How to see France in under 2 hours and for the price of a sandwich

ambitious subject line, I know. Hear me out.


This morning I visited the Cité de l'architecture & du patrimoine at the Trocadéro, for which I'd be seeing adds on the metro since January. I didn't really know what to expect - but what I found was above and beyond all expectations. The museum features moldings from every aesthetically important historic religious edifice in the whole of France. The Galerie des Moulages, which takes up the entire first level of the palace, is divided by period/region (Languedoc Roman, Provence Romane, Gothique Flamboyant, Renaissance). The bulk of the collection comes from churches that were constructed in the XIth - XIVth centuries, and entails many of the middle ages' most important architectural specimens.

So moldings... big deal, right? Actually, these extremely detailed, life-size replications were super-impressive, and (having just been to Chartres this past Wednesday) -- dare I say it -- better than the real thing. When you visit a famous historic church in France, the architectural highlights are often darkened by age and weather, and are built at an elevation which (intended to inspire upwards thoughts towards the heavens) makes viewing them a literal pain in the neck. At the Cité, sculpted stonework is more easily scrutinized up close, under bright lighting and with a flattering red backdrop. Individual pillars and gargoyles are here presented as works of art.


The other advantage of the Cité's collection is contextualization. Each room of the gallery is composed of moldings taken from a single region, from churches built during a single time period - and is accompanied by a one-paragraph description of the dominant trends and important innovations of that architecture. One can follow the evolution from Gallo-roman to Gothic, or note the influence of Islamic aesthetics on the 11th century churches of Poitou (the Muslim advance into Europe was halted at Poitiers in 732). Over the course of an hour, I felt as though I had visited every major site in the history of medieval Christianity (I would add the adjective "French" here, but it seems redundant.

See for yourself - take the virtual tour!
(click at the bottom left on découvrez les visites virtuelles de la galerie, and then either the 1ère or 2ème partie)

When it comes to "seeing France" - touring the many small towns and cities of this country - historic churches are a major draw (Michelin guide multi-star restaurants, vineyards, and chateaus are probably the only other things that make a place a major tourist attraction). The Cité de l'architecture & du patrimoine almost makes such trips superfluous, and it only costs
5 or 7 euro (by comparison, my recent trip to Chartres set me back by about 60 euros). Then again - had I not physically traveled to Chartres, I would have missed out on the pastoral beauty of the river Eure, the unexpected pleasure of an organist practicing in St-Pierre church, and the culinary delight of the chocolaty Mentchikoff. Photos from my trip in the slideshow below:

Springtime arrives in Paris (with a little assistance)

Yesterday I discovered the Promenade Plantée, an elevated park that traverses the twelfth arrondissement of from Bastille to Dugommier, sitting atop a former railway viaduct. I had read about the park and been meaning to find it - but the impetus finally came from my watching the movie Before Sunset, in which the two main characters take a stroll along the promenade.

As I set out from my apartment around 1 o'clock, the sky was cloudy and it had been drizzling on-and-off since morning: my expectations were low, and I'd packed an umbrella just in case. I took the metro to Dugommier, found my way to the Jardin de Reuilly, and climbed stone steps towards the promenade's entrance. (Pause to appreciate the photo that I stole off of their website)


The pleasant surprises started here. Situated four stories above street level, the promenade is refreshingly open - a dramatic change from many of Paris' "hidden" gardens which are snuck into the city grid, often sunken below street-level or entirely enclosed by buildings as though trying to shut out the truth of their urban surroundings. The height was, in a way, liberating. As I walked on, what I encountered next made me so happy I almost cried. In my path were not the naked trees and monotonous green shrubs I had expected, but rather fields of miniature yellow daffodils and already-in-blossom fruit trees!

I should explain that these were not the only flowers that I've encountered in Paris of late - the city's several-hundred-strong contingent of professional gardeners has been diligently transplanting blossoms from the cities nurseries for about two weeks now, a gesture which I must admit detracts from special quality of those first crocuses of spring. Yet those purple impostors that greet me on my walk home from the Corvisart metro are just humble splashes of color in comparison to the tableau with which I was now confronted. And I'm pretty sure that these ambitious blossoming fruit trees are permanent residents of the Promenade Plantée.


It's exciting to be experiencing Spring so early - back in Boston (which is really as far back as I can remember trends in weather) there was nothing but mud until mid April, and then in May there would appear that strange blue-green chemical product that has probably given cancer to all of Harvard's groundskeepers, and then in late May/early June there would be grass! And maybe - just maybe - a couple of flowers gracing the Lowell House courtyard. Here in Paris, we haven't yet hit the Ides of March and already everything is green and full of promise. I suppose there really is something to that old "Springtime in Paris" cliche.

Vichy Thermes, or how I managed to fracture my rib during a two-day stay at a famous French spa

I figured that it would be wrong for me to spend a year exploring the French alternative medicine scene without personally undergoing "the cure" at one of France's many thermal spas. At a Thalasso salon a few weeks ago, I picked up some pamphlets from the Vichy representative, and I was instantly sold. For a not-unreasonable price, I could spend two days/two nights in the resort town and undergo a variety of soins at Vichy Les Domes. I made my reservation, booked my train tickets, and got ready for another insolite (unusual) adventure in provincial France.



The best thing about Vichy is the architecture... wrought iron pavillions and covered walkways, elaborate Art Deco, Neogolithic and Neoclassical buidlings... the image above is of the Vichy Opera House-Casino-Palais de Congrès. Below is the Hall des Sources, a glorified watering hole where individuals with a medical prescription or subscription to the Vichy cure come everyday to drink the reknowned waters of the Vichy Célestin spring. Architecturally, not much has changed since the park's construction during the Napoleonic era - hence, in my mind, Vichy's charm.


So what about the salon, and the fractured rib?! My first day of soins was lovely... being wrapped in regional mud, massaged with a high-power shower jet, immersed in a tub of vichy water which cycled through foot to neck massage via jacuzzi-like jets of water, and lastly another massage, with essential oils, aimed at energy points in my feet, legs, and arms. The second day was not as exciting. To preface, I had injured my rib a few days earlier and was avoiding sleeping on that side of my body; I had attended samba class back in Paris without pain, and was thinking that muscle soreness was starting to taper away. The aqua-aerobics and pilates classes scheduled for my second day at Vichy DID NOT HELP THE SITUATION. Nor did the under-shower massage that I recieved from a masseuse with fingers so pruned from the water that I wondered how she could do this all day, every day and not develop gills.

I made one last trip to the original Célestin fountain, filled as many water bottles as I could carry with me back to Paris, and made a quick escape involving jumping onto a train for which I did not have a ticket (and passing through 10 cars in order to find the controlleur). As I arrived back in Paris, greeted by the madness of a train station on a Friday afternoon, I was reminded again how much I love coming home to the big city - and how I would never trade that noisy, peopled atmosphere for some lesser value like space, or tranquility... which is great, because my next hometown is going to be...(*drumrole please*)... NEW YORK! For those of you not yet in the know, I will be attending Columbia College of Physicians & Surgeons, and moving to NY around mid-August. Woot!