Mikhail’s All-Star World Tour 2006

Had to catch the 1:30 train to Barcelona, so I spent the morning soaking in Monmartre: wandered the streets, bought a baguette, cheese (bleu de Causses, I think), pate, and pastries, found a little secluded square (next to the Timhotel), and had myself a picnic with pigeons. Then I walked up the hill, stopping to check out the street market along the way. There were lots of sell-out artists offering to sketch me, cut out my silhouette, or sell me Paris views worthy of Thomas Kincade, Painter of Light. So I busted through, sitting on the Sacre Coeur steps one more time and losing myself in a reverie, only to realize that my train departs in an hour.

I made it to Gare de Lyon just in time and caught the train, but the old French lady sitting next to me stole my ticket for the connection to Barcelona. Either that or I lost it, but I never lose things. In any case, I found myself in Montpellier, having missed the last train of the day. So I bought a ticket for the following morning, found a cheap hotel, dropped off my luggage and went out.

This was exactly what I needed to recharge. I’d been tired out by Paris, its endless essential sights and the limited time. Being in a constant state of awe gets tiring after a while. Montpellier was the opposite: no agenda, weather warm enough for a T-shirt, and lots of relaxed people strolling around without intensity. It felt like a resort town, like Anapa on the Black Sea where we used to go every summer. I discovered a beautiful park with a view of the town at the end, then had dinner in the town square watching the fire jugglers.

The concierge at my hotel engaged me in conversation: he’d been to the U.S. (New Jersey - that’s you, Sam and Alex and uncle Ben!) and was convinced that everything about America is better than France. Some of his arguments I agreed with, like the superiority of American labor laws and work ethic, but some seemed just plain silly: he claimed that Americans respect the police more, and scoffed at French patisseries in favor of Dunkin’ Donuts. To each his own, I guess. Gilles, how about it: croissants or donut holes? It’s the 21st century loyalty test…

Day 4 in Paris. On the metro to Gare de Lyon, some young French guy turned on the beatbox and started freestyle rapping to the other passengers; it was hilarious to see their stony faces, trying to pretend he doesn’t exist. After that song ended he played “Dragostea Din Tea” while trying to sing along to the Romanian lyrics. That song is everywhere.

After reserving a ticket for Barcelona, I headed past Bastille to the Pompidou Center. The first thing I saw when I entered was a Hans Bellmer exhibition - surprising. I hadn’t heard of him before: graphic artist from 1920s-1960s. The chronological arrangement of sketches, illustrations, sculptures and photos told the story of a man who starts by pushing the envelope. Then he pulls the envelope instead of pushing, then he bends it, then tears it apart and reassembles it, puts the letter on the outside, then makes the envelope its own stamp, and goes so far that he forgets what the letter was about. Except in his case, the envelope is the human body.

The main collection was presented with a focus on cinema: taking it apart into its various aspects (succession, framing, montage, superposition, etc.) and organizing paintings together with videos by these themes. I saw a few famous works by Kandinsky, Warhol, Richter, and made a couple of discoveries - most memorable is a Russian artist named Ilya Kabakov, with drawings of flying people. Went through the museum twice looking for Miro, but didn’t find him.

I had hoped to go to the Orsee afterwards, but I was museumed out by the onslaught of flashing and static images. Better save the impressionists for next time, when I can enjoy them. So I just strolled around the Seine, went back into St. Germain, read my book in the park, ate at a famous literary bistro (Palidor or Polidor), and generally indulged myself. Then I ran into breakdancers on the street, crowd around them.

It was hard to go home: I loitered around Pont Neuf looking over the river, watching the sky grow dark. I went down into the Metro, but turned around and came back to watch the lights reflected in the water, just a little bit longer.

My third day in Paris, I was exposed to current culture more than history. My roommate Ben and I started by catching the metro downtown and going into Notre Dame. It’s easily the most impressive building I’ve seen here: amazing how the Church could put together the artists, workers, and building materials in the Dark Ages, and keep construction going for 200 years (hey, no big project is ever done on time).

After that, Ben and I split up. I went to St. Chapelle, which was closed because of a strike. So I walked around the parks on the island and went to the Musee Orsay - closed because of student protests. Ben headed to the Eiffel tower (which was also closed for protests). I tried to walk to St. Germain, but that street was blocked by police cars because that’s where the biggest demonstration was taking place - waving flags and a French girl singing into a megaphone. Frustrated at every turn, but still enjoying the sunny weather, I consoled myself with lunch at a Left Bank cafe: escargot, andouille, and faiselle. Excellent!

From there, it was just a few blocks to Napoleon’s tomb at Invalides. It’s a huge marble slab in a crypt below the museum of military history. Not subtle, but thought-provoking: what do I have to do these days to get a tomb like that? Not sure, but thousands would probably have to die. Count me out.

I spent some more time wandering around St. Germain and the Left Bank. Got a haircut; the stylist was a girl from Nice with Italian parents. She’d lived in London and Barcelona and was planning a 20-city world trip. We talked for a while about travel, cultures, and places. One memorable thing she said is that Paris is too conservative a city, obsessed with tradition, whereas London is more progressive and open to new ideas.

Later, I was talking to people at the hostel about student protests. There’s a new law that allows employers to fire people under 26 without providing a reason. This is meant to encourage employers to hire young people. I must be getting old or conservative: this logic makes sense to me (why only young people?), but the Australians I talked to are siding with the French students. Their view is that employers are greedy, they’ll exploit you, and you need these laws for protection. Maybe there are nuances like discrimination; I should find out more.

After my first day here, I had to switch hostels because of an earlier booking error. I’m at Le Village now, still in Monmartre, staying for four nights. When I got here on Sunday night I met my two roommates, both Australian: Claire from Brisbane and Laura from Perth. Lots of people at this hostel are Australian; I guess this must be travelling season down under.

After breakfast on Monday, the three of us set off to walk the streets together. First we climbed up to Sacre Coeur to see the view in daylight, and went inside for a couple of minutes. Then we walked around and down in search of the last remaining windmill. A few wrong turns were taken, but finally we found it, and then we also found Moulin Rouge a few streets down. The posters were intriguing, but the prices weren’t: 140 euro for dinner and a show. So we kept on walking.

Our goal was the Eiffel Tower, but it took us almost two hours to get there. We weren’t in a hurry: a sausage needed to be eaten, and later an eclair (the girls chose other snacks). There were various churches and monuments to investigate, too, and we stopped for coffee somewhere on Blvd. Hausmann. The weather kept getting better, and it was sunny by the time we got to the tower.

Laura had already been to the top, so she stayed behind while Claire and I bought our tickets. Then some waiting in line, an elevator ride, an amazing view, more waiting in line, a breathtaking ride to greater heights, an even more amazing view at the top (pictures taken in all directions), two more lines and two more elevator rides down. About an hour and a half in all, tiring but worthwhile. As we emerged from the exit we saw troops, police, and protesting students - and tourists taking pictures with all of the above. Laura met us at the bottom, but she soon had to take off to meet a friend.

Claire and I had some food at a brasserie nearby, and a couple of glasses of wine (all that waiting in line really develops the appetite). The wine was good, of course, and we walked out light-headed into the fresh air. There was much walking for the rest of the evening: along the Seine towards the Louvre, over to Notre Dame, around the cathedral from the outside and across the river to the Jardin de Luxembourg. By then it was dark, after nine, and our feet were making themselves felt. A crepe stand across from the Sorbonne had what we neeeded, and the crepe guy inquired whether I’m Bill Gates’ brother, being from Seattle. He was from Marseilles, so I mumbled something about Count de Monte Cristo. It was late; we found a metro stop and got back to the hostel close to ten. Another victorious day!

I spent my first full day in Paris exploring on foot by myself. It rained in the morning, so I warmed up with a cup of coffee and an apple “fish” pastry - apparently an April First specialty, as a friendly local explained at the bakery. Made my way down to Palais Royale and St. Eustache, found a mirrored-glass conservatory, walked back towards the Seine and spent half an hour reading Stendahl by the water - it was sunny by then.

It was the first Sunday of the month, so all museums were free. I was right next to the Louvre already; I had to go in. My otherwise useless guidebook came through: I found the side entrance through the metro that bypassed the huge line to the glass pyramid. Louvre is huge and amazing: I remember Titian, Goya, Leonardo, Charlemagne’s sword, the pottery from Fienze, and Napoleon’s apartments best of all. Three hours was about as much as I could enjoy.

Afterwards I played at being French in a sidewalk restaurant, eating onion soup and steak and drinking wine and stealing cigarettes from the girls at the next table. I sat there till it got dark, reading a bit too. Then I walked up to the Eiffel tower. It’s gorgeous up close, with the orange lights, and the blinking sparks. A handful of vendors tried to sell me blinking replicas of the tower - no thanks. I walked through the lawn towards the military academy and the UNESCO building. It was 10:30pm by then so I caught the metro home.

Got into Paris at 7pm on a Saturday, took the metro to my hostel (just one stop), dropped stuff off and went out to wander around Monmartre. Streets full of people on a Saturday night, and the sun had just set - I walked sort of aimlessly down little alleys, but always uphill, until I ended up climbing to Sacre Coeur. From the stairs in front of the cathedral, the whole city opens up as a field of fireflies. I sat on the steps, surrounded by crowds of tourists exclaiming about the view in every language. Off to the right, the Eiffel tower was lit up; another column of light looked like a UFO’s tractor beam; distant skyscrapers shimmered on the far side of town. A few feet over, someone started strumming a guitar and playing classics like “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” and “Jeremy”. Half of the crowd sang along.

Eventually I walked back to the hostel, met some people from Scotland and Argentina and Germany, and spent the rest of the night eating crepes and talking about our countries and travel memories.