Game Theory

I've talked about Ticket to Ride, a board game about trains around Europe. But that's just the tip of it. We're big into family game time, especially on cold, rainy winter weekends, and we especially love games that tie in thematically with our lives here.

Memoire de France is a memory-match game with special places around France, including many Paris spots we know and love -- one of which we can see from our window, and exactly half of which we can walk to in five minutes or less:

 

To read about more great French- and European-themed games, check out the post at A Year in Fromage.

Shakey, Resplendent Among the Foulards

My couster (cousin-sister) takes Paris by storm. She brings along the Trader Joe's Candied Pecans, as requested, and also a surprise stow-away in her admirably small luggage: Shakey, the special friend of my little nephew (OK, technically first cousin once removed, for those keeping track). I know my couster enjoys her first ever trip to the City of Lights -- and also a rare vacation from work and parenting duties.

 

But it's Shakey who really seems to savor every moment of his first visit here. While my couster goes around madly shopping for scarves (going home with a total of ten, I believe, and making me feel better about my collection), Shakey simply revels in the silk and light cotton, the rainbow of colors, the swirl of patterns. He is, of course, a bear who appreciates flowing fabrics.

 

Shakey marvels at the views on, outside, and of the Eiffel Tower. For the "outside" photo, we each take a turn holding our arms out of the safety grill while the other photographs and find ourselves gripping for dear life (his, I guess, but it oddly feels like it's for our own).

  

There are other notable tourist attractions, of course, because Shakey is a very cultured, half teddy-bear-top/half blankey-bottom, centaur-like, sophisticated traveler. He's sensitive, too, as you can see by the tender look on my couster's face at the Louvre. Or perhaps that makes her the sensitive one.

  

Shakey also appreciates the simple things in life -- a casual meal at an atmospheric café or sharing a dessert crêpe with a good friend.

 

Lest you think that the only thing we enjoy on my cousin's trip here is running around taking pictures of Shakey, you should know that we also get a big kick out of the lawn-mowing system at the Jardin de Tuileries (no, not a joke; this really is the lawn mowing system here)...

 

 

...and this baba au rhum (rum cake) served to us for dessert. Shakey, who is a purely G-rated actor in this drama, will have nothing to do with this baba au rhum, as nudity and sexual innuendo are not in his contract.

 

How Gauche!

Paris is famously divided in two by the Seine, the so-called Left (gauche) and Right (droit) Banks. But is the gauche really gauche? Well, in some places, of course. But mostly the left bank is the charming home of the Latin Quarter, Sorbonne, Jardin de Louxembourg, Eiffel Tower, Invalides/Napoleon's tomb, Musée d'Orsay, and many of the toniest arrondissements in the city (specifically the 6th and 7th). The right bank has the Louvre, Opéra, Grand Palais, Bastille, Marais, Pompidou, and Jardin de Tuileries and some of the trendiest neighborhoods. Many people support one side or the other quite strongly, but I feel I can be pretty neutral on the Right Bank/Left Bank divide, since we don't live on either: Ile Saint Louis and Ile de la Cité are in the middle of the Seine and, therefore, neither here nor there.

 

Much as I have gone through my life with a mental block confusing oven/stove and dishwasher/washing machine, I have to imagine myself facing west from the tip of Ile de la Cité when I need to remember which is Left Bank, which is Right.

That's Left Bank.........................................................................................................and Right Bank.

 

 

If you're wondering, our meaning of gauche as "awkward" or "tacky" is indeed a reference to left-handedness. Yet the word "right" (in both French and English) means correctness or legal rights. The word "sinister" also comes from the Latin word for left. Poor lefties.

But here's the real problem, at least in my anglophone mind, with all this left-and-right: The way to say "go straight" is "tout droit", which literally means "all right". So if you are told to go à droite, you go right, but if you are told to go tout droit, you go straight. I would think if you went all right -- right after right after right, you'd end up right back where you started, but, as Steve Martin once said, "Boy, those French, they have a different word for everything!"

I've been thinking about this a lot, because Pippa is working on left and right in her class and, as you can see, has a way to go to get these concepts down. She has such difficulties -- in both French and English -- that a part of me wonders if it's some genetic legacy from her paternal grandmother, who was naturally left-handed but forced to become a righty and who, consequently, had right-left dyslexia all her life.

One day Pippa comes home from school and tells me her teacher made a boy change hands while working. Though I try not to be the crazy helicopter American parent, I do feel I have to say something, given the results this practice had on my mother-in-law. I am aware that Pippa is not the most accurate source of information, however, so I gently ask before accusing. And a good thing: her teacher is confused, thinks a moment, then says, "Yes! I did make a little boy change hands to use his scissors. Because he's a lefty, and he was using his left-handed scissors in his right hand. Which is actually a little dangerous." When she sees the look of relief on my face, she laughs and said, "Don't worry. Even in France, we don't do that anymore."

Of course the French wouldn't be that sinister. How gauche of me.


 

Your Planning Guide

As a Follow-up to Your Packing List, I give you Your Planning Guide. My couster also writes:

"I am interested in doing some great art pilgrimage, but I am not sure how to gauge the suggestion to take a full day to go to Versailles. Worth it? Better to spend the day stuffing my face in a café somewhere? Just trying to get my bearings so I can start to consider if I actually have specific things I'd like to do in mind or not. It's hard to tell sometimes: Somewhat reputable NYC tourist travel sites suggest things like 'go to Chinatown'...which makes some sense if you're from, oh, Oshkosh or BoFo (which, in my world, would be in Nebraska), but less so if you're from SF. I also dug up a few other things. If you get a moment, feel free to read them, laugh, scream in righteous indignation, or praise them. It'll give me a better sense of what's in store."   

1) Among the various recommended five-day itineraries she sends me (examples one, two, and three here), one has her visiting the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, and l'Orangerie in one day. I would barely recommend this in one week, unless you really, really love art museums. And do not have children traveling with you. The Louvre alone could take a whole day, and you still would only see a fraction. If you've never done any of them, I recommend the d'Orsay, simply because the Impressionist collection is such a jaw-dropper and so enjoyable (not the kind where you pretend to enjoy staring at your 127th Virgin and Baby painting because you feel like you're getting educated, but the kind where it is actually pleasurable). If you happen to be here on the first Sunday of any month, most museums are free.

 

 

2) Do you want to go to the Eiffel Tower? Be prepared for crowds, and lines, unless you can go at a low-traffic time, which is mid-week, not on a school holiday, first thing in the morning, and ideally in the dead of winter. The crowds will be lighter then for sure. Get a reservation ahead of time, and know that "walking up" only means walking up to the 2nd floor; everybody gets an elevator to the top from there. It is fine to walk up, even with children. My seventy-something year old parents just did it, too.
 

3) Do you want to go to Versailles? You don't need reservations, but expect crowds. It's certainly worth doing, especially on a day nice enough to enjoy the gardens, Marie Antoinette's hamlet (her pretend peasant village), and maybe even boat rides on the lake. But is it a must-see? No, and it does take a whole day. The problem is that almost everything in Paris falls in this category -- fabulous but not a must. Because of that, I say, don't try to pack everything in your five days. Just do the things that appeal to you most and leave time for just wandering around. And eating.

4) An alternative to Versailles, in my opinion, if you can't spare a whole day: the more convenient and less crowded Palais Garnier, also called Opéra, which has English-language tours on Wednesdays and Saturdays (reservations needed). Or just go for an unguided visit nearly any day.

4) My advice on planning, in short. Some medieval Paris, at least one great art museum, a cemetery, some cafe time, churches, a tower (Eiffel and/or Notre Dame and/or top of Arc de Triomphe), boat ride or walk along the Seine, shopping, ride a metro, Sacré Coeur from the outside, Sainte Chapelle and/or Conciergerie, les Invalides, maybe underground sewer tour or catacombs, and something truly opulent like Versailles or Opéra. But not all of it at once.

Moaning Lisa

Well, moaning Gigi and Pippa is more like it. The Louvre is not, shall we say, very kid-friendly. At least not friendly to our kids.

We do not have long lines, and we get there early to avoid big crowds. We head directly to the Mona Lisa and are able to walk right to the front. Nevertheless, the girls are underwhelmed. Sacrilege Alert: Gigi asks, "Why is it so famous? That is -- literally -- the most boring painting in the entire museum." And I must agree. On the other hand, if you are standing at the Mona Lisa and turn around, you will see "The Wedding at Cana" occupying nearly an entire wall.

image from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Paolo_Veronese,_The_Wedding_at_Cana.JPG

This painting, complete by Italian artist Paolo Veronese in 1562, is 6.6m x 9.9m -- that's 21.6' x 32.5'. It's fascinating, huge, detailed, colorful, and seems like it would have been completely impossible to paint. It gets my vote for best painting in the Louvre (well, best of the ones I see, since Lord knows I don't actually see them all). Why is this not more famous than the Mona Lisa? We all agree that Veronese got robbed.

Another amazing painting on the same scale is "The Coronation of Napoleon" by Jacques-Louis David. Granted this painting is "only" from 1807, but it also stands about 6m x 10m. It both dwarfs and fascinates the girls, and Gigi would much rather look at either of these impressive paintings than the ho-hum Mona Lisa.

  

The building itself is impressive -- if a bit too much for a 7 or 9 year old (or a couple 40-somethings, for that matter) to take in all at once. Still, the children are now officially enriched, having seen the Louvre, the glass pyramid (from both sides), the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the remains of the old castle upon which the Louvre is built, and the thing that excites them the most....

 

  

 

... the vending machines in the subway. Yes, having just visited and poo-poohed arguably the most famous painting at the most famous museum in the world, the thing they enjoy most is that we allow them to buy a drink from the vending machine. Since we have lost approximately 50% of our money in all attempted vending machine purchases, the fact that we are willing to let the girls try at all is a huge and very exciting victory for them. The fact that the drink actually comes out this time is almost more joy than they can bear.

 

Well, good. At least they're not moaning anymore.



 

Let It Snow!

A rare, though not unheard of, snowy day in Paris. We happen to have a friend visiting us from the States, it is Sunday morning, and we have no other plans. So what else could we possibly do but go see the Eiffel Tower in full winter glory?  And from many angles...

We make sure our walk takes us by Poilâne, one of the most famous bread bakeries in Paris (therefore, in France, and therefore, in the world). Even Poilâne has an Eiffel Tower. But theirs is dusted in flour, not snow. And yes, the bread is really that delicious. This is not white baguette territory: We're talking dark and nutty.

And of course, if snow is falling on the Eiffel Tower, the rest of Paris is turning white, too. The top two photos below are near the Eiffel Tower:

 

The Senat at the Jardins des Luxembourg with frozen fountain:

 

Below, the Louvre pyramid with its frozen pool. And the family behind Notre Dame (flying buttress alert!). As the thermometer dips below zero -- that is, -10° in Celsius, so about 14°F -- it feels really cold to us. We are all wearing ski mittens and long underwear, along with about five layers on top. And we still need to get out of the cold and pop in for a hot chocolate. Even though I grew up in very cold places (Rochester, NY and Minneapolis, MN) fourteen years in California and two years in the tropics before that (Hawaii and the Philippines) have made my blood all sluggish and lazy. Much like Paris traffic at rush hour, it simply does not want to circulate.