Every now and then the stars align...we're in the right place at the right time...the Gods are smiling down at us...whatever the magic mixture is, something really lovely happens! It's happened twice to us just this past week.
On Thursday, I found myself at the fabled George V Hotel, that stands imposingly just a few steps from the Champs Élysées. In 1928, an American businessman and architect, Joel Hillman, invested 31 million dollars in its design and construction. Initially, the clientele came mostly from America on transatlantic steamers to Cherbourg, from where they took the train to Paris. Alas for Mr. Hillman, he was obliged to cede the property over to a group of bankers on Black Thursday, 24 October 1929. Two years later, François Dupre, another banker, bought it, added a new wing, and the hotel has never looked back since. Today, it is a deluxe destination for visitors from all over the world.
The last time, and the only other time, I had been in this hotel was during the 1960s (!), on one of my first visits to Paris. At the time, I was camping in the Bois de Boulogne with South African friends, one of whom follows this blog from her home in Australia. One evening, we took the metro into central Paris and came to the George V hotel for a drink. We marvelled at the sumptuous surroundings, particularly in comparison to our modest campsite in the Bois!
I was remembering all this when I entered the hotel lobby the other day to meet a friend who had some theatre tickets to give me. She was there to take a tour of the hotel, and to my delight -- as someone had not shown up -- she invited me to join her on the tour. Serendipity, indeed!
Monica, a member of the hotel staff and very charming guide, shared a lot of the history of the hotel as well as the day to day details that go into its operation. She paid particular attention on the lavish, stunning floral displays that greet you wherever you look. Artistic director, Jeff Leatham (who, surprisingly, hails from Ogden, Utah!) develops a new theme for these innovative, sculptural arrangements every three weeks. 12,000 blooms are driven to the hotel each week from Amsterdam, to update and refresh the displays. The annual budget for flowers: 4 million euros!
You could see those euros, front and centre, in all the public rooms where stands of flowers almost overwhelm the space itself!
A little less so in the Cinq Restaurant, where the gleaming Steinway piano took center stage.
And here was the bar, where we drank our champagne cocktails all those years ago -- as I peeked in, I wondered if they had ever missed the iconic ashtray we had somehow managed to slip into our bag back then, as a souvenir.....
Away from the public areas, there are 59 suites amongst the 200+ rooms. Each suite is decorated in different colors and style, all of them designed to give the feel of a private apartment. And priced accordingly! Here's the bedroom in the 5,000 euro-a-night suite...
...and the blue marble bathroom to go with it.
But that was just child's play compared to the bedroom in the 20,000 euro-a-night suite (over 200 square meters in size!), with maybe one pillow for each 1,000 euros...
...and a bathroom that was almost as big as our entire flat, with banks of orchids lining the walls....
...a coffee/tea bar with the very latest Nespresso machine...
...and, of course the perfect Parisian view from the private terrace that came with its own private jacuzzi. A suite for the world of royalty and celebrity, and a far cry from my tent in the Bois de Boulogne!
Our tour ended in the nearby Guerlain tea room, where delicacies like this "tartlette de citron vert framboise" topped the menu -- that's a little pastry shell filled with lime-flavored mousse, covered with raspberry glaze and decorated with sugared lime bits!
As if that were not unexpected treat enough, another bit of serendipity came our way two days earlier on the Île des Impressionnistes, an island in the River Seine to the west of Paris, a favorite haunt in the 19th century of impressionist painters like Gustave Caillebotte and August Renoir.
Today it is the site, twice a year, of the "Foire Nationale aux
Antiquités, à la Brocante, et aux Jambons ", the largest such brocante
in all of France and celebrating its 90th anniversary this year. We love
to haunt markets of all kinds, large or small, curious to browse, not
always with anything specific in mind, so on this beautiful, mild spring
day, we hopped on the RER and headed out there.
This time, we did have something in mind. For the past three years we have had this elegant pedestal standing somewhat forlornly in the corner of our dining room, dark wood, fluted stem, some decorative touches at the top. All that is lacking is a nice marble bust to sit on top. We have looked in dozens of brocantes and flea markets, always coming up empty. Perhaps today would be our lucky day!
Over 8.5 hectares, some 800 antique dealers had set up shop in rows and
alleys, forming a veritable city of stalls, each row with a street name.
Maybe it was due to the sparkling day, but everything we saw looked
beautiful.
Some stalls offered a wide selection of china, furniture, paintings mannequins, books, rugs...
...others specialized in one thing, like this super pretty, wavy glassware...
...or these two distinctly different items: a vintage baseball glove and
ball, and just above it, a cricket bat with some kind of unknown logo.
At the end of one "street" we immediately spied these three little nesting tables, the exact match of the coffee table in our living room. A quick check of their condition (perfect), a friendly conversation with the stall owner who agreed not only to a good price, but also to deliver them the following evening to our flat, and we closed the deal!
Time to celebrate with a little time-out for lunch. Here we finally understood the "aux Jambons" in the title of the fair -- it referred to a classically roasted country ham, expertly sliced by this Monsieur, piece after piece after piece, he never stopped. Served with generous dollops of "crackling" and freshly cooked vegetables, and a 1664 brand beer, it made for a delicious meal!
Thus fortified, we continued on, loving this little "automated" bell boy whose sign, back in the day, would no doubt have waved a client's name telling him/her they had a phone call or a telegram.
And then, here was this cute little Mickey Mouse chest of drawers! Completely adorable, what kid (thinking Clio et al here!) would not want to stow their stuff in these drawers!
They might find these doll "parts" grisly, though: torsos, limbs, heads, you could pick and choose!
This pineapple light caught my eye right away, because I knew my friend Martha would have bought it in a nano second and hung it in her flat!
And then...suddenly...there she was -- the perfect little marble bust for our pedestal! Hiding out in one of those endless rows of stalls. We could not believe our eyes. Sweet face, nicely carved, pretty colored marble. She's not really "Marianne", the allegoric symbol of France, maybe she's a shepherd girl or demure lady's maid, but there is enough dignity and presence in her that I immediately named her "La Petite Marianne". The stall owner gave us a great price and we did not hesitate. Matthew nobly struggled her into the rolly cart we had (fortunately) brought with us, and dragged her home, back on the RER, then onto the #20 bus that stops right outside our door.
And here she is, happily installed on the pedestal, surveying our dining room with her quiet gaze and sweet demeanor, under the somewhat bleary bloodshot eye of the Rick Griffin rock poster for a Jimi Hendrix concert in the 1960s! A clash of centuries and cultures, for sure, but somehow they complete that corner, just perfectly. Serendipity, again!
À bientot!
