YOSEMITE

Morning in the Hammock

It’s taken me awhile, but I now have my pillows, books, coffee, pen, reading glasses and long body arranged just so and now I’m ready to write to you and now . . . the early sun is in my eyes.

Yesterday with Elise (Rob’s sister) and her husband, Haywood, was a very special day, and just about as different from Paris as you can get.  It’s marvelous to behold all this variety in our world, isn’t it?  Even the drive to Yosemite from the Bay Area perfectly illustrates the contrast; I mean most of it really is butt-ugly, is it not?  Miles and miles of California summer brown with a strip mall thrown in now and then for color.  But then, all of the sudden, it changes . . .you hit . . .Groveland!  Groveland!  I want to live in Groveland!  What a sweet, well-tended little town where you can get a good cup of coffee and a book.

Evergreen Lodge is perfect for a family reunion type vacation, thank you to Rabbi Bennett for this excellent suggestion.  Comfortable, upscale cabins with lots of room, (unlike Paris), a pool, hammocks everywhere, a restaurant with really good food and lots of places to just sit and be and look at the trees and sky.  Last night after dinner, we saw a mere sliver of an orange moon, setting in a golden lit sky against the dark background of the night.

I will work on my night photography.  For now, dear reader, use your imagination.

The contrast from Paris is really quite remarkable.  It’s just so . . . American here.  I can spread out, physically and spiritually.  I can breathe.  I am an American girl.  As much as I adore Europe, this is my roots, and I love it here.  I have to confine myself in Paris; certainly physically and even emotionally.  Even while eating I have to be careful not to elbow my fellow diner, sitting two feet away at the next table, knock over my water, hurl my fork, or do something equally gauche.  We had to take two trips up this elevator to successfully carry Rob, myself and our luggage to our room.

But I am in Yosemite now.  And people are loud and American and most definitely not contained and I am here, too, with my ebullient personality fanned out wide.

Yesterday was really all that.  We rented bikes and rode all over the valley, stopping for a wonderful lunch perched high on the deck at the Ahwahnee, overlooking the magnificent rock of Yosemite.  Yes, it’s the rock that makes this place so special, that unique, Yosemite grey, infused with light rock, soaring into the sky.  There is nothing else like it in the world. 

Countless writers and photographers have tried to capture it and here is my humble attempt.

But you never can quite capture that spiritual state with an image or string of words, can you?  You can only hope that rereading your words and looking at the pictures can move you back into that feeling.  I like to think that for that brief moment in time, riding our bikes through that golden meadow on our way to the Ahwahnee, we all felt it; we were joined for that brief moment in the Kingdom.

We are creating memories together with this trip and that is eternal.  Thank their good hearts for coming all of the way out here from South Carolina.  It is part of the joy in human relationship and it is of ultimate value to me.  We have a limited amount of resources yes, but this is how Rob and I want to spend our money; travelling and connecting.  Don’t wait, we say.  DON’T WAIT!

The Cluny

Last Day

Unfortunately, I’m not feeling so well today.  I’m afraid that the combination of Angelina’s hot chocolate, several croissant amande du chocolates and all the rich food in Paris in general has just about finished me.  It is the last day, and darn it, I don’t want to miss anything, but I can’t seem to get out of bed.  I admit to you, this is being written from the plane.  I am feeling somewhat human again.  Somewhat.

I get the heebie jeebies even thinking about that hot chocolate.  I will never, ever have hot chocolate again!

I did make it over to The Cluny because I was going to see that tapestry room if it killed me.  I love the Cluny museum.  It is small and manageable and very, very old.  I know, all the museums are old here, but I believe this is the oldest, built in the 12^th century.  It is positively medieval and it fascinates me, especially the tapestry room.

I actually drafted this post sitting in the dimly lit, magical cavern type room.  There are six tapestries in total, each depicting a beautiful woman with a unicorn.  I love unicorns, they make me feel mystical.  In fact, this whole room makes me feel mystical.  I’m particularly taken with this huge tapestry in front of me.  (If the truth be known, it happens to be the one I can see from my bench, I’d rather sit today thank you.)  

I would not dare take a picture in here, I just heard someone get yelled at, (yes, an American), but let me attempt to describe it for you.  The woman is playing a harp, exuding calm and gentility.  There is a young girl with her; I am imagining it is her daughter.  The unicorn is in prancing flight off to her right, and there is a creature with a cat’s tail and strong haunches, but has almost a human face.  There are several small animals as well; rabbits, dogs and what appears to be another feline type creature.  It is soothing to me to be in here.  Just what the doctor ordered.

Paris is enchanting in its indoor spaces, too. This is an ideal place for creating time.  Rob is on the other side of the room sketching what turned out to be a gorgeous tree in one of the tapestries.

This is our last day and I’m so happy that we actually did what we said we were going to do.  We came to Paris, and I like to think we added to it in our own small way.  We each created something that emerged from deep inside ourselves.  We each have something tangible to bring back that we will have forever.  And dear readers, I can’t tell you how much it has meant to me that you’ve taken the time to share it with me.  I thought about each and every one of you as I explored my beloved Paris.  It was like you were here with me.

This writing about my experiences and fitting pictures to the words has opened up a whole new world for me.  I experience it all again.  Writing about it captures enough of the detail so that I can really feel it again. It creates a memory for me that I can’t get any other way.  It also allows me to actually participate in my experience by putting my personal stamp on it. I’m so grateful that I have found this form of expression.

I thought that I might get really sad on my last day.  Instead I feel renewed, re-created somehow.  I’m different as a result of coming here.  That’s why I travel.  But I’m looking forward to being back home with all of you, the dear chaplains I love so much, and of course, Pablo and Toby.  I thank you Lindsey and Katie so very, very much for caring for them!  You made the trip actually possible. (Never would we board Pablo and Toby!)

Paris is the most beautiful place in the world to me.  Coming here inspires me to create beauty wherever I am.  Living well is an art worth cultivating.  It takes some money, no doubt, but mostly it takes curiosity, imagination and the willingness to take the time to make things just a little nicer.  Everything is beautiful here.  They care about beauty.  They inspire me to care about it, too.

The Loot! 

The Covered Passages of Paris - Part 2

I’m back to show you the covered passages after hurrying out of Saint-Sulpice, quite chagrined to see Rob waiting for me by the fountain.

These covered passages are like nothing I have ever seen.  There are several of them in Paris, mostly in the 2^nd and 8^th arrondissements and we hit six of them.  Most of them were built between 1820 and 1850, mainly for buying and selling, but also as places for flậneurs (idle strollers) to see and be seen. They fascinate me because they are so breathtakingly beautiful.  Thank you God, for the good people of Paris who had the foresight to restore most of them in the 1970’s.  If only our malls could be like them!  I like to imagine myself with a long, fancy dress, complete with lace parasol, idly strolling through Galerie Vivienne . . .

There were a few that were disappointing, due to the cheap baubles they were selling.  But Passage des Panoramas, Galerie Vivienne and Galerie Colbert were particularly beautiful.

Galerie de la Madeleine

Passage des Princes

Passage des Panoramas

We enjoyed a wonderful two hour lunch here at the L’Arbre a Cannelle brasserie in Passage des Panoramas, tucked into a small table where we could see everything, but feel sheltered, (I love that feeling.)  See the lovely white lilies on the tables?

L’Arbre a Cannelle

And here is the lovely, lovely Galerie Vivienne; even the floor is splendid.

I couldn’t resist taking a picture of Rob’s totem, Taurus the Bull.

Created by Emilio Robba.

And finally, we finished with the quiet and gorgeous Galerie Colbert, which has been fully restored and houses an art institute. 

Galerie Colbert

This was Rob’s favorite.  He said that it made him feel like he was in a great university setting; nicely kept; beautifully restored; like the great buildings of Stanford and Berkeley.  There is something very special about restoring an old building to where its old beauty is enhanced, but it feels fresh; the air is crisp and clean.

Since we were so close, we couldn’t resist a hot chocolate at Angelinas, no doubt very touristy, but nothing in the Bay Area tastes like this, and believe me, I’ve tried!  (Bittersweet Chocolate, Café Clem, etc.)

Everyone, and I mean everyone was sipping a hot chocolate.  They came out of the kitchen fast and furious.  We couldn’t stop laughing, imagining it being delivered every morning by a big burly Frenchman spraying it from a large hose into an enormous industrial vat.

Like I said before, we’ve laughed so much on this trip.  I love to laugh and share humor.  It’s so intimate.

I couldn’t resist taking a picture of this fabulous dress on our way back.  Yes, I’ve decided we are renewing our vows in the Place des Vosges and I am wearing this dress.

The Covered Passages of Paris - Part 1

Saint- Sulpice

How wonderful is this?  It’s blowing and windy outside, so I’m writing to you inside Saint-Sulpice, yes the church.  I am sitting on a very comfortable velvet pew, looking at an incredible gold statue.  It’s quiet and it smells like incense.  Rob is sitting in the small chapel with Delacroix’s depiction of Jacob wresting with the angel.  I think it’s ok to take pictures in here, everyone else is.  I realized that you can barely see it, I did not have my flash on.

I believe that I am being very indiscreet in the second row of pews, on a red velvet seat, quietly typing.  I don’t think anyone has taken notice of me at all.  You can’t see the bottom half of me, (or Little Pink), because there is a big carved pew in front of me.  I’m quite pleased with myself.

Today was dedicated to exploring the covered passages of Paris.  We thought it was going to rain, so we thought we had better be inside, but thank you, God, it never did.  I have wanted to see more of these passages ever since we saw Galerie Vivienne . . .

Why is that man yelling?  How irritating.  Maybe he’s one of those weird, angry people.  He’s yelling again.  I’ll just ignore him.  Now he’s yelling louder.  Maybe I better get up and see what’s happening.  Oh, dear, they’ve locked up and look quite irate.  So much for being so pleased with myself.  I need to shut down and get out of here!

Parc Monceau

I am writing to you from a bench, sitting side by side with Rob, in front of a little pond, surrounded by a Greek colonnade and a graceful willow tree in the center.  Parc Monceau is located in the wealthy 8^th arrondissement and is more of a neighborhood park, an easy metro ride from the Bois de Boulogne.

I am thrilled to tell you that finally, on my fourth trip to Paris, I have figured out the Metro!  It is really quite easy, I don’t know what took me so long.  It gives me a wonderful feeling of confidence.  Now, no matter where I find myself in Paris, as long as I have my little navy blue metro booklet, I need never get lost; maybe a bit lost, but not hopelessly lost.

Parc Monceau, about 200 years old, is a very interesting place.  Whoever designed it must have liked architecture from around the world. In addition to this Greek colonnade, we have passed several “miniature interpretations” Eric Maisel referred to in his book, A Writer’s Paris.  We have seen a part of Stonehenge, a small pyramid, an Asian bridge, a South Pacific island type scene and of course, the Eiffel Tower. 

There is also a sculpture that resembles hay stacks from Montana.

We finished the day on Île Saint-Louis, and ate our first Bertillon ice cream.  I had a double scoop; burnt caramel and chocolate nougat.  Rob had chocolate and cherry sorbet, the most intense flavor he said he has ever experienced.  It’s a bit touristy here.  Everyone, and I mean everyone, is ambling along, eating an ice cream cone.

On the way to Square Barye, at the very end of the island, we passed Hotel Lauson, circa 1657, and I thought you might be interested in this painted downspout.  They care about beauty in Paris, do they not?

And on the way back to the 6^th, we purchased this pink Vespa for me to bop around Oakland.  Mary, if you’re reading, I hope you like it!

Bois de Boulogne

We got started really early this morning (9:00 am), as we have only three days left and two of them, alas, are going to rain.  So we decided last night this was to be a big park day.  We completely take it for granted, but isn’t it amazing when you really think about it, that you can check the weather for the next day from your computer? 

Bois de Boulogne is a huge park on the west side of Paris and almost equals the Bois de Vincennes in size and scope.  I just looked it up in Wikipedia and learned that the Bois de Boulogne is two and half times as big as Central Park and the Bois de Vincennes is three times larger.  Also, I read that Napoleon III made Bois de Boulogne into a park in 1852 but it’s been a place of recreation and festivities since the mid 1500’s.  It’s interesting to note that today it is known for a prominent place of prostitution at night.  One woman started early; we rode by her, hard at work, soliciting from a bench, at approximately 13:30.  (I did not take her picture.)

I am happy to share with you that this time we rented bikes and rode all through the park to the Parc de Bagatelle, perhaps one of the most beautiful rose gardens in the world.

See the two atheletes?

Parc de Bagatelle

The French seem to like these labyrinth, spiral type paths; I remember something similar in the Jardin des Plantes.  This little trail leads to the top, where they have thoughtfully placed a small bench overlooking the whole park which my sweetie and I had entirely to ourselves.

Here is a resident chat, feeling quite good about himself, who greeted us on our way to this lovely Gazebo where we enjoyed a piece of white chocolate and a kiss.

A very happy couple in the gazebo . . .

We wandered through row upon row of gorgeous roses, all pruned perfectly and carefully tended.  We had a lot of fun taking multiple pictures of the roses.  Here are a few of mine:

We continued through the Parc de Bagatelle past a waterfall, a fountain surrounded by flowers, a sculpture of les Druides and even a peacock before stopping for a picnic lunch, (can you guess what we had?) overlooking a large meadow, where we spotted several feral cats during the course of our meal.  I believe I counted up to ten of them in all, including a darling little kitten.  This guy is pretty tame for a feral cat . . .he loved Rob’s cool new blue Adidas.

 

What a delightful four hours!  Here is one more chat saying goodbye at the gate . . .

Sunday Morning in the Rue Cler

“So when the ◊ is indicated, on/off temperature setting and time operating, etc. are sometimes impossible to control”

[Small print instructions on the climate control device in our hotel room.]

This trip has been like no other.  We’ve not gone to a single museum, we’ve only seen the top third of the Tour d’ Eiffel, we had a quick glance at Notre Dame from the cab, and we have not once eaten Berthillon ice cream.  I’ve loved the spontaneity and the loose structure of our days.  But there are perfect days and then there are not so perfect days. 

Unbeknownst to the Drostes, everything in Paris is closed on Sunday, how the Parisians eat on Sunday, I really don’t know, but everything is closed up tight as a drum.

We started fresh, for a brisk Sunday morning walk, down Rue Bonaparte toward the Seine, left on Rue Jacob, which turns into Rue de l’Université.  Very lovely area, very posh, very quiet as we made our way toward our destination, the Les Deux Abeilles, a  tea room, recommended by the good Amy Thomas. 

Henry James writes about Rue de l’Université in The American. The address where the generations old, French family lived is almost a character.  I spotted a particularly lovely residence and imagined that it was their home.  They wouldn’t let the American marry the daughter. Old French family, no money, but a mansion on Rue de l’Université and plenty of attitude.  I can’t wait to get home and check the address.

Rue de l’Université is also where the National Assembly is located.  Very cool to see that.  I bet a lot of important decisions have been made in there.  Just try to get by those guards, out there even on a quiet Sunday morning.  I think they may have even been armed.

We walked three miles plus though the 6^th and into the 7^th, where it opens up into the grand, wide boulevards, (thank you, Haussmann.) The gold dome of the Invalide appeared to our left, the magnificent Pont Alexandre III bridge leading to the Palais-Royal was to our right, and a bit of the Tour d’ Eiffel soared in the sky ahead of us.  The Paris we’ve seen many times before, but it still takes your breath away. 

As I mentioned, we were walking briskly, (too briskly for pictures, desolée), and we worked up quite an appetite and were very excited for our lovely tea time.  But alas!

What is wrong with these people?  Americans go out to brunch on Sunday morning.  Wouldn’t you think a tea room would be open?  Non!  I guess when you eat dinner at 11:30 pm on Saturday night, you spend Sunday mornings in bed.

I was off of my game for a moment.  Now, what to do?  I consulted my notes.  I consulted with God, remembering that I was in Paris, how important is it, I mean really?  Rob had an idea.  How about the Rue Cler?  Yes!  Parfait!

The Rue Cler holds dear memories for us.  We stayed here during our first trip to Paris on Rick Steve’s recommendation.  It is a very sweet, well heeled, almost residential neighborhood in the 7^th, near the Eiffel Tower, off of the Champ-de –Mars.  There are no cars allowed in the Rue Cler, so all you can hear is the light pitter patter of the French buying cheese, pastries sausages and vegetables, or talking in cafés off of the cobblestone streets.  Ah . . the Parisians eat on Sunday after all!  We went to a Steve’s recommendation for lunch, the Café du Marche, the very first place we ate in Paris on our first trip in 2005.

I had a cheeseburger, yes I did!  And I’m not sorry.  I ate it with a knife and fork European style, holding the fork in my left hand and scooping up bits of frites, bun, tomato, meat and cheese with the knife held in my right hand, creating the perfect bite every time.  I think I may start eating like this.  It’s very efficient.

On our way back to the 6^th, (taking the metro this time), we inadvertently passed the Village Voice bookstore.  It is closing after 30 years.  What a spiritual loss.  The British owner lamented that it was not the economy, politics, Bush, or anything of the sort; it was the INTERNET; specifically, “Amazon dot communist”.   Although he was British and trained not to show an emotion, he really was just miserable about it, you could tell.  We commiserated with him. 

The Drostes spent the evening cozy in our room, listening to the rain pound on the window and eating the requisite bread, cheese and apple for our dinner, using Rob’s Sutter Select insurance card to carve up the cheese. 

I curled up with David McCullough’s The Greater Journey, Americans in Paris, purchased at the Village Voice and read until falling blissfully to sleep . . .

Transition Day – Moving to the 6^th

“It is forbidden to find oneself in a manifestly drunken state in public places”

Literal translation of government posting above our table at Café Bonaparte.

It is raining, positively storming outside, and we are nestled, side by side, at a very tiny table directly in front of a window, with our hot chocolate, watching the unfortunate, rain soaked people with their parapluies blowing inside out, straight up in the air.  Even the hardy Parisians seem a bit ruffled.

We are sitting close to a Parisian wedding party, (I’d love to take their picture for you, but that would be just too gauche.)  I will attempt to describe them for you.  There are about six of them, plus a small child, with the most adorable, round framed glasses, covering almost half of his darling face.  His mother is petite, petite, petite; like a ballerina, with a shimmery ivory dress, spaghetti straps, plunging back, tight waist and full taffeta skirt.  She weighs about 90 pounds.  How do the French do it?

And how do these women walk on the wet cobblestone streets, with four inch spike heels, striding confidently like they were in a pair of boots? 

Ah . .. I love it here!

He gave me the last bite of the raspberry tart, generous, generous man!

The Monoprix

This is the French equivalent to Target.  It was decided that the Drostes were exhausted and would be taking dinner in their room.  We stopped at a boulangerie and bought a lovely pain et céréale, two beautiful apples at the legume stand across the street, and a big, burly farmer type guy cut us off a slab of triple cream cheese right off a giant cheese round.  We’re happy.  We’re set.

No we’re not.

Forgot the cream for the coffee.  (We have a little refrigerator in our new room.)  “No worries, no worries”, said I, “you go on back to the room and I will easily find my way back.”  Two and one half hours later a very bedraggled Karla returned to the Hotel Bonaparte. 

It took me approximately one hour to purchase the cream for the coffee, chocolate, cookies and Diet Coke, covering the four food groups.  The remaining one and one half hour was spent wandering in and out of stores and getting just a little bit lost.  It got a little grinding towards the end, requiring much spiritual discipline not to sit down in the middle of Boulevard Saint-Germain and cry.  (How could I have ever liked Paris?)

Then I remembered; I’M IN PARIS!  And I was actually able to call up a verse in the Bible,

For I have learned that whatever state I’m in therein to be content. Philippians 4:11 and Helen Keller

I also employed the good Julian of Norwich,

And all shall will be well and all manner of things shall be well.

Can I even tell you how happy I was to see my good husband back in Room 17 at the Hotel Bonaparte?