Paris in the Rain

 Gil: Can you picture how drop dead gorgeous this city is in the rain? Imagine this town in the '20s. Paris in the '20s, in the rain. The artists and writers!

Inez: Why does every city have to be in the rain? What's wonderful about getting wet.            Midnight in Paris

We chose to start our trip with a week in Paris.  The week we chose is expected to have rain—every day!  I almost didn’t pack an umbrella but threw one in the suitcase at the last minute.  Thank goodness!

Another thing to remember is that Paris pretty much closes down on Mondays, in general.  Most museums and other historical sites are closed—except the Louvre—but it is also a holiday weekend, so the Louvre is to be avoided if you are not comfortable or overwhelmed by crowds.  The brief time we were at the Louvre—not even in the museum itself—was overwhelming and hot.  Most everything opens on Tuesdays, but the Louvre is closed.

In case you wonder what holiday observances we ran into, they are:

Sunday	May 19	Whit Sunday, Pentecost			Observance
Monday	May 20	Whit Monday, the day after Pentecost			National holiday

So what will we do today?  I find that the Pantheon is open, and it is in our neighborhood.  Mom says, why do we want to go there?  Just because it is open?  One thing I discovered, and that I probably forgot somewhere along the way, is that Foucault’s Pendulum hangs in the Pantheon.  The Pantheon also has a crypt in which famous and notable French men and women are buried:  writers, poets, politicians, scientists, war heroes.  And, we have never been there in all our travels to Paris.

We plot a path that takes us to the back of the Pantheon.  

There is restoration work going on.  Mom sees a sign that says Pietons, which she takes to mean pedestrians.  Not so, there is also an Interdit Public sign.  I am not sure that the way Mom and Tom have taken will go anywhere so I lag behind, and a security guard comes to the gate.  I ask, Ou est l’entrance?  And he points to back the way we came.  I shout for Mom and Tom to come back.  A discussion ensues, but we walk around o the front of the monument.  There’s a statue of Jean-Jacques Rousseau in the parking lot.

 Around the front to the west, we see a rain-obscured Tour Eiffel.

This is our first place in which you can use the Paris Museum Pass.  Inside, we purchase ours from a very friendly attendance.  Whenever someone asks Tom how he is, his answer is usually, Above Average.  He says this to the attendant who starts to laugh.  I said, you get it!  

The Pantheon is a huge domed building.  Originally, in its construction, the façade and pediment were modeled on the Pantheon designed by Agrippa in Rome.  The dome is a more modern design, reminiscent of the capitol building in Washington, D. C.  Murals dedicated to depicting the lives of Ste. Genevieve, Charlemagne, and Joan of Arc cover the walls.  Scupltures emerge from shadows.

Mom and Tom find a seat beneath a tribute to Antoine de Ste Exupery, pilot and author of Le Petit Prince

To the back of the main building, toward the east, are stairs leading down to an extensive crypt that stretches the length of the building on top.  The first tomb we come upon is that of Jean-Jacques Rousseau.  It is an ornate wooden sarcophagus with what looks like a hand coming out the front.  

I proceed along the right side, following the crypts and names of counts and politicians; not names with which I am familiar.  At the end of the crypt is a large room with tables and a video plays.  I start back along the left side and start to recognize names, like Louis Braille, Amee Cesaire, Emile Zola, Victor Hugo, and Alexandre Dumas, pere. 

Mom finds me at Victor Hugo.  They decide to go upstairs to find a bench so as to wait for me to finish my tour.  I asked if they had seen Marie Curie, and they had not, so I had to find her before I left.  I find Marie Curie, and her husband, Pierre, in another area.  You can walk into their crypt while others are blocked with metal gates. 

I also find Andre Malraux.  Next to his tomb is an Egyptian cat statue.

 As I make my way out, I notice a crowd at another crypt.  It is that of Voltaire.  I watch a man set up a picture on his phone, first to take of his girlfriend in front of the statue of Voltaire that also included the sarcophagus, then to have her take his picture. 

I find a winding staircase back to the main floor, and there are Mom and Tom sitting patiently on a bench.  

But wait!  We have forgotten something!  Ou est le pendulum de Foucault?

It has been dismantled during reconstruction work!  Bummer!

A little girl in pink 

A game of peek-a-boo

After a squiz at the gift shop, we are out the door.  We pass a view of the Sorbonne's astronomy observatory:

A fountain in front of a Luxembourg Gardens entrance:

Straight ahead are the Luxembourg Gardens, but it is not really a good day for a stroll in the park.  We have lunch at Le Rostand which is next to the Gardens.  Two men are sitting in an area by themselves, talking, and a photographer, I assume a professional photographer because she has and SLR with a super long lens, is taking pictures of them.  I figure they must be SOMEBODY, but I don’t know who, and take a picture anyway.

 Lunch in Le Rostand is another comedy of errors (not the first, and I am sure, will not be the last).  

The waiter doesn’t seem to understand some of our questions about the meals, and twice, someone else is called over to help.  I had quiche again, only this time a traditional quiche lorraine, Tom, salmon, and Mom, an Indian chicken kababs.  

 Trying to be artsy:

The bistro was very crowded and noisy.  There was a white cat making his way beneath the tables.  Later, I saw a woman walk in with her two Pomeranians in her arms.  Underneath my salad greens, I find a chicken kabab.  Whatever she can’t eat, Mom usually ends up putting on Tom’s plate.  This time, I got some as well.

A cute dog and his boy on the way out:

We decide that it would be more time-saving to just walk back to the apartment rather than to try to take a bus or a metro.  We try another route, umbrellas in a line.  

Jean-Jacques Rousseau has a new hat:

An old model Citroen:

I have a personal mission of spotting the various water fountains scattered around Paris.  This is a new siting.

I, for one, am hoping to avoid the stairs from rue Monge but no.  We have to stop for a baguette and sundry, and instead of going back the way we had come, down the hill we go, around the corner to Place Benjamin Fondane, and up the stairs.

Graffiti up the stairs: