An African gentleman in front me was using two mobile phones to keep in touch. Indeed, lots of people were phoning and messaging. In our society, everybody is somewhere else. The RER stopped at Gare du Nord; no connection to Chatelet because of the strike. So I hopped onto Metro No 4, then 7 and finally 9, to get to Franklin Roosevelt. A few steps later I stood in front of the Grand Palais with my online-reservation-prepaid-ticket, to see the grand Monet exhibition. The prepaid people generated a queue, too, though a shorter one than the on-the-spot ticket buyers. It was a breezy courtyard, so I was glad it didn't take too long to get in. Also, a short, extremely picky and bossy lady, who wore shoes that were supposed to look expensive, began to bother me. She was pushing around her husband. Their daughter intervened in typically French incomprehensible spurts; an awkward family. Of course, the bossy lady had accosted one of the guards, complaining that they had reserved tickets for 17:00 and weren't being let in. When we filed up the stairs, the guard made fun of her. 'She can't come in, she complained'. I was amused!
The exhibition organisers had vacuumed up the Monets from museums across the globe. That in itself was impressive. I particularly appreciated several paintings hanging in small museums: A Seine sunset from the Smith College collection (Massachusetts), a very impressionistic and atmospheric Gare St. Lazare from the Niedersächsisches Landesmuseum and a similarly atmospheric scene of the Gare d'Auteuil, which belongs to the Conseil General of Cergy Pontoise. There was much to compare: The Cote d'Azur panoramas, the Normandie coastline perspectives, the poplar tree views and the haystack landscapes. Monet had painted fifteen of them for the original exhibition. We were allowed to see six next to one another.
The exhibition was so expansive, it was hard to take it all in; impossible, in fact. It made more sense to take your pick. I did note that Monet had painted in at least three optically distinguishable styles: Flattish-simplifying, dotty-spotty (a bit like Seurat) and contrasting-turbulent (e.g. lots of movement implied by the colours and strokes). Monet has created some breathtaking depictions of cloudy skies and rendered a practically abstract sleepy willow in 1920-22, though painting human bodies wasn't his forte, in my view. A whole room was devoted to impressions of Venice, where two of the most beautifully framed pictures could be found (Le Palais Contarini & The Doge Palace).
Slightly overwhelmed I walked down to the very busy Metro No. 1, got off at St. Paul and rang the bell of my friends' apartment in the part of the Marais, which leans towards the river. I was expecting to take them out for dinner, but instead about a dozen people, most of whom I knew, gathered for a lively dinner at their place.
One couple was considering investing in a property on the Ile St. Louis, to turn it into several corporate rental apartments. I pointed out to them that in doing so, they would be part of a trend, which makes it less and less feasible for regular, middle or working class people to live in town. Lots of wealthy investors have taken their funds out of the stockmarket and channelled it into real estate in London or Paris. Le Monde quoted a French investor, who lives in London, and put €15M into Paris real estate. Such people want to rent their newly acquired property to people like them; global urban hoppers, with adequate cash in their pockets. Add to that the very wealthy people, who keep a third or fourth home in Paris, which they use a few times a year perhaps - and you're crowding out 'regular' people, who can't afford the rent, or purchase, of a pad in one of the 20 arrondissements. The City of Paris has been using its stock of social housing to assure that nurses, metro drivers and rubbish collectors can continue to live in town. This in turn crowds out those people, for whom social housing was originally intended.
In my days (1984-5), there was Fauchon and a brand new traiteur near the Rue de Seine market. Now I note the results of a traiteur explosion. Fancy foods, well-packaged olive oils and chocolats in all shapes can be purchased in elegantly designed storelettes at every corner. Thankfully, you still have down-to-earth market streets like the Rue des Martyres in the 9ieme, offering local butcher ware, traditional patisserie and fruits 'n veggies. Round the corner is the Musee de la Vie Romantique, an oasis hidden in a courtyard next to a primary school. There I saw the most impressive painting of a lightening strike (by a Maksim Vorobiev) I ever seen! By the way, the art deco gallery, named the Galleries de Prado, pictured above, I stumble upon by chance, on my way up to the 9th arrondissement. An ungentrified treasure!
