KNOCK KNOCK

About a month ago, I visited an old Modesto acquaintance. I had not been to her house for many, many years and I noticed the knocker on her front door: the classic “main baguée” which is one of the traditional designs commonly seen in France, especially in the southwest. Funny: I have one on my front door. Of course, our house was equipped with a doorbell when we bought it in 1991 but the iron hand traveled in my suitcase twenty years ago –along with a few cans of pâté– and Rick promptly mounted it onto our front door. Kids love it at Halloween: they’d much rather announce their arrival with the knocker than by using the more pedestrian doorbell.

Perhaps the most basic one of the bunch?

The first door knockers were simple iron rings attached to bronze heads: they could be grabbed and pulled to close the door. Many of them were designed with a thicker part in the middle (or a ball) so they could hit the head of a fat nail also applied to the door, and preserve the wood. This style of heurtoir was commonly found on the doors of churches during medieval times: knocking on the door would get you entrance into a lieu d’asile. In fact, merely holding the ring would grant you sanctuary, even if you were a suspected criminal or a witch (yes, time to read The Huntchback of Notre-Dame again.)

Hammer-style door knocker. Looks pretty old...

Another hammer-style door knocker

A more ornate hammer-style knocker

Early designs for private homes were simple in shape, like little hammers. During the Renaissance and later times, door knockers became more ornate, intricate, and identified as status symbols of the house occupants. Blacksmiths and engravers designed, shaped, and carved utilitarian objects that were true works of art in iron, bronze, brass or cast iron; some so coveted that they were stolen from their doors.

The buckle style door knocker became very popular in the 18th century

A contemporary example

A light, elegant version

A few hotels particuliers , especially in Le Marais, still show spectacular examples of superb craftsmanship applied to an utmost utilitarian object.

Rue Saint Denis

Rue Charlot

Lots of great doors, and knockers, on rue Charlot

During the 19th century, industrial production replaced artisanal workmanship, although it often copied earlier models. Interestingly enough, door knockers are still perceived as decorative and functional objects: in France, at least, they happily cohabit with modern doorbells. I took most of those photographs in Gourdon where I bought my door knocker at the local hardware store for a few bucks. Although “my” hand is not an antique, it keeps me in touch (pun intended) with the old country. 

A bird, a woodpecker, perhaps?

A dog, I think

A fish

The hand (right or left) can wear a ring, or not, and on different fingers. It may hold a ball, or an apple, or not. The style of the cuff varies. 

My hand, all decked out for Christmas

A good door knocker will dress up any ordinary door

Vocabulary
La main baguée: a hand wearing a ring
Le pâté: seasoned ground meat (pork, duck, rabbit…) usually sterilized and served cold accompanied by bread
Le heurtoir: door knocker
Le lieu d’asile: a place (usually a church) that offers asylum, sanctuary
L’hôtel particulier (m): private mansion

PARIS SOUS LA NEIGE

One rarely thinks of Paris as a Winter Wonderland and yet… We landed on a snowy Tuesday morning and headed down South on a snowy Friday morning. In between, we spent our time doing what we usually do: walking in the streets, strolling on the quays, enjoying the parks… and making frequent stops in the covered passages and in cafés to warm up. This photo essay showcases many familiar locations. You'll see that Paris sous la neige looks quite different from Paris sous la pluie! Last week, for just a few days, Paris was the City of White.

Who wants to go for a ride?

Buses were rare but one can always count on the métro. The trick is to figure out the name of the station...

Mairie of the 3rd arrondissement. The duck was indecisive. Fearing cold water, perhaps?

Square du Temple, 3rd arrondissement

I thought the Père Lachaise cemetery would provide some interesting photo opportunities but it was closed because of the snow. We walked along the perimeter wall.

Life goes on and so does this outdoor market in the 20th arrondissement.

Passage de l'Ancre, 3rd arrondissement

Rue Montorgeuil, 2nd arrondissement

Luckily, Palais Royal was open.

Gardens at Palais Royal 

I never get tired of the symmetry at Palais Royal.

In the Tuileries gardens, these birds might be cold but not hungry!

The Tuileries gardens are dotted with statues. I'll call this one The Juggler.

The Louvre and Pont Royal from Quai Voltaire on the Left Bank

Only a few bouquinistes were brave enough to open their green stalls.

Around the equestrian statue of Henri IV on Pont Neuf, the snow "almost" hides the visual assault of a plethora of love locks.

Snow-covered vegetation outlines the triangular tip of a still flooded Square du Vert-Galant.

A truly "wooly" mammoth guards the Galerie de Paléontologie on rue Buffon.

A heavily blanketed Jardin des Plantes

Viaduc d'Austerlitz and houseboats from Pont d'Austerlitz

One of the hotels on Cité Bergère in the 9th arrondissement

Place de la République

Cold and snowy on rue du Temple

Daybreak on rue du Vertbois

Gardens of the Hôtel de Soubise, Archives Nationales de Paris

Square St Gilles at Hôtel du Grand Veneur

Place des Vosges, stunning in all seasons

Ephemeral statue at Hôtel de Sully

Square Jean XXIII, behind Notre-Dame-de-Paris

Looking toward Quai de Montebello

A snow angel behind Notre-Dame; seems appropriate.

Dedicated piano player on Pont St-Louis, the bridge between Ile de la Cité and Ile St-Louis.

Quai Bourbon at the western tip of Ile St-Louis

LA VESPA

Before my parents had a kid (me!) and before they had a car, they owned a Vespa. As newlyweds, they first lived in Choisy-le-Roi near Paris, in a little bungalow at the back of my maternal grandparents’ garden. They drove to Cannes for their honeymoon, on the Vespa. I’m sure it sounds very romantic but imagine yourself riding un deux-roues for some twelve hours. Even if you make one overnight stop on the way.

Besides taking the train, the Vespa was their only vehicle for the first six years of their marriage. During their last jaunt to Gourdon, Mom declared that her butt was too sore and that she had had enough of this tape-cul. She did not complete the trip: my uncle René had to come and rescue her by car in Souillac, a mere 15 miles away from their destination. Obviously, the female derrière has a mind of its own. Dad rode alone for the rest of the way. A few months later, he bought a 2 CV.

Legal car-driving age in France is 18. Needless to say, most teenagers want to get their own wheels –and acquire some automotive independence– before they’re “mature enough” to borrow their parents’ car. Hence the high number of mopeds and small motorcycles on French roads. In another post, I’ll share my own adventures on the two-wheelers I rode before I got my permis de conduire.

When I noticed that pink Vespa on rue au Maire in the 3rd arrondissement a couple of years ago, I immediately thought about my parents. I see them walking on La Croisette: young, in love, carefree. Giving their sore butts a rest… Mom keeps a picture of that moment in her portefeuille.

Vocabulary
Le deux-roues: two-wheeler (bicycle or motorized)
Le tape-cul: lit. butt slapper, a vehicle with poor suspension
Le derrière: no, no, no, you don’t need a translation for this one
Le permis de conduire: driver’s license
La Croisette: the boulevard that stretches along the Mediterranean sea in Cannes
Le portefeuille: wallet

CATS IN PARIS

In honor of National Cat Week, I’m pleased to share some of my favorite photographs of cats, all on location in Paris. The city is well-known for being dog-friendly and, indeed, I see a lot of dogs on a leash or quietly lounging under café tables. Since cats roam more freely and don’t have the patience to sit still for table scraps, I usually meet them while walking randomly. Most of my feline encounters happen within the “outer” arrondissements (i.e. the double-digit ones) where car traffic is lighter and the streets open onto private courtyards, alleys, and villas. Let me guide you to some of these havens for cats…

I thought I saw a tweety bird... at Hôpital Saint-Louis, 10th arrondissemnt

28% of French households own at least one cat, the most favorite animal de compagnie. In 2016, there were 12.7 million cats in France which means that some 400,000 cats might call Paris their home.

Chat de gouttière? Well, he/she is standing on a rain gutter... Rue des Thermopyles, 14th arrondissement

The most prevalent “breed” is, of course, le chat de gouttière, a generic tabby. Next down the list of favorite breeds for the French: Maine Coon, Birman, Persian, Bengal, and Chartreux.

Profession: chat de garde. Rue Frochot, 9th arrondissement

Should we expect anything from our matou or our minette besides good looks and entertaining qualities? 

Un gros ronron au soleil. Villa du Borego, 20th arrondissemtn

Perhaps a cat’s raison d’être is just to simply be… there?

Rue du Mont-Cenis, in the 18th arrondissement. Who did you expect? Le Chat Noir?

This cat in Montmartre was named Minette, the most popular cat name. The second favorite in 2016 was Maya; in 2017, it seems to be Nala. 2018 will be the year for names starting in “O”: Opale, Olive, Olympe, etc. What do you think would be an interesting French name for a cat next year?

Anybody home yet? Rue Crémieux, 12th arrondissement

On an early evening, the wandering cat remembers where he settles for the night

Mais où sont les croquettes?

Sometimes, helpful signage gives you a clue about what to expect when you meet a random cat.

My therapist's couch makes a fantastic scratching post

Passage de la Voûte in the 12th arrondissement. It really should be renamed Passage du Chat, don't you think?

If you find yourself in Paris and want to interact with cats without wearing out your soles, head out to Le Café des Chats in the Bastille neighborhood for a nice cup of tea and, perhaps, a moment parfait with a dozen feline residents.

Vocabulary
L’animal de compagnie: a pet
Le chat de gouttière: lit. a rain gutter cat; alley cat
La profession: occupation
Le chat de garde: watch cat
Le matou: a tomcat
La minette: a female cat
Le chat de garde: a watch cat
Le ronron: purring sound
Le soleil: the sun
La raison d’être: purpose
Chat vorace: famish cat
Chat fort méchant et peu nourri: very mean and poorly-fed cat
Mais où sont les croquettes: but where is the kibble
 

NIGHTTIME IN CARCASSONNE

I had visited Carcassonne a few times before but always during the day. This time, I booked a hotel room inside La Cité to experience the medieval fortified city at night, when lights and shadows dance on the massive stone walls. Since cars are not allowed within the walls of the old city, we had to leave our rental in a parking lot and trek uphill to the hotel. Let’s just say that pulling wheeled luggage on narrow alleys “paved” with protruding galets makes for a challenging and noisy experience… But what a reward! On an October night, we were almost alone while circling the city between the two walls of fortifications. Here are a few pictures to share so you can imagine what an atmospheric experience it was.

Vocabulary
Le galet: river rock

Porte Narbonnaise, the main entrance

Lices Hautes, in between the two fortified walls

Between the two walls, looking toward the Château Comtal

Shadow of the exterior wall projected onto the interior one

Peeking into Porte Saint Nazaire

Porte d'Aube. This entrance has been featured in many movies, including the 1991 film Robin Hood, directed by Kevin Reynolds.

PARIS REFLECTIONS

Rick has been an avid motorcycle rider since he was fifteen. His mother had hoped that none of her sons would ever own a motorcycle. She was horrified when Randy purchased a Suzuki 200 cc Street Rambler; relieved when he decided to sell it and buy a car; dejected when Rick bought the motorcycle from his older brother.  I, too, had a love affair with a couple of deux roues when I was a teenager: a black Solex at first, then I “graduated” to a classic blue Mobylette. But those days are over for me: I traded helmet hair for the comfort and rain protection afforded by enclosed vehicles.

Motorcycles and scooters are a favored mean of transportation for many people in Paris: commuting at peak hours is more efficient than when traveling by car and they are much easier to park. Whenever we run across a herd of motorcycles parked on the street, Rick can’t resist checking them out a length. My interest wears off very quickly but I have found an entertaining way to keep myself occupied until he is done: I look into the bikes rear view mirrors hoping to catch an interesting reflection or an unusual architectural detail. Quelquefois, j’ai de la chance…

Vocabulary
Le deux roues: vehicle with two wheels (bicycle, motorcycle, etc.)
Quelquefois, j’ai de la chance: sometimes I am lucky

SMELLING THE ROSES

My grandmother’s house has sat uninhabited since she died twenty years ago. Restoring it and bringing it up to modern standards will be our retirement project (yes, I do enjoy the convenience of central heating.) In the meantime, the wood shutters remain closed except when we visit or when my sister checks in with my nephews during school breaks.

Grandma’s days were packed with all the typical activities of a small farm: tending to the chicken and the rabbits, picking and canning vegetables, working in the vineyard, fetching water from the well, stoking the fire in the cantou, preparing meals for the family, washing clothes and sheets by hand, sewing her own dresses and aprons… all essential tasks to supplement my grandfather’s modest pension.

And yet, she always found time to take care of her beloved flowers. She was especially fond of the three rosebushes planted by the front door and the kitchen window. One plant produced roses the size of small cabbages, or so it seemed when I was haute comme trois pommes. They were an unusual blend of pale yellow and delicate pink; I couldn’t escape their heady scent when I walked by. The other two were pourpre, that deep blackish-red color of luxurious satin or velvet. They produced tight buds like the ones sold in floral shops; their beauty was only matched by their intense fragrance.

Lack of care and a few harsh winters were fatal to a couple of grandma’s rosiers but the scraggly red rosebush by the porch still manages to produce a few flowers every May. What a treat to see and smell these beautiful roses! That plant is a sexagenarian, a true survivor. I hope it will hang on a few more years so I can lavish it with the TLC it deserves. And continue to feel grandma’s benevolent haunting.

Vocabulary
Le cantou: large fireplace in a country kitchen
Haut(e) comme trois pommes: literally “high like three apples;” of short height, referring to a young child
Pourpre: cardinal red
Le rosier: rosebush

ON A WING AND A PRAYER

I’ll be flying to France today. I’ve lost track of how many transatlantic flights I’ve taken in my lifetime; it’s probably approaching two hundred. And yet, just like a young girl who knows nothing about physics, I still marvel that a huge, heavy metal tube can lift itself from Earth and travel through the air for hours. We take so much for granted but I guess I’ll never become blasé about that.

Perhaps people felt the same way in the 19th century when aviation pioneers were trying to defy gravity. Take Clément Ader, for instance. Inspired by the morphology of the bat, he engineered one of the first flying machines. And what a fantastic contraption it was! Three wheels suited for a child’s bicycle, 26-foot wings made of silk and bamboo, two steam engines powering crude propellers to –hopefully– carry 880 lbs up in the air.

It looks fragile. It’s a thing of beauty. See it for yourself at the Musée des Arts et Métiers in the 3rd arrondissement.

LILY AND FRIEND

Lily is officially turning seven this week: l’âge de raison. Although she has mellowed out since her puppy years, she’s still a very active girl who exhibits this endearing quality present in all dachshunds: stubbornness. Her eye/mouth coordination is excellent and genetics must have played a part: her mother was a superb Frisbee catcher while Lily routinely nabs bugs in flight. She’s not much of a digger, a talent that would come in handy when we start restoring my grandparents’ old house: I guess we’ll need to hire professionals to trench out the septic tank after all. Her hearing is very fine tuned to a variety of sounds, including the chimes of Skype when my mother calls on Sunday morning, the “pshhhhlrp” of Reddi-Wip coming out of the can, and –unfortunately– sirens from all emergency vehicles. She understands several English words and one French expression: c’est tout. For some reason, that command never gets challenged, establishing once and for all the obvious superiority of training pets in the French style. We know that dogs are pack animals and we’ve made sure to populate the house with an array of tasteful dachshund collectibles: paintings, prints, statues and additional objets d’art contributed by thoughtful family members. Strictly for her own comfort and enjoyment: c’est la vérité, je le jure. Rick took this picture of her and one of her friends while he was having breakfast at the dining room table. She was eying his croissant; he hadn’t said “c’est tout” yet.

Vocabulary
L’âge de raison: the age of reason
C’est tout: that’s all
C’est la vérité, je le jure: it’s the truth, I swear

EASTER EGG (CARTON) HUNT

Instead of coloring hard-boiled eggs and hiding them in the garden, maybe we should just pick up some colorful egg cartons at Le Bon Marché on the Left Bank and make a delicious omelet?