photo!

The elderly man who took the photos for me was very kind. And he, like the man who took my picture after Singin' in the Rain, had a wife beside him who was telling him whether or not he was doing a good job. Haha. The best part was even though I had asked them to take a picture of me below a sign of glasses--which must make zero sense unless you're Gatsby-obsessed--they didn't talk about me as soon as I turned my back. 

(I don't get that. I know it's an expression, but it's not something you should literally do--as in, talk about someone when they're two feet away from you and their back is turned. Turning my back doesn't mean I'm deaf. A lot of people seem to think that my hearing doesn't work when I can't see them.)

Oh, about this sign: I originally photographed it because I was going to make some sarcastic comment like, That's the best way to get people to come to your place: call it "To the Tower of Money." But actually, this was a sign for a famous wine shop near the Bastille--though perhaps the actual prison was gone by then, who knows.

The next room featured the style we learned about in Art History on Wednesday: Rococo. Rococo comes from the French word "rocaille," which refers to the small rocks and shells that furnish cave walls. So naturally, Rococo features lots of tiny details: fleurs de lys are quite popular, as well as literal shells. And though not as opulent as the Hall of Mirrors, it was more of an impact, as I got to stand alone in the middle of the room, watching my reflection go to infinity through the mirrors. So great!

As I came up to the next room, I once again saw the elderly couple. I was beside the man when I was reading the sign in the room, and I saw a caption that caught my eye: "Le fauteil mortuaire de Voltaire." Now, if that meant what I thought it meant, that would mean that chair to my right was the one Voltaire actually died in. Creepy. But awesome. 

So I asked the man, "Does that mean what I think it means?" He looked at me quizzically. I forgot that he didn't speak much English. "Voltaire est mort dans ce fauteil?" He looked at the caption, but he said he didn't know how to translate it. His wife appeared once again to help, and she told me that yes, Voltaire must have died in that chair. Whoa.

Another reason I loved this couple: in the next room, upon seeing the large paintings in the "Chinese style" (so vaguely racist, but it wasn't out of spite or on purpose), the woman turned and remarked how lovely they looked and tried to explain what the sign meant--all without asking me if I was Chinese! 

Thank goodness!

Anyway, my favorite part of the museum was what followed: countless paintings of Paris. It's best to focus on each one--and don't worry, I won't do all of them...today. (No, seriously, I wont.) Oof, this is going to be hard...

First painting I saw in this room.

Sorry about the glare... This is a beautiful Picasso painting called "Le Square du Vert-Galant." (The link is about the square itself, not the painting. Interestingly, there is a full article on Wikipedia about the Square--in French only. But not in English.)

Okay, so that giant tea bag who stands and blocks the view from everyone isn't just a modern thing. At least these people don't feel compelled to not say anything!

This picture is included solely because it looks (kind of) like my Intro to Creative Writing friend Booker. Now, it feels wrong to mention someone who I don't often interact with, but I was on a search to find doppelgangers of people I know. Of course, whenever I see someone who I think resembles someone else, everyone refuses to agree with me. (Except for Mr. Berard's twin. Where is that picture, Mom???)

This is got to be my new favorite painting--I'm probably going to say that every week, aren't I? Well, this is a view from the Gare du Nord (Northern Station), and you can see the beautiful Sacré-Cœur (Sacred Heart) in the distance. Hoping to go there tomorrow. And I'm finally happy I know what that giant hill has been in all my panorama shots.

New wing!

This next room was mainly portraits, although it did feature recreations of bedrooms of famous people. 

Now, the only one I knew of was Marcel Proust, as my professor has dropped his name on several occasions in reference to novel that he called Swann in Love. (The pictures of his bedroom are above.) Well, professor, according to the incredibly reputable source that is Wikipedia, the actual book itself, even in English, is not that at all: it's In Search of Lost Time. (Swann in Love was the name of the film version.)

Scandalous!

Maddeningly, this sculpture had no sign, so I have absolutely no idea what I'm looking at. It's fascinating.

Strangely, for a museum with a section dedicated solely to signs (shop signs, mostly, but still), these signs often seemed randomly placed. Or maybe they just seemed that way because with my basic French, sometimes I had trouble determining which sign referred to which painting. It may seem obvious for some, but when there's a weird panoramic painting above, that often messes up the placement of the plaques.

Solely included because she looks like one of my middle school teachers (who shall remain nameless). Except I think my middle school teacher was scarier.

Then I stepped into this...

This museum was full of surprises. I finally stopped looking at the map, as I was getting more confused by it. Plus, surprises are great when, you know, they are good. (That sounds tautological, but I don't know how else to put it.)

So this ballroom was formerly in the Wendel Hotel. Well, I mean, it's a recreation, since the hotel no longer exists and this museum is nowhere near its former site. But recreations are great--it's only places (like Victor Hugo's home) that are terrible because they totally half-ass the recreation and restoration of the previous aura of the room. (Wow. I sound like a hippie.) But that's the whole damn point of a recreation!

I know the lamp may "ruin" the picture for some, but you kind of needed it to admire the ceiling.

And yes, that's me in the mirror. But I wasn't trying to take a selfie. I swear!

Now the real history starts... And my tour-guide-persona will come out swinging.

View from the Eiffel Tower's second story in 1937, at the International Exposition--which was the second World's Fair. 

Now, I know the US has hosted some World's Fairs in the past, and some pretty interesting things have happened at them--like, I don't know, the assassination of President William McKinley! And trust me, I took APUSH and I hardly knew anything about William McKinley, but the story of his assassination compared alongside the assassination of James Garfield leads to a fascinating examination possible brain deficiencies--physical ones--in the assassins themselves. (Sometimes you have to teach yourself the good history. Or, you know, let someone else write about it and then parade the knowledge around like you've known it forever. :D)

I instantly thought, "Bastille Day." But I was wrong! (Trust me, it happens A LOT.) This painting celebrates Remembrance Day (specifically in 1920), which happens to be the same day that World War I hostilities ended. (So the painting translates to "Second Anniversary of the End of the War," basically.) Oh, and it's also Veterans' Day to Americans: November 11th.

Hey, I've totally walked there before! Because in the background, that's the Invalides!

Still not Bastille Day--once again, it's Remembrance Day. Except it actually can't be called that in this painting, as it actually is celebrating the end of the war as it was happening on November 11th, 1918, in the Place de la Concorde.

And since that's my Metro transfer stop, I have to pause to say...

"Well, what the hell am I going to do now?" This is my No. 1 transfer station. Ugh.

Moving on...

Why, my fellow Americans, that's an escort (prehistoric motorcade, not a special lady friend) for President Wilson! 

Oh, and yeah--the plaque totally says "Thomas Woodrow Wilson." I thought that had to be a mistake, and yeah, it's wasn't. So I learned that one of our presidents had a different first name IN FRANCE. This is weird. Anyway, the plaque honestly just talks about how America helped win WWI... And people wonder why we have big egos.

Poor Wilson... Never got his League of Nations. Well, he sort of did with the United Nations, but it's not like he ever got to see that come to fruition. Once again, I think it's just a plain old FAIL of Congress, as Wilson just wanted to solve the tangled web of alliances that caused WWI (oh, I know all the history teachers out there are itching to tell me to write an essay to back up my opinion)--and by not signing, the League lost its street cred (technical historical term), and then all the Treaty of Versailles did was basically cause WWII... Oops.

By the way, I state my opinions as if they're facts, but I like to hear other arguments--and I'm actually serious about that. So if you disagree, please tell me! History is only fascinating when viewed from different lenses.

French Newsies!

Once again represents November 11th, 1918. But I'm having a hard time translating "défilé." Ohhhh, okay, it also means parade/procession/march; I was getting only "narrow," "defile," and "fashion show" as synonyms on my first go. And those all seemed extremely wrong.

Construction of the Pont Alexandre III.

Construction for the Metro at Saint-Michel. Whoa, I didn't realize the Metro dated back to the early 1900's. It's like seeing the word "pimping" in Ulysses--you didn't realize how old some things were.

Similarly, the construction for Line 1 at the Place de l'Étoile, now known as Place Charles de Gaulle.

This is just Parisian in so many ways, from the caricature to the Eiffel Tower casually in the distance. Oh, speaking of caricatures, it seems that Monet did a ton of them. I would share them, but the Marmottan Museum is not nearly as awesome as the Carnavalet. :)

Ah, these pictures just drive me crazy. Which way is up? Which way is down?

Labeled "The Parisan and The Parisian." Sounds stupid in English, but one Parisian (le Parisien) is male, while the other (la Parisienne) is female.

Woman feeding ducks. I love these kinds of pictures: everyday life.

Seems rather unextraordinary, but it's the title that makes me happy: La Seine à Grenelle. Rue de Grenelle is the street I have class on.

Sometimes these paintings were both nice on their own as well as part of a collective, like these. Placement in museums is everything, which some museums still haven't seemed to figure out...

The (in)famous Moulin Rouge, which has a rather innocuous translation: the Red Windmill. I'm hoping to go there--just not at night. I don't think I can afford to see a show--the cost appears to be around 150 euros, I think because that price includes a special lady friend as well as champagne and a show...

Le Gare du Nord yet again. I think this might actually be my phone background. I don't know. I had originally just Google searched "train station paris."

Unfortunately, the museum got their placing wrong sometimes. This painting depicts Victor Hugo's funeral--apparently being exiled did not reduce his popularity. But this painting is A.) placed on a horizontal flat surface and B.) covered in glass with a window above it, making it impossible to look at--much less take a photo--without the glare. :(

In all my morbidity, I honestly that I saw a hanged victim, but I think it's actually much less depressing. Except once again, I couldn't exactly tell which sign was referring to this painting, so I'm kind of in the dark.

So the French have been making weird advertising choices for a while.

Windmills are just so cool.

Uh...

Gee, I wonder whose pocket watch that was...

Quill of Alexander Dumas...'s son.

Rather formidable, sir.

And I thought Pennywise was scary...

How every actor imagines himself.

Somebody playing Cyrano, title character of Cyrano de Bergerac. I don't know much about the play, but I can definitely relate to him, as he was constantly worried about his nose. That was definitely a subject that consumed most of my thoughts during my middle school days.

Terrible glare, but the top painting would explain why the Longchamp logo it what it is: it features a horserace at--where?--Longchamp.

These visual brain twisters really drive me crazy.

It may look like they're on a bad date, but since this painting is titled Absinthe, I think something else may be at work here.

Nice to know that things never change.

Just cool because actually, some streets still look like this.

The prestigious Sorbonne. Although our French professor told us that you basically are still getting the same education at AUP. Mr. Rankin also said this about Miss Porter's vs. Plainville High. It really hit me back in my freshman year of college about GW vs. some of the Ivys (well, all of them) that I didn't get into. But you can't really say it when you're not going to the Sorbonne or Columbia, because then people just think you're being bitter.

Just beautiful. Well, not "just." It's everything.

Why, doesn't that woman in the back look familiar?

So this is where I ran into French elementary school kids on a field trip. Since the room was narrow, I couldn't walk by them, but I was interested in what the teacher was saying. They walked into this room filled with paintings of the Sorbonne and various French universities, and this is where they stopped: in front of the Statue of Liberty painting. Really? I hadn't even noticed it.

The teacher asked who created Lady Liberty, and all the children instantly chorused, "Édouard René de Laboulaye." Which is sort of true: he conceived of the idea of this statue as well as suggested giving it to us. (He didn't actually build it himself, which is where the confusion sets in when you go see the copy of the statue at the Musée d'Orsay and the plaque lists a creator who is NOT Laboulaye. Then you're like, "Well, what HAS National Treasure 2 taught me then???")

Though based on a cursory read of his biography, he sounds like a swell guy. It's just funny; I'm pretty sure no children in New York City even know about Laboulaye. (I didn't at their age!) But it also seemed weird, as the teacher talked about giving the statue to New York and blahblahblah. She probably mentioned the other Ladies Liberty out there, but I could really only understand the words "Laboulaye" and "New York." Then, I thought they'd for sure talk about the Sorbonne--nope. They just went into the next room. So the only French history lesson I saw taught by a French teacher in French featured America...

World's Fair yet again!

I appreciate that this museum wasn't afraid to show the gritty side to Paris's history: the poverty, the razing of the city, sickness... It's all there. As you'll see below:

This seems very Around the World in Eighty Days to me.

Woman releasing a pigeon. :)

Why yes, that is a dude serving as a butcher--specifically for rats.

Admittedly, the pictures start blending together at this point, as we don't really see any famous people anymore. But it really is fascinating: you think that razing cities after revolutions is new, but it's really not. At least the French seem to have realized that all the destruction was a terrible idea and have worked to restore some of the old architecture. 

I can't really say much on the war and less-beautiful aspects of French history in Paris, as I did not study it and prepare for a test on it for a year. But even as an ignorant American, it was nice to appreciate another country's history. We imagine all countries as being less important, but that's only because we know so little about them. It's not our fault--everyone does it. It's called protagonist bias: you are the protagonist in your life, obviously, so everyone else serves as a secondary character... Except they see their lives exactly the same, except now you--the complex, special snowflake--have become a flat character that briefly appears as the douche who took forever to order at Starbucks.

Sidetracked. It just reminds you that even if you don't know it, each country has a rich, vibrant, and exciting history.

Now, I hesitate to show the next few pictures, as I suspect Brian will hate me for putting this idea in Amy's head:

Yes, those were four pictures of the most ostentatious baby crib I've ever seen. But don't get your hopes up, Amy: even if I had the capacity and skills to steal it, I could never lift it by myself. Haha. Museum heist thwarted simply by my lack of upper body strength--or any strength at all.

Rivers represented as women: the middle is the Seine, and the other two are little rivulets branching off from it--her, I mean--I believe.

Pictoral allegory of time.

Inside a church. Not the Notre Dame, but the Saint Gervais, if I remember correctly--which is still around.

Inside the Louvre.

They really took the decorating to a new level.

So yes, I had a wonderful day. It was perfect. And since I was in Jewish Haven, I decided to see if I could get some falafel. 

It turned out, there's a famous place called L'As du Fallafel in the Marais. Google Maps told me it was closed, but on the way to my second choice, I saw a humongous line and people walking away with pita pockets. Google lied!

That restaurant, by the way, was the most Jewish place I've ever been. And that's taking into account a synagogue, many delis, and other famous New York eateries. It also had to be the fastest turnover I've ever seen at a restaurant, the women next to me were only gone for ten seconds before two men came in to replace them. Crazy. 

Since Leopold Bloom, one of the protagonists in Ulysses (yes, one of them--which no English teacher seems to let you know), is Jewish, and this was the most Jewish place I'll probably ever be--I don't think I can afford a trip to Israel--I took a picture. Ulysses has basically become my Flat Stanley.

But yeah, French guys are not shy...

So the "bouncer" (yes, there was a bouncer for a Jewish restaurant known for its falafel) just randomly jumped into the photo with me. I still look happy here.

Then, even though he was gone, my face caught up with my surprise, and here I'm making my well-that-was-slightly-no-definitely-uncomfortable face.

The Marais was great--great atmosphere, friendly people (sometimes too friendly, I guess). The only problem was that as I was walking down a cobblestone street that I assumed was for only pedestrians, I felt a truck whiz by me. Oh. Wow. That was way too close for comfort. I have no idea how he didn't hit me. Yikes.