April in Paris...

...and also April a bit beyond the city walls...

Since our return from England, we have been blessed with day after day of glorious sunshine, clear skies, and warm temperatures. Spring has finally burst out everywhere you look. And, after so many years of the more temperate Northern Californian climate, what a treat for us to really experience the season of spring in ways that only happen when it follows a particularly hard, cold winter, such as the most recent one. Every new leaf and bloom comes with a special pleasure.

Setting aside the various work projects that we "should" be pursuing, we find ourselves instead strolling the streets of Paris for hours, and spontaneously taking ourselves on small trips, just about an hour outside Paris.


A week ago Sunday, it was the short train ride from Gare Montparnasse to Chartres. My second visit, Matthew's first. We made sure to sit in the upper section of the double-decker train, and on the left hand side. That way, as the train rounds the corner on its approach to Chartres station, the two bell towers of Notre Dame de Chartres come into view, followed quickly by the whole cathedral, reaching up to the heavens, and completely dwarfing all the buildings around it.



Early pagan divinities were first worshipped on this spot, followed in the first century by Gallo Roman gods. Since the 4th century, it has been a sacred Christian centre, although during the following centuries, the town and the cathedral burned to the ground several times, the last occasion being in 1194. When several priests emerged through the smoking ruins from an underground crypt, carrying the church's famous reliquary -- a piece of the Veil of the Virgin Mary -- it was taken as a sign that the cathedral should be rebuilt once again. This is the cathedral you see today, with some modifications and additions.




The well known English scholar and guide, Malcolm Miller, was not giving tours on this Sunday. However, we found ourselves in the hands of a wonderful woman, a very gentle-voiced Madame, who was not only extremely knowledgeable, but whose enthusiasm and beatific smiles led us to wonder if she had at one time been a nun, or thought seriously about taking orders.



For an hour and a half, both inside and outside the cathedral she wove the threads of the big events in the building's history into the smallest details of the statuary -- the angels, the martyrs, the Holy Innocents, the apostles, the patriarchs -- and turned the exquisite stained glass windows into a spellbinding storytime session. At the time of their construction, these light-filled jewels took the role of a catechism lesson for the faithful who came to worship, but who could not read. They learned the stories of the saints and the message of the gospels by following each pane of glass from bottom to top.














After such an overwhelming wealth of artistic beauty, our heads were spinning. Luckily, that same day, the charming old town of Chartres was hosting the 7th annual Marché de la Paulée. In the old market place, wine growers from throughout the Loire Valley had set up tables and, for the purchase of a 5 euro wine glass, we joined a happy crowd wandering through the aisles, sipping and tasting wines, and coming home with a couple of delightful bottles to add to our teeny tiny "cave"!



Moving to this past Saturday, which dawned, again, sunny, clear, warm. Conveniently forgetting my French conversation class until it was too late to go, we headed out to our local Velib station, took out two bikes and set our wheels towards the Bois de Boulogne.

For those not familiar with the brilliant city-run Velib program, it works like this: you take out a subscription and your membership is tied to your Navigo card (metro and bus pass). When you feel like a bike ride, you slap your Navigo card on a round disc by the bicycle -- after first carefully checking that tires are inflated, brakes are good, pedals and wheels operate well. The bicycle is released and you roll it out, at which point the clock starts ticking. You can ride for 30 minutes free, after which you're charged one euro for the next half-hour, and so on.



We rode for 30 minutes, returned the bikes to another Velib station, had breakfast -- a delicious café crême and a tartine -- took out two more bikes, and continued on our way.

A vast 19th century park of 2100 acres lying on the western edge of the city, the Bois de Boulogne is criss-crossed with wide-shaded roads, tracks for pedestrians, horses and bicyclists. Originally a forest for hunting bear, deer, wolves and wild boar, it was also a refuge during the Revolution to those on the run, the destitute and poachers.

Sometime in the mid-19th century, the city planner, Baron Haussmann, took down the walls that had surrounded the forest, and landscaped the whole area with the winding paths, ornamental lakes and ponds, kiosks, restaurants, pavilions, and the famous Longchamps racecourse that you find today.











Being so close to the center of town -- probably no more than 5 miles from our neighborhood -- it provides a popular spot for Parisians wanting to escape the noisy city streets, as well as for the hopeful fisherman, patiently waiting for his first "bite."






Leaving the edge of the Bois, and the sight of apartment buildings in the surrounding neighborhood of Neuilly, we headed toward the center, where we had the leafy trails all to ourselves...



...except, that is, for carpets of these buttercup family flowers growing in abundance...





...flowering stinging nettles, along with another pretty shrub, and endless other bursts of color along the way...







Every now and then, the woodsy path opens up into a veritable greensward where, on Saturday last, we were practically the only people pausing to enjoy the view.




Meanwhile, back at the lake, and under the spreading horse chestnut trees, the little children enjoyed their pony rides...

...focussing on their ride and not appreciating, as much as we, the beautiful white chestnut flowers....



...or the less common rich pink horse chestnut flowers...


...and certainly not appreciating the significance of this sign, which has meaning for only one reader of this blog: my friend Cathy, who now lives in Perth, Western Australia. A very very very long time ago -- well, okay, it was 1961 and we were both extremely young -- we camped in the Bois de Boulogne, attended the Arc de Triomphe Stakes at the Longchamps racecourse, and generally cavorted around Paris for a week. Ah, youth....


Sunday, April 26th. And still the wonderful weather continues. So we headed to the Gare de l'Est and took the train to Meaux, which sits on the River Marne and produces among other things, a delicious mustard!


Before boarding the train, though, we took some minutes to find this treasure: a large painting, mounted above the main departure hall and ignored by almost all the throngs of people who pass beneath it. Titled Le Départ des Poilus and painted by the American artist Albert Herter, it depicts a troop train leaving for the eastern front during WWI. If you want the full, poignant story about this painting, check an audio Postcard from Paris that I made in November 2008. Here's the link:
http://janetrobbinsaudio.com/audio/list?gallerytag=producedaudio
If you scroll down you'll find it: A Postcard from Paris: Armistice Day.

Back to yesterday. Our double-decker train headed east out of Paris, through industrial outposts, banlieu housing, and it seemed quite a while until the landscape opened up to woods, rolling hills and green fields brimming with yellow mustard flowers, before arriving at the quite large town of Meaux.


Like so many French towns, the old section of Meaux is dominated by its cathedral, La Cathédrale Saint Etienne de Meaux, which, though not as grand as Chartres...



...is still an impressive homage to the soaring Gothic arch, and boasts some lovely stained glass...



...and a beautiful restoration of Lambert Chalonneau's sculpture of The Visitation...




...and behind the cathedral, in a secluded and tranquil walled area, sits Le Jardin Boussuet, designed by Le Notre himself!








Unlike Chartres, the town of Meaux is almost entirely closed on a Sunday. We managed to find a small brasserie outside the old city ramparts, where we enjoyed quiche, paté, salad and delicious Belgian beer. And marvelled again at the fact that no matter where you sit yourself down, you are almost always assured of a delightful and tasty meal!



Meanwhile, back in Paris, corner cafés are bursting out onto the sidewalks, as the local residents emerge from their winter cocoons and bask in the luxury of short sleeves, no sleeves, sandals!






In the Parc Monceau, the bluebells are in full bloom...








...and the first bunches of lilacs are being sold outside the Monoprix on the rue de l'Opéra.

Life is definitely good!








À bientôt!

PS A big thank you to Matthew for many of these photos, and apologies for the length of this post. But that's what happens when the weather is so good...you just can't stay indoors and keep up with a blog....

Bach to the Future!

During our recent sojourn in England, we made a flying weekend visit to Berlin, spending lovely family time with niece Miranda and her delightful family.

As well as visiting the fabulous West Berlin Zoo, and joining the throngs of tourists in and around the Brandenberg Gate, when it happened to be bright and sunny...





...we also managed ride out a torrential hailstorm in the leakproof interior of a water taxi, crusing along the River Spree, taking in the sights, albeit as seen through a watery veil!

As a special treat, Miranda booked ahead for tickets to the Neues Museum which just re-opened last October. Standing on Berlin’s Museum Island it was originally designed by Friedrich August Stüler and built between 1841 and 1859. Extensive bombing during the Second World War left the building in ruins, with entire sections missing completely and others severely damaged. Few attempts at repair were made after the war, and the structure was left exposed to nature.











Enter the star British architect, David Chipperfield under whose direction the building has been elaborately restored and recreated. The building now provides a new home for the Egyptian Museum and Papyrus Collection and the Museum of Prehistory and Early History, together with artifacts from the Collection of Classical Antiquities.


Respecting the historical structure in its different states of preservation, the original sequence of rooms has been restored with new building sections that blend in with what was left of the existing structure. In some areas Chipperfield used recycled handmade bricks, that complement perfectly the preserved sections. The result is an astonishing series of spaces filled with the most eye-popping artifacts imaginable...




...from ornate limestone sarcophogi...




...to elaborate, storytelling tablets of hieroglypics...






...and room after room of seated, striding, kneeling figures.






Without doubt, though, the most stunning figure, was that icon of feminine beauty, the painted limestone bust of Queen Nefertiti, the "Great Royal Wife" of Pharoah Akhenaten. One of the most copied Egyptian works, it is believed to have been crafted in 1345 BC by the sculptor Thutmose.

Today, still, it completely captures your attention and imagination.



After hours drinking in such a wealth of riches, we couldn't imagine anything topping this museum visit. But we had not reckoned with our friend, Pamela, the Intendant at the Berlin Philharmonic, who had casually suggested that if we had nothing planned for Sunday evening, perhaps we'd like to join her to "hear the Bach," at the Philharmonic Hall.


Designed by Hans Scharoun and built on the edge of the Tiergarten between 1960-63, the hall is an asymmetric structure with a tent-like concrete roof, With seating for 2,000, the hall is pentagonal in plan, with a central stage and the audience seated on terraces rising around it.


It was only when we went with Pamela to her office backstage that we began to understand what Bach we were about to hear: his majestic, monumental St. Matthew Passion. Composed in 1727, it encompasses the musical setting of Chapters 25 and 26 of the Gospel of Matthew, with interspersed chorales and arias.

But this wasn't any ordinary performance of this most sacred of sacred works. It was an entirely new production, or "ritualization" as it was described, created by the avant-garde theatre and opera director, Peter Sellars, working with the conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, Sir Simon Rattle.


As was normal in Bach's day, the orchestra was divided into two halves, with Rattle moving from one to the other. Likewise, the chorus was split, one behind the orchestra and one to the side. The soloists included Mark Padmore, tenor, as St. John, the Evangalist, Magdalena Kozená, mezzo-soprano, as Mary Magdalene, a very pregnant Camilla Tilling, soprano, as Mary, Christian Gerhaher, baritone, as Jesus...and Thomas Quasthoff singing the bass arias. Thomas Quasthoff, surely the most well-known "thalidomide" baby, who is now fifty years old, stands about three feet tall, with short little legs, no arms, tiny fingers, but with the most glorious, superb bass-baritone voice that is revered around the world.

Plain plywood boxes on stage served as seats and props. Everyone was dressed simply in black, the two Marys were barefoot. Soloists entered and wandered across the stage, delivering their arias. The chorus, too, moved around at times, as they took up the role of crowds in the temple, for example. All the movements were measured and steady, so they never disturbed the exquisite music. Rather, they complemented it. During the vocal/instrumental dialogues, the musicians left their places in the orchestra and joined the soloist in center stage, creating a very intimate pairing, the musicians playing brilliantly without a score in front of them.


Providing the central linchpin to the production was St. John the Evangelist, Mark Padmore. He played the role of narrator, of a Shakespearean chorus at the beginning of a new act, even, in a way, of a Greek Chorus. His voice is sublime, but his presence was equally powerful. Even when he was not singing, and, in fact, was lying flat on the floor of the stage, you could feel his focus and attention and complete involvement in the piece. He even sang from a prone position, as clearly and strongly as if he were standing upright!

He wove the other singers into the story-telling, looking up to Jesus, seated in the stage right balcony, and Pontius Pilate, seated in the stage left balcony, both of whom stood and sang their arias from their seats. Members of the chorus and a children's choir, wandered through the auditorium at times, delivering their chorales. Singers from the chorus stepped out to pick up the remaining vocal parts in the work, including St. Peter and Pilate's wife.














We were left with the overwhelming feeling of being transported, embraced and enveloped by the music, which I've not even mentioned, but which was beyond sublime, by the orchestra, probably the best in the world today, the superb singing, and by this extraordinary ritualization. I am still floating on air, a week later.

And I'm still haunted by the image of Thomas Quasthoff, cradling the plywood box representing Jesus' sepulchre in his tiny fingers, singing his final aria

Make thyself clean, my heart,
I will myself entomb Jesus
For he shall henceforth in me
For ever and ever
Take his sweet rest.
World, begone, let Jesus in!

À bientôt!

Oh to be in England, now that April's there...

...we were in England, and it was April, but the weather gods apparently were still locked into darkest February. Far from the April that Robert Browning longed for in his Home Thoughts from Abroad, we found London to be, as Maggie Smith says in Gosford Park, "positively glay-see-ul".

Muffled into woolly hats and scarves, we shivered our way over to the Tate Modern to see an excellent Arshile Gorky retrospective, ducked into the beautiful, historic Southwark Cathedral, and scampered briskly through Borough Market, where the most popular stall seemed to be this gent, selling hot, spiced mulled wine.




What a difference a few days can make, though. On Easter Sunday morning, as we boarded the Great Western Train to South Devon, the skies cleared, the arctic blasts blew somewhere else, and as we rattled our way south-west, we caught glimpses through the train window of a real spring landscape . By the time we arrived at Totnes, and drove to our dear friend Jill's home, the next lines of Browning's poem took flight:

And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England - now!

It wasn't just the tiny leaves that were peeping through, or the songbirds going about their busy meetings and greetings, it was the clouds of daffodils, the banks of primroses -- both those in Jill's garden, and those growing wild along the hedgerows.







And there, in the neighbor's garden, the forsythia gleamed golden, and the delicate hellebore shyly said hello.




Bordered on one side by Dartmoor, with its bare landscape, its bogs and echoes of The Hounds of the Baskervilles, and on the other side by the English Channel, this small part of South Devon has a particularly soft feel to it. The rolling green hills dip in and out of sheltered valleys that house cottages, organic farms (including Riverford Farm with its CSA vegetable boxes and its delicious Field Kitchen dining commons), small villages and towns...





...pubs that date back to Saxon times...





...and many curious sheep.









And, as can happen anywhere in Britain, it was in one of these small towns that we had one of those "there'll always be an England" moment. A Landrover, parked with a faulty handbrake, had rolled back into the street, blocking the narrow roadway.

There was no sign of the owner, and as cars and vans stacked up one behind the other for over half an hour, there was only one, tentative, honk of a horn. We speculated on the cacophony of sound that would be bursting forth in either Paris or Rome under the same situation! Here, people sat quietly in their cars, patiently waiting, or walked up to see what was what, exchanging polite smiles with one another.



Eventually, a group of burly young and old blokes came up, and with a big heave-ho, they bumped and shouldered the offending vehicle over to the side.






An idyllic couple of days later, we took the train back to London, where the glories of spring blossoms were now also in full view.



On a beautiful sunny morning, we made our way to the "other" Tate, the Tate Britain, the original Tate, where a big exhibition of Chris Ofili's paintings takes up seven rooms. Born in Manchester in 1968, Ofili's early fame and notoriety came with his use of elephant dung balls, which he applied to the canvases and used to prop the paintings on the floor. He told an interviewer once that he felt this gave the paintings a feeling that they'd come from the earth, rather than just being hung on a wall.


At first glance, the dung balls are quite startling, but they quickly recede as you take in the richly layered paintings, all of them bursting with energy and color. Ofili also adds glitter, resin, map pins, and collaged magazine cut-outs. The result is like a big personal, cultural and spiritual narrative that keeps you standing in front of each painting for a long time, following the various story lines.

Ofili now lives in Trinidad and his most recent works reflect the landscapes, customs and beliefs of his new home. No more elephant dung, but still a vivid representation of some kind of paradise.





In sharp contrast to the art of contemporary British artists, the Queen's Gallery at Buckingham Palace is currently showing paintings, sculptures and furniture bought by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert during their life together. Victoria & Albert: Art & Love, doesn't just share Victoria and Albert's love and enthusiasm for art, it also presents an extraordinary portrait of 19th century England at the very peak of its global power. The era when the sun never set on the English Empire and when most of the countries in an atlas were colored pink for England!




Among the many glittering colonial treasures was this Indian sapphire and diamond brooch, given to Victoria by Albert on the eve of their wedding, which she wore constantly.






This spectacular throne became the centerpiece of the Indian Pavilion in the 1851 Great Exhibition, where it was presented to Victoria. The densely carved Indian elephant ivory piece tells its own narrative stories through Indian and European motifs and is decorated with gold, diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and embroidered silk.


The Great Exhibition, which was the brainchild of Albert, featured the "Works of Industry of All Nations". On a raised dais in the central crossing of the Crystal Palace, built in Hyde Park and enclosing several of the park’s mature trees, the Queen (in this Eugene Lami watercolor) received the report of the Commissioners, led by Prince Albert. The Queen described the day as ‘one of the greatest and most glorious days of our lives’.



You could say that the real legacy from this period of English history is represented by the Albert Memorial in Kensington Gardens, commissioned by Victoria to honor her beloved Albert after he died from typhoid fever in 1861.

Opened in 1872, with the statue of Albert ceremonially "seated" in 1875, the memorial consists of an ornate canopy or pavilion containing a statue of Prince Albert facing south. The memorial is 176 feet tall, took over ten years to complete, and cost £120,000.

Emerging into the warm late afternoon sunlight, and completely absorbed and transported by all this history, I was ready to burst out into a hearty rendition of Rule Brittania. Fortunately, the sober realities of the results of that "glorious" Empire era took control, and as we walked past Buckingham Palace and into Green Park, I contented myself with a quiet God Save the Queen!



À bientôt!