Rainy Day in Paris

I woke up to a steady drizzle this morning and after waiting a couple of hours, I decided it wasn't going to improve.  Considering my "indoor" options, I rejected both the Louvre and the Quai d'Orsay, knowing that both would be overrun by tourists seeking shelter from the rain.  Then I remembered a previous encounter with a neighborhood museum that was closed when I first passed by...the Shoah Museum here in the Marais.   The Shoah Museum is dedicated to the memory of nearly 80,000 French citizens who were victims of the Holocaust...11,000 of them children under the age of 16.

I had noticed a lot of primary and elementary schools in the neighborhood with this plaque posted prominently at their front doors.

Loosely translated:

In memory of the students of this school who were deported between 1942 and 1944 because they had been born Jewish.  They were victims of Nazi barbarism with the active complicity of the Vichy government.  They were exterminated in the death camps.  Let us never forget them.

As you can see, people still leave flowers at these memorials, and I find them heartbreaking.

So I went to the Shoah (Catastrophe or Holocaust) Museum that tells the story of what happened in France during this ghastly time in history.  Upon entering you see literally wall upon wall of tiny print that lists the nearly 80,000 victims by name (below).  I noted a few Schweitzers among the victims (no doubt the original spelling of my maiden name).  I'm unaware of any Jewish ancestors, but must admit I've done very little in the way of genealogy.  Places like this make me want to learn more.

Within the museum itself, there was the expected chronological detailing of how events unfolded and the particular context in which it occurred here in France.  The story includes the complicity of the Vichy government, and the failure (or refusal) of the rest of the world to intervene.  One room is completely devoted to pictures of some of the 11,000 children who fell victim to this brutality, and I was brought to tears reading their heart-breaking letters to their parents (who were almost certainly already dead.)

I have visited the death camps at Dachau and Mauthausen...and have visited various Holocaust Museums including Yad Vashem in Israel.  They are all very moving experiences, but I can never quite assimilate how human beings can be so ruthless and cruel to one another.  And when innocent children are the victims, I am rendered speechless by the depths of human depravity.  

Upon leaving the museum, though, one is uplifted by the wall dedicated to the names of the "Righteous"...the non-Jews who risked their own lives to help their Jewish friends and neighbors....some of whom temporarily "adopted" Jewish children and provided them with fake documents attesting to the fact that they were not Jewish.  Hiding Jewish families in private homes, and providing transport to those trying to escape were crimes punishable by death, and there was no shortage of "examples" held up to the general public to discourage them from helping their Jewish friends and neighbors.  These were extraordinary times confronting very ordinary people, but many rose to the challenge and became true heroes.  Their names are inscribed on this wall for all to see... for all to honor....and for all to emulate if the occasion ever were to arise again.

And now....the rest of the story

The divorce from Pierre Frottier concluded, Madame also eventually parted ways with the handsome Gianni Tosetti.  Some years later, she met and married Sheldon Reynolds, an American television producer best known for his involvement in the Sherlock Holmes franchise, and may have moved to New York City shortly thereafter, thus explaining Caroline’s high school years at the Lycee Francaise in New York.

In the ‘80’s, Andrea Reynolds life took a dramatic turn as she became embroiled in one of the most highly publicized murder trials of recent memory.  Arguably the first murder trial to be breathlessly recounted daily on American television, the case against wealthy socialite Claus von Bulow for allegedly murdering his heiress wife Sunny brought Andrea Milos Frottier Reynolds onto center stage of the global media maelstrom.

I remember this seemingly endless trial and its colorful cast of characters, but I never once connected Andrea Reynolds (who became von Bulow’s girlfriend during his subsequent re-trials) as the former “Madame” of Villa Said in Paris.  One London newspaper account in 2009 summarized the events as follows:   [She is referred to as both Andrea Reynolds and Andrea Plunket throughout the accounts.]

By Terry Kirby

The Standard

26 August 2009

The trials of London socialite Claus von Bülow - convicted then acquitted of attempting to murder his wife - have been a source of fascination for more than two decades.

One of the central figures of the affair, Andrea Reynolds, von Bülow's former lover, is breaking her silence on the events with a book promising revelations of sex and betrayal among the super-rich.   Married for the fourth time to Shaun Plunket, the heir to an Irish peerage, Mrs Plunket, 71, has written the inside story of her four-year relationship with von Bülow.  Mrs Plunket, a Hungarian-born socialite and freelance journalist, met von Bülow in the Sixties. They began an affair after his 1982 conviction for the attempted murder of Sunny von Bülow with an insulin overdose, for which he received a 30-year sentence.

After von Bülow's appeal, she helped with his case and gave evidence on his behalf at his second trial in 1985, when he was acquitted. Mrs von Bülow remained in a coma for 28 years, dying last December.  Mrs Plunket wrote the memoir of her affair with von Bülow in New York state's Catskill Mountains, where she runs a bed and breakfast with her husband.  

Her literary agent, David Kuhn, said: "I would describe it as a memoir that is part love story and part detective story which looks at an iconic trial from an insider's perspective."  He said the book was being circulated among leading publishers.  [JM note:  This manuscript was never picked up by any publisher.]

A source close to the book said: "It will shake up American society. It is about love, sex, intrigue, betrayal and contains graphic details of the self-indulgent rich and famous of the Eighties. It might shake-up Claus von Bülow as well."  The book is not said to raise any questions about von Bülow's innocence, which Mrs Plunket has always supported.

She and von Bülow parted in 1987 and she married Shaun Plunket [distant cousin of Queen Elizabeth and the youngest son of an Irish peer] in 1989.   In 1990, she was portrayed by Christine Baranski in the film Reversal of Fortune, for which Jeremy Irons won an Oscar as von Bülow. The following year she was in the spotlight for securing an interview for Tatler with Saddam Hussein before the first Gulf War.

Von Bülow, 83, is from a wealthy Danish family. He attended Cambridge at the age of 16 and was a barrister in London before becoming an assistant to billionaire J Paul Getty.  He married Sunny, an American heiress, in 1970 and the couple lived in Rhode Island.  After his acquittal, von Bülow returned to London, living in Knightsbridge close to his and Sunny's daughter, Cosima, and two grandchildren. He is legally prevented from talking about the case due to the civil suit settlement involving his ex-wife's two other children….

.

Insulin mystery of wife left in coma for 28 years

On 21 December 1980, Sunny von Bülow was found in an irreversible coma on the marble floor of her bathroom in Rhode Island. Her husband Claus was indicted on two counts of attempted murder by insulin injection.

His case, the first major criminal trial to be televised in the US, attracted huge interest. Prosecutors claimed he stood to gain £14 million from his wife's will, and her death would have left him free to marry his mistress at the time, actress Alexandra Isles. The defence said the coma was self-induced by a binge of drugs, sweets and alcohol.

At the 1982 trial, Sunny's maid Maria Schrallhammer said she found a bag belonging to Claus containing a hypodermic needle encrusted with insulin and a bottle marked "insulin". Von Bülow was found guilty and jailed for 30 years. But the conviction was overturned on appeal on the grounds that key pieces of evidence, including the bag, were inadmissible.

At a retrial in 1985, experts testified that Sunny had not been injected with insulin and her coma was caused by factors including alcohol, barbiturates, beta-blockers, hypothermia and aspirin. Claus was acquitted. The marriage was dissolved and he abandoned all claims to her fortune.  [end of article]

Andrea Reynolds attracted so much attention during the subsequent re-trials that famous celebrity journalist Dominic Dunne of Vanity Fair wrote an in depth article about her and von Bulow in a 1985 feature article.  I read the entire article at

http://www.vanityfair.com/magazine/archive/1985/08/vonbulow198508

and I have to say, Dunne captured her brilliantly.  This was the Andrea Milos Frottier that I knew, and it had the ring of truth.  

As a result of this research, I also learned that Caroline attended veterinary school at the University of Pennsylvania (possibly related to her passion for horses which was evident even as a child), but she was there much earlier than my tenure at that institution.  I found no record of a FIFTH marriage (Plunket died several years ago), and found a Facebook page that says she was living in London in 2010.  She has at least one grown grandchild and she is now approximately 75 years old.   If the FB picture is any indication, she is looking pretty good for 75!

So.... when people ask me "Whatever became of the French family that you worked for in Paris in 1969?"  I now have an answer....and much more than anyone bargained for!

Life Among the Super Rich

As I mentioned in an earlier blog post, I lived in Paris during the summer of 1969, just after graduating from college.  I put an ad in the International Herald Tribune seeking an au pair position as a first step toward finding a "real" job once I got to Paris.  I received about a dozen responses to my ad...some from American families (business and government ex-patriates and military families), as well as a number of French families.  I surveyed the options, and chose the family with the best address, the fewest children to look after, and the highest salary!  This eventually brought me to the doorstep of Mme Andrea Milos Frottier, 5 Villa Said (on the Avenue Foch), and her 10 year old daughter Caroline in early June.

I had made my way from the airport to the 16e arrondissement of Paris, a beautiful and very high class residential part of the city.  Avenue Foch is a grand boulevard which emanates from the Place de l'Etoile (l'Arc de Triomphe) and is lined with Haussmanian edifices that housed, among others, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Princesse Caroline of Monaco.  

As I entered the gates of a cul de sac named Villa Said, I looked for #5 and found it quickly.  Above the double door, an official sign from the Paris historical society noted that this had once been the residence of Anatole France, a noted novelist of the 19th century.

I rang the doorbell, and soon the small door at the side (a service entrance) opened.  A Portuguese house maid and a very large dog greeted me.  In heavily accented French, she invited me into the ground level of what turned out to be a 5 story town house (with an elevator, thank goodness).  Maria told me that Madame and Monsieur were in London and would return the next day.  Caroline was still at school.  Meanwhile, my predecessor, a German girl, seemed to be in a hurry to leave.  Eager to learn more about this family, I persuaded her to first brief me on the family before heading for the train station.  

Apparently Madame was Hungarian nobility, her family having escaped from Budapest during the Revolution of 1956 with little more than the family jewels.  She lived for a time in Switzerland, briefly married, divorced, and married again to Pierre Frottier and moved to Paris.  They had a 10 year old daughter Caroline, but were in the midst of a messy divorce.  Meanwhile, a handsome Italian playboy Gianni Tosetti had moved in to the townhouse in the Villa Said.  

Sound like a soap opera?  Just wait.  It gets better (or rather worse)!

Unfortunately my pictures of this "family' are packed away in my stored belongings but I was able to locate a picture of Mr. Tosetti on the internet with his pal the Italian Duc d'Aoste.  Tosetti is on the left.

Caroline was the quintessential "poor little rich girl," neglected by her socialite mother and raised by a succession of nannies, governesses, and au pairs.  Starved for affection, she proved problematic from the first moment we met.  I took a brief nap before her return from school and was awakened by the double doors to a guest room bursting open.  The ten year old, hands on hips, stared at me.  I struggled to my feet, introduced myself in French, to which she replied "Oh don't bother....I speak perfectly good English (delivered with a British accent, no less!)."

The evening went downhill from there as I tried to establish some sort of rapport with her.  House rules, communicated to me by the German au pair, dictated a bath and bedtime by 9 pm.  Madame's bathroom was off limits since Caroline had her own.  However, I lost the first battle of wills as she ran and locked herself in her mother's bathroom and turned on the water.  Minutes later she burst into the salon, holding a faucet knob in her hand and wailing that the tub was overflowing.  I plunged my arm into the water, releasing the plug, and screwed the faucet back on the wall and turned off the water, but not before the pink carpet was soaked.  Thus began my tenure chez la famille Frottier.

The following day, Madame (Frottier) and Monsieur (Tosetti) returned from London and the four of us had dinner in the dining room.  The Portuguese maid, cook, and driver took their meals in the kitchen.

During the course of that dinner, Madame asked if I had a driver's license which of course I did.  Apparently, in addition to the Bentley, the family kept a small Fiat as a vehicle to get Caroline from school to her various lessons.  Unfortunately, it was a standard transmission and I did not know how to drive such a car.  No problem, said Mr. Tosetti, I'll teach you.

So at 9:30 at night, I climbed into the tiniest car I had ever seen with an Italian guy whose French was no better than mine.  Unfortunately, my vocabulary didn't include the words for ignition, steering wheel, shift, brakes, gears, clutch, etc.  The next fifteen minutes in Paris traffic were enough to convince Monsieur and Madame that perhaps Caroline could be shuttled about the city via Metro.  

Madame was 32 years old and quite beautiful in an aristocratic and very unapproachable way.  The word "imperious" comes to mind.  She told me she was an editor for Vogue but she did not seem to hold a real job in the sense of going to work from 9 to 5.  Instead she and Mr. Tosetti were dressed in designer gown and tux nearly every evening of the week, disappearing around 9 pm and returning in the wee hours.  (No wonder they needed an au pair!)  They were clearly part of Paris society and were out "being seen" every night, which is arguably one of the obligations of those in the haute couture fashion industry.  They often hosted dinners at home, welcoming well known names such as writer Francoise Sagan and the Rothschild's.  I wasn't included in these soirees of course.  My role was merely to keep Caroline out of the way and entertained.  

To say the least, Madame was unlike anyone I had ever met in my life and I observed her with fascination, if not an element of fear.  Indeed this Devil didn't wear Prada....but she did wear Marc Bohan and Nina Ricci.

By the end of the summer, I had given up on ever landing a "real" job in Paris.  I didn't have a work visa, and had no appreciable professional skills that were currently in demand.  Since I certainly didn't aspire to a career as an au pair,  I headed back to the US.  I reflected on this experience many times over the years, and was grateful for this glimpse into a world I might never have otherwise experienced.  However, I never once envied the wealth and excess that I witnessed over those months.  The image that stuck with me was that of emptiness,  loneliness, and total lack of purpose to their glamorous lives...not to mention the inevitable collateral damage of parental indifference to little Caroline.  

People often ask if I stayed in touch with Madame or Caroline.  No, that was not going to happen.  I was just another in a long line of household help with no special status or place in their lives.  However a few years ago, I googled Caroline Frottier on the internet and found that she had graduated from the Lycee Francaise in New York City.  I don't know how she got there or where she is now (now 54 years old!), but found that bit of information quite interesting.

It prompted me to begin researching what happened to Madame this past week...and I am still reeling from the shocking turns her life took over the years that followed my departure from Paris.  Love affairs, multiple marriages, scandals, and even a world famous murder trial marked this woman's extraordinary yet sad life.  

Stay tuned for the next installment:  Whatever Happened to Andrea Milos Frottier?  You will be amazed!

LESSONS LEARNED

So....I've been in Paris a bit over two weeks now.  I turned off my US iPhone upon arrival in France due to the exorbitant charges from AT&T for international roaming, and I decided to just get by with the phone in the apartment.  Indeed I can make unlimited calls to the US for no charge.  I'm out all day nearly every day, and family and friends in the US are asleep during half that time, so I thought a European cell phone would be a waste of time and money.  Just another thing to cram into my already overstuffed purse.  The phone in the apartment should be all I need.

WRONG!

Today, I had a long list of plans and bolted out the door around noon.  Immediately as the self-locking door closed, I realized BOTH sets of keys were on the dining room table.  [Expletives deleted.]

What to do?  OK...Let's review.  I have no phone.  I have no access to a computer.  I don't have Jeanne's phone number.  I have not seen an internet cafe anywhere in Paris (apparently all have been run out of business by smart phones and iPads).  I haven't even seen a public phone booth since leaving the airport!  And I certainly had not seen any locksmith shops.  

So...resigned to spending the remainder of the day paying for my stupidity, I headed for the main drag, the rue de Rivoli.  

Almost immediately, my spirits lifted as I found a shop that specialized in keys....but it was closed until 3pm.  I strongly suspected he only MAKES duplicate keys and doesn't make house calls, so I didn't want to gamble on waiting for his return at 3 pm.  Finally, I decided to go into a nearby hotel to see if I could get computer access so that I could either get Jeanne's phone number from my gmail or the phone number of a nearby locksmith.  The desk clerk obligingly googled a locksmith for me, dialed the number,  handed me the phone, and I set up an appointment for 2:00 pm.  They quoted me a price of 53 euros,  and the desk clerk and I agreed that it was a very reasonable price.  (Too good to be true?)   At 3:30, he finally showed up...only 90 minutes late....and then the fun began.

After his abject apologies for being late (but he couldn't call me to tell me he had been delayed because I had no cell phone....so it's my fault).  He surveyed my door and lock.  "Oh, madam.  This is going to be quite difficult.  You see, you have a security door.  It is not a simple process of just opening the lock.  I will have to destroy the lock and then we will have to replace the entire mechanism. "  "How much will that cost?"  Well, madam, this is a very special locking system.  It could cost as much as 1,500 euros [$1938....yes, nearly two thousand dollars!] depending on the lock you choose."

Huh?  1500 euros?  To unlock a door?  My French must be more deficient than I thought.  How many ways are there to say 1500 euros in the French language?  "Monsieur, vous avez dit QUINZE CENT EUROS?  MILLE CINQ CENT EUROS?  Un, cinq, zero, zero....EUROS???? " 

I wrote it down.   1500 euros.   "Oui, madam."   

You must be joking!

"Mais, non, madame.  Voyez, ce n'est pas MOI qui détermine le prix!  C'est la compagnie."  Yeah, right.

As I contemplated this "mugging," I suddenly remembered I DID have Jeanne's phone number in my wallet.    On a small piece of paper, I had written in French "In case of emergency, please call Jeanne Chabaane, tel.  XXXX....(Hey!  You never know when you will get hit by a bus and rendered unconscious!)

I asked the young man to call her "for authorization" of the charges.  When she learned the situation, she immediately sprang into action.  Within minutes, a young man from around the corner named Cedric, bounded up the stairs and literally threw himself between the locksmith and the door.  He instructed me to pay the guy the 53 euros ($68) I had been quoted on the phone (which was merely for his "house call" and nothing else) and then sent him packing.  

In the meantime, Jeanne was speeding across Paris with her master key....and she let me in.  Both she and Cedric were appalled at the audacity of this locksmith and underscored that I should always, ALWAYS call one of them first with any similar problem.  

So, what did I learn from this?

1. Be absolutely paranoid about having my keys in my hand as I leave the apartment.
2. Do not hesitate to ask Jeanne or Cedric for help.  They know this city.  They can recognize a scam when they see one.
3. Keep a few more phone numbers in my wallet that Jeanne gave me (in case she is out of town and Cedric is not available.)
4. Buy a damn cell phone.

Obviously, I did nothing else of consequence today.  It was raining pitchforks most of the afternoon while I was resolving my problem, so I'm drying out this evening, and planning for a better day tomorrow!

Now.....What did I do with that corkscrew.........?

Post Cards--Then and Now

Decades ago, when I was a student in Grenoble, the "study abroad experience" was quite different from what students experience today.  Over the past couple of weeks, I've been thinking about how much that experience has changed--in very profound ways.  The evolution of the post card provides one illustration of that transformation.

When I go to the Marche aux Puces at Saint Ouen (the flea market), I invariably find myself sorting through the antique post card bin.  I bought a couple of post cards a few years ago (similar to the one above) and had them framed since they represented views of old Grenoble and the bridge over the Isere River, both recalling my year at the University of Grenoble in the late '60's.  These post cards pre-dated the '60's by several decades and were truly antiques.  On the reverse, I noted the brief and predictable message--the French equivalent of "Having a wonderful time.  Wish you were here!"  Such post cards served a number of purposes.  They were the least expensive way to keep in touch with loved ones who could not make the trip.  They chronicled the trip for both friends and family.  And they also served as reminders of special places the traveler had visited.   They first appeared in the mid-1800's when more and more people began to venture farther and farther from home.

When I left a small town in the Midwest and traveled to Europe for the first time, I bought dozens of post cards during the year and religiously sent them to friends and family so that they would know where I was traveling and what I was seeing along the way.  I knew that they were interested in vicariously sharing in the experience, so I felt this was something I could not neglect.  It generally took a couple of weeks for these post cards to reach their destination, and they were always greeted with much excitement.  A post card all the way from London!  From Paris!  From Rome!  It was something very special that appeared in the mailboxes of loved ones in that small town from time to time, and each card was passed around the neighborhood, to co-workers, and to friends after church on Sunday.  

The same was true of letters.  Written on light blue "onion skin" paper that was so light and thin you could literally see through it, all letters to the US had to be labeled "AIR MAIL/PAR AVION" both front and back lest they join the sacks of mail going by boat.  It meant the difference between a two week delivery time and three months!  Postage was determined by weight, and my budget was severely limited, so I learned to write in exceedingly small script, using both sides of the tissue-thin paper.  The time required for a letter to be received on the other side of the Atlantic and the time required to get a response contributed to a real sense of isolation and distance, and that had a lot to do with learning to become independent and self sufficient very quickly.

Trans-Atlantic telephone calls in those days were ridiculously expensive and most of us made only one during that entire year....on Christmas Day.  Most French families and most student apartments had no land lines (and there certainly were no cell phones), so one had to go to the post office, stand in line, fill out a form for placing an overseas call, proceed to a designated booth, and await the connection to be  accomplished by various "international operators" both here and abroad.  All of this required functioning 100% in French which in itself presented a real challenge.  In contrast, today's study abroad student can call home whenever he/she feels the urge, either on a cell phone or via Skype.  Voila!  Instantaneous connection with friends and family, so no real sense of distance is ever really established, and there is certainly no need for the laborious and now comparatively expensive post card!

When I arrived home at the end of that year abroad, my mother gave me a box on my 21st birthday.  It contained every letter and postcard that I had written to my family and grandparents during my year abroad, organized in chronological order with the letters in their original envelopes.  There must have been nearly 100 items that chronicled every detail of that year in France.  After all these years, those letters and post cards are among my most treasured possessions because they are irreplaceable.  About every five years or so, I'll sit down and read through them on a rainy day and marvel at all the details that I have forgotten and how much that year meant to me.

The changes since those days are obvious.  If I buy a post card today, it is only as a remembrance of a place I've visited.  They are often bought in lieu of taking photographs myself.  I confess that I haven't actually sent a post card to anyone in decades.  Yet I must admit, an e-mail message seems a poor substitute for something one can hold in one's hands.  An item purchased by a loved one, addressed in his/her own hand, and that actually made the physical journey from continent to continent seems more of a "gift" than an electronic message ever could.

So to all my friends and family, I apologize for merely posting  "JoAnn's Post Cards from Paris" on a blog--the 21st century version of the post card.  It's a strange thing that I don't even have mailing addresses for most of you anymore...only e-mail addresses (having abandoned the Christmas card tradition long ago).  Nonetheless, the ease of communicating this way ensures that there will be more frequent exchanges and that all of you who are interested in following this adventure can do so at your convenience.  Hopefully it is a fair trade-off!

Oh...and by the way, I AM having a wonderful time, and I DO wish you were here!

Love,

JoAnn

Place des Vosges

The jewel of the Marais is the elegant Place des Vosges.  I love this wonderful square for so many reasons.  Built in the early 1600's by Henri IV, it is the oldest square in Paris.  Intended to be a royal palace (that curiously never housed a king or queen), the buildings soon evolved into an entire square of architecturally similar "hotels" occupied by the French aristocracy,  each connected to others by covered arcades.  The beautiful buildings of red brick and white stone are commonly cited as one of the first successful attempts at urban planning, a major departure from the random buildings of medieval Paris that popped up on any empty piece of land.  The idea proved popular and was often emulated in other European cities thereafter.  

The square is framed by carefully sculpted linden trees on all four sides.  As symmetrical and well ordered as it all appears, the central square (dedicated to Louis XIII) was nonetheless the site of numerous duels, and behind the walls of the court, tales of intrigue would make modern soap operas pale in comparison.  

Centuries later, one of the apartments in the Place des Vosges (#6) became the home of my all-time favorite writer--Victor Hugo.  This is where he wrote Les Miserables (which is in my opinion one of the greatest novels ever written), and his home has been preserved as a museum.  Hugo was politically active and very influential in a time of great social upheaval in France, so his personal story and his literary works reflect the events of his time.  

 One can sit in the Place des Vosges and be overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of this architectural marvel; mesmerized by all of the history and literary genius that unfolded in this relatively small and secluded square.  Or one can shop the galleries; have lunch in the sidewalk cafes; listen to street musicians, or just sit on a bench and be charmed by present day family life that continues to play out day after day in the sand box, on the park benches, around the fountain, or along the paths where children squeal in delight as they chase the pigeons. 

In a small space, this square embodies all that I love about Paris:  art, architecture, music, history, literature, food.. and endlessly fascinating people.  

Exploring the Marais

As I move around the neighborhood, I often see a sign pointing in the direction of "Village St Paul" and today I decided to go find out what it was.  While the Marais is one of the oldest parts of the city, dating back to the Middle Ages, much of it has been rebuilt over the centuries as streets and buildings began to accommodate a growing population and all sorts of vehicles.  The Village St Paul has escaped the various revisions over the years and remains the closest thing to what Paris once was in its earliest years...a labyrinth of courtyards, alleys, and narrow winding streets. 

The street level shops have been converted into boutiques and studios that cater to antiques dealers, art and design studios and home wares.  (Nirvana!)  Relatively undiscovered by tourists, it was a quiet refuge from the hustle and bustle of the rue de Rivoli just a block away.

                                       The courtyards of Village St Paul

The neighborhood is also home to the Musee Carnavalet which is devoted to the history of Paris and the exploits of its famous inhabitants over the years.  The museum has over 100 rooms filled with a wide range of art work, entire rooms of furniture from Louis XIV to the Belle Epoque, Jean-Jacques Rousseau's inkwell and other personal effects, Proust's entire bedroom, and Napolean's campaign kit that he took on the road with him whenever new places had to be conquered.   I barely scratched the surface of its vast collections so will come again another day to sift through the "attic" of Paris.

The Marais has historically been home to the Jewish community in Paris, so there are wonderful kosher restaurants and delis in the neighborhood.  The rue des Rosiers is a central artery of that community and I had come to look for Jo Goldenburg's restaurant, the site of a terrorist bombing in the 80s.  I didn't realize it had closed, but a plaque remains on the side of the building commemorating the loss of six lives and more than 20 injured.  Curiously, no one was ever arrested or held accountable for this crime.

Tempus fugit

I took the metro to Georges V this morning to attend services at the American Cathedral of the Holy Trinity.  When I lived in Paris in 1969, this was the church closest to my neighborhood, and I met many friends there.  During subsequent visits to Paris, I often visited the American Church of Paris on the Quai d'Orsay, a much more ex-patriate community-oriented church.  The much larger Cathedral hosts a lot of visiting rectors and pastors from the US, and it is in the heart of "chic" Paris, just off the Champs Elysees.  As you can imagine, the choir is fantastic and the church hosts many classical concerts which are both world-class and very affordable.

Today, as I sat in a pew, I found my thoughts wandering back to 1969.  Only 22 years old, I was just out of college and desperate to get back to France.  I turned down a Peace Corps assignment in Micronesia in order to make my way back to Paris, skipping commencement at Illinois State in my haste to return.  I had accepted a temporary job working "au pair" for a French family in the posh Avenue Foch area of the 16e arrondissement in hopes of later finding an English teaching position in the city.  (But more about that later....)

During that time, I walked to the cathedral every Sunday and always sat a few pews behind former Senator, former UN Ambassador and former Ambassador to Vietnam Henry Cabot Lodge who was leading the Paris peace talks aimed at ending the Vietnam War.   Sargent Shriver (founder of the Peace Corps and JFK's brother-in-law) was the US Ambassador to France at the time, and I saw him on a couple of occasions as well.  (I always wondered if that might have been a not-so-subtle sign from God that perhaps I made a questionable choice in declining the Peace Corps assignment!)  

The late Sixty's was an incredible time of social change both in France and the US, and I had a ringside seat to the famous "evenements de Mai 1968" [see pictures on link] while studying here in France.  Student demonstrations, tear gas, stone pavements ripped up, classroom boycotts, crippling strikes, etc.  It was an amazing time in modern history, and student activism clearly changed the course of world events.  

I couldn't help thinking about that 22 year-old sitting in that pew who would hear time and again "Never trust anyone over thirty!" during those troubled years.  I'm 65 now and my KIDS are over thirty!  

How could more than four decades fly by so quickly?    And even more important, how could so much change....and yet so much remain the same?

Ascension Day

Yesterday was a public holiday in France (Jour de l'Ascension).  While not particularly religious, the French are receptive to a day off, especially in the month of May.  (Labor Day was May 1, Victory in Europe Day was Wednesday.  Pentecost comes later this month, and Mother's Day is coming up on the 26th)  How does one "celebrate" the Ascension, you ask?  Well....by taking the kids to a park, or museum, or out for a stroll in the sunshine.  

My day started at the Jardin des Plantes located just across the Seine  Although few shops and services were open, it was great fun watching the families sprawled on the grass in the parks; the children chasing each other through the long "allees" of trees; older folks deep in conversation on the park benches, and lovers strolling hand in hand throughout the city, oblivious to the rest of the world.

On the far side of the gardens, I stumbled upon les Arenes de Lutece, an amphitheater dating from the 1st century AD that once hosted gladiators, athletic competitions, confrontations with wild animals, and all the other usual entertainment of the era.  Today the stone "box seats" were occupied by parents reading newspapers while watching their children practice soccer skills and scooter maneuvers!  All the current action has apparently moved to the Stade de France!

I moved on to St Germain and eventually had a bite to eat in a sidewalk cafe near Notre Dame.  I wanted to browse a bit at Shakespeare & Co but there was a long line to get into the tiny bookstore.  I decided to come back another day for reading material in English.   (It was a moment of weakness, I admit.  I should be reading in French anyway!)

Moving on to the bouquinistes along the Seine...I surveyed their wares and feel certain some of those dusty tomes were in those same stalls 45 years ago when I first came to this city.  These old book purveyors must be tax write-off enterprises (except for the postcard and trinket folks who continue to do a brisk business in souvenir kitsch.)  I've never actually seen anyone purchase a philosophical treatise on nihilism, the complete works of Seneca or the collections of some obscure Latvian poet.  That said, my cynicism has been attenuated by reading the link above.  Who knew that the bouquinistes played such an important role in the French Revolution and with the Resistance during WWII.  I owe them an apology!!

I found myself working my way back home through Ile St Louis...with the intent of getting 'une boule de glace Berthillon" (dark chocolate, of course) no matter how long it took. This is quite possibly the best ice cream anywhere.  Indeed the lines were long, but the wait was worth it!  See the embedded video?  You can almost taste it!

Arriving back home around 5 pm, I collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep watching the news, thus ruining any chance of sleeping throughout the night.  My jet lag is kicking in at odd hours, and I'm definitely not doing what I need to do to power through it!  

Update on the Fridge Saga:  Still no fridge....They say "Maybe Monday" but I'm not counting on it.  No use setting yourself up for disappointment.  I am in France after all!  It's part of the experience.

L'appartement dans la rue Crillon

Paris apartment rentals abound on the internet and I spent months surveying the options for this extended stay.  In January, I started to become nervous that all of the choice apartments would be snapped up by summer tourists if I didn't commit soon.  After weighing the pros and cons of various neighborhoods, types of buildings, size of flats, amenities, and of course cost, I settled on a flat in the rue Crillon in the historic Marais neighborhood.  Although rentals in Paris are not cheap by anyone's standards (think Manhattan or London for comparison purposes), this one represented a lot of space for the money.  Since I have a lot of visitors coming in and out over the summer months, I opted for size, location, and modern conveniences over historic charm, and took this flat in a 1970's building just two blocks from the Seine and the beautiful Ile St. Louis ....and just a short walk to Place des Vosges.  (Note:  Don't skip over the links!  These videos are part of the tour and really give more of a "feel" for Paris than I ever could convey using words alone.)

As we all know, charm is another real estate term for "outdated", "quirky", "small" etc.  Such places rarely have elevators, often have non-functioning fireplaces, imperceptible heating, and microscopic kitchens.  The charm sometimes wears off as the day-to-day realities of life settle in.  Nonetheless, this modern building is situated in one of the most charming and historic neighborhoods of Paris, and I'll be posting separate missives about the surrounding area in the months ahead.  In the meantime, here are some pictures of my 2 BR, 2 Bath, 1,000 sf digs that even boasts a separate utility room (unheard of in Paris!) and a view of a lovely urban garden.  The decor is an homage to Provence (the South of France)...very sunny and cheerful!  (I need to go buy some sunflowers or lavender to complete the tableau.)  In my mind, this is a bit like a Manhattan apartment evoking a Miami or SoCal vibe....but why not?  Paris can often be overcast and a bit gloomy at times, especially in winter.

Upon my arrival, the owner's representative Jeanne Chabanne pointed out all the idiosyncrasies of how things work in French apartments, especially the TV, phone, and the various appliances in the kitchen.  In my jet lag haze, I spotted nothing of concern and confidently sent her on her way so that I could take a much needed nap.  Later in the afternoon, upon my return from the market and laden with two bags of groceries, I found the refrigerator was not turned on.  After fiddling with the controls, studying the manual, and ultimately calling Jeanne, I am still without refrigeration.  So....so much for modern conveniences!  She is working hard to resolve the issue quickly but we are coming up on one of several  "bank holidays" in May that will close things down for a couple of days.

Stay tuned for my impending encounter with the notorious service professionals of France.  This could get interesting!