I'll always have Paris, part 1

It's now over a week from my return from my Christmas holidays, and already I'm back hard at work, writing reports, running programs, etc. What's new? But for one and a half weeks, I was able to completely disconnect from my life here in Stuttgart, and just enjoyed my own company in Paris.

Tuesday 18th

I arrived at Stuttgart Hbf just in time for a quick breakfast of bretzel and coffee before boarding the TGV at 8:50am. The service between Stuttgart and Paris has been running for about half a year now, and the TGVs sometimes travel all the way to Munich. Although the TGV has a very deserved reputation for being fast, it's worth remembering that it can only pick up the real speed on special tracks which lie within France. Thus, we didn't really get flying until after passing through Strasbourg - but when we finally did get to the top speed, you could certainly tell it by the way the countryside was smeared into a blur. Almost twice as fast as the express trains in Germany! Inside, the TGV has a rather unusual decor - asymmetric headrests with the sharp curves of 50s retro style, and dark magenta and orange tones (it works because the French did it, need I say more?). That being said, I think the German ICE has a fraction more leg room...

Because of a delay just out of Strasbourg, we only arrived in Paris Gare l'Est at 13:30. I immediately made my way down to the metro and travelled across the city to my hotel in the 15th Arrondisement. The hotel I stayed in was a fantastic bargain - only EUR 32.80 per night, with cooking facilities. I had a small single room, which looked for all the world like a converted garden shed from the outside (photo right) but was actually rather cosy on the inside (photo left). The street in which the hotel is situated is not much to write home about (west-looking photo at right) but who cares? It's close to supermarkets, bakeries (very important) and three metro stations, so it was an excellent "base".

After getting settled in and doing some shopping, I had just over an hour before dusk. So off I went to the Eiffel tower, only a 10 minute walk away from my hotel. There's something surprisingly elegant and delicate about Gustave Eiffel's creation - perhaps it is the subtle lacework of its lower curves, or the prismatic geometry of its form, warping our sense of perspective when we look up from beneath it. Whatever it is, it is certainly one of the most remarkable buildings on the 19th century.

As the sun continued to dip towards the horizon, I walked along the Quai Branly, until I came to the Pont de Bir-Harkeim. The view below shows the sun setting over the Seine.


Wednesday 19th

It might seem strange, but on my first full day in Paris I took a train from Montparnasse to a small town an hour south of the city - Chartres. Of course, there is only one reason to go there, and that is the cathedral. Built upon a small rise above the Eure river, it is rightly regarded as one of (if not the most) beautiful examples of medieval Gothic art and architecture - but above all for its wonderful collection of 13th century stained glass.

Walking up from the train station, the first view you have of Notre Dame de Chartres is across a plain square, and it is breathtaking, as the cathedral seems to almost float above the old medieval town. Proceeding a little through the old town, you come to the cathedral square itself, and are confronted by the western end of the church, with the twin steeples looming above you.

Unfortunately, a great disappointment awaited me upon entrance to the cathedral. Today was the "day of reconciliation", when the good folk of Chartres come to the cathedral to confess their sins and reconcile with the Church (I think). I had never heard of it before, and I was told that this is a new innovation in the Catholic world. The upshot of this, however, was that I was barred from the region between the entrance and the transept - alas, the region where the most beautiful stained glass is to be found. I was thus also unable to see the central rose window, due to the large choir obscuring the view. Since the southern rose window was under restoration and consequently blacked out, that left the northern rose window and the chapel windows at the east end - still a rich collection. The northern rose, in its subdued blues, transfixed me for hours, while in each chapel I stood trying to read the stories written in the light. As I was barred from admiring the stained glass in most of the cathedral, I had to content myself to reading the stories carved in stone on the outside. In addition to the stained glass, the sculpture which adorns the three entrances to the cathedral are masterpieces in their own right, and exerted enormous stylistic influence in medieval art. I show some black-and-white close-ups here.

The religious ceremony occurring during my visit served as a useful reminder that this church is primarily not a work of art, but a place of worship, and I was at best a tolerated intruder. This prompted me to meditate upon the fact that while for me Chartres is a majestic thing of beauty, for the original builders it was central to their worldview, a concrete testament to their faith, as I imagine also for the modern worshippers. Perhaps I idealize the past - we know that cathedrals were often treated as the town market in the middle ages - but this simply reinforces my point, which is that in that time there was no concept of the secular and the spiritual. The two were indivisible, and everything revolved around religion. For example, the astrological symbols on the west portal, and the subject of a particularly beautiful window, symbolized the order of the seasons, which was itself a manifestation of God's order. The modern mind no longer so readily sees a reflection of the divine in such things.


I decided to have a wander through the old town of Chartres, which slopes down to the river Euse from the cathedral. Although the town was really quite charming and a refreshing change from the typical German old towns I have seen, the day was bitterly cold, with the sun providing almost no warmth. In the afternoon, as much to seek refuge as out of interest, I visited the stained glass museum in the city. Chartres is still apparently a centre of stained glass art, and the museum itself is housed in a remarkable medieval storehouse. All the work in the museum is in a very modern style, and while I admire the craft work involved, most of these abstract designs really did fail to move me.

It was by now the late afternoon and I wandered back up to the cathedral square to watch the sun turn the light grey stonework from orange to mauve.






















Thursday 20th

Lying in bed on Wednesday night, still a little disappointed by my poor luck, I asked myself what would Orson Welles do? Apart from heading down to the supermarket to pick up a couple of cheap bottles of red in which to drown his sorrows, he would undoubtedly return to Chartres to see the place properly. I remembered seeing some portion of his 1974 film "F for Fake", and how moved I was by this scene. For those who can't see a youtube movie, I post below his thoughts on Chartres (unfortunately you don't get a sense of his superb delivery):

"Now this has been standing here for centuries. The premier work of man perhaps in the whole western world and it's without a signature. Chartres. A celebration to God’s glory and to the dignity of man. All that’s left, most artists seem to feel these days, is man. Naked, poor, forked radish. There aren’t any celebrations. Ours, the scientists keep telling us, is a universe which is disposable. You know it might be just this one anonymous glory of all things, this rich stone forest, this epic chant, this gaiety, this grand choiring shout of affirmation, which we choose when all our cities are dust; to stand intact, to mark where we have been, to testify to what we had it in us to accomplish. Our works in stone, in paint, in print are spared, some of them for a few decades, or a millennium or two, but everything must fall in war or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash: the triumphs and the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life... we're going to die. 'Be of good heart,' cry the dead artists out of the living past. Our songs will all be silenced - but what of it? Go on singing. Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much."

Ah, I would give my right arm for a voice like Orson's, but alas it wouldn't be enough - I'd also have to give my liver. But to have such thoughts as these - what power and clarity in his poetry! So, with that, my mind was made up, and so on Thursday I found myself once more on the 9:20 train from Montparnasse.

Although again it was bitterly cold, the sun was still shining and the day was perfect for admiring the stained glass windows, especially the western rose window with the famous tree of Jesse. Standing just before the altar and looking around the nave, each window seems to form a lustrous tapestry of the most subtle colours, primarily aquamarine (Chartres blue!) but also greens, yellows and purples, with the detailed stories somehow rearranging themselves into abstract geometrical patterns or the entwining motifs of an oriental carpet. By late afternoon, the light streaming in the western rose window dappled the thick stone columns with reds and oranges.


Friday 21st

Friday was my first full day in Paris. As the sun was still shining, I decided to walk to the Eiffel tower and admire this again in the morning light. Although I toyed with the idea of ascending the tower, I figured that the winter haze would cut down visibility to such an extent that it wouldn't be worth it. I therefore contented myself to walking to the Trocadero palace where the sun behind the Eiffel tower created a spectacular view.

By about 11am the square under the tower was becoming rather packed, and so I decided to start walking towards the Ile de la Cite. Cutting through the 7th arrondisement to the Hotel des Invalides, where I took the photo on the left of the sunlight through the leafless trees. Walking down towards the Place de la Concorde, I crossed the Seine and then into the Jardin de Tuileries, which apart from a few dog-walkers was deserted. After warming myself in the low winter sun, I wandered back to the dark shadows of the left bank.

On the previous days I had taken a packed lunch of cheese and tomato baguette-sandwiches, which had proved a winning (and budget-saving) combination. Today however, I decided to splash out and buy lunch somewhere in town. I found a rather untouristy little corner cafe near Place St-Michel (quite an acheivement in itself) which even had a rather tasteless vegetarian soup on offer. I then discovered the reason why I had not yet seen (and indeed never did see) a fat Frenchman or Frenchwoman - food is just too expensive for this to be possible. For the pitiful bowl of soup I could buy a heavy spaetzle dish (German macaroni) here in Stuttgart. Also during my lunch I was "treated" to one of the last displays of a very French tradition - smoking in a cafe. I didn't suspect it at the time, but since the 1st of January smoking has been banned in all indoor areas.

Having been fortified by some coffee, I headed off to wander around the Ile de la Cite and the Ile St Louis, before popping in to see Sainte Chapelle. Although you have to run the guantlet of beefy French security guys (Sainte Chapelle is located within the Ministry of Justice compound), it is well worth the indignity of an x-ray. Sainte Chapelle is a magnificent little sanctuary built by Louis IX to hold the holy relics of the Passion. As Sainte Chapelle was built a century after Chartres, improvements in building techniques allowed much of a wall to be opened up for stained glass, producing an effect as if standing in some fantastic hall of gems. I spent an hour here, craning my neck to try to see the very tops of the windows, for which binoculars are almost required.

As dusk was fast approaching, I walked down along the Rue de Rivoli until I again came to the Jardin de Tuileries. At the very end of the garden, facing onto the Place de la Concorde, I lingered to watch the sun set with the view below.


I made my way back to my hotel room via a second cafe where I indulged myself a tasty French beer while reading the Herald Tribune. Although slightly light-headed, I had the presence of mind to inquire at the hotel about an events program for the week, and was given a copy of Le Figaro's Pariscope (gedit?). A quick review of the concerts suggested there was an interesting baroque concert at La Madeline, which although pricey seemed like a nice end to the day. But for some reason (was it the beer?) at the last moment I changed my mind and went off to see a concert of Mendelssohn piano works. The concert turned out to be just as memorable for the location as it was for the music, which was lovely and relaxing. I found the venue on the Boulevard de Strasbourg, in a small cinema/concert hall called l'Archipel. The place was tiny but absolutely charming, with an intimate concert space and at the end of the room a bar for the necessary interval beer and cigarette. I left humming the opening of the piano trio, happy for my fortunate choice.