Rue Cler, Le Pompidou, Quiet Sunday

The first three days of my stay in Paris were hectic and full. Today is Sunday...the day of rest. And I certainly did. The whole family and I gloriously slept in till 9:45 (that's late, ok?!) and then Liat + Bryan decided to take me out to one of their favorite cafes in the area for their delicious Greek salad and French cheese blintzes. Located on Rue Cler, a street known for outdoor markets (but not like what you see in Mouffetard), Liat and I stopped at one particularly busy stand and bought her weeks' supply of produce. We continued on to Cafe Marche where it was quite an ordeal to steer the stroller through the tiny cafe...a single baby carriage is hard enough! Thankfully, the babies both fall asleep the minute you put them in the stroller, and to my surprise, they didn't wake up. Everyone in the cafe cooed and awwwed as Liat + Bryan tried not to knock over anything while pushing the babies past. It's nice to see that Parisians are kid-friendly. We sat down, ordered our food, and Liat motioned for me to observe the French children behind her with their parents. They were probably not older than 5 or 7 years old, and used their cutlery with such elan and ease (Liat: "Now compare that to American kids! I mean, have you ever??")...I mean, I have problems using cutlery! That, however, is because I didn't grow up using it very often. Eating Indian food with cutlery is not only taboo...it just looks silly. We returned home after being thoroughly stuffed with feta cheese, French cheese, and more food than I'd eaten in a long time, and...ate more food! Roasted almonds and green tea. I finally said, "Guys, I have to see the Pompidou so I'm leaving...that and if I stay, I'll probably start on chocolate next.." Armed with my copy of "Hectors Reise" in case I decided to pass some time in a cafe, I headed out to the Le Pompidou. On my way there, I passed the Hôtel de Ville (City Hall) with beautiful Gothic statues of France's great literary minds decorating the facade - I snapped a photo of Camus. The area is quite artsy, and as I wandered down Rue Renard, I admired art galleries, touristy-but-not-touristy-looking postcard and gift shops, and cafes. I arrived at the bizarre structure that is Le Centre Pompidou. Have you ever played Nintendo Super Mario Bros 3 and gotten to World 7, or Pipeworld? Well, that's what this building looks like. In front of the museum hangs a massive sign that reads, "An artist is never ahead of time, but most people are far behind theirs." ~ Edgard Varese. From the start, the motto of the place is stated quite clearly for people to either accept or be offended by. After paying for admission and being laughed at by the lady behind the desk while she looked at my passport (the photo on my German Aufenthalterlaubnis, or residence permit, is smeared across my right eyebrow because the lady who processed everything didn't wait until it dried properly...it's pretty ridiculous looking) I spent the next four hours in this amazing center for modern art. It's divided into the National Museum of Modern Art, Galerie Sud, and Espace 315 (a viewing gallery), plus some theatres, a library, and research institutes. The National Museum of Modern Art is incredible. I know that I always say, "That was the greatest modern art museum" whenever I leave a particularly famous one, but this time I mean it - this museum is certainly one of the greatest in the world. It consists of 40 + gallery rooms that are in a clearly explained (French and English) chronological order so you can actually learn about what you're viewing. I appreciated the educational approach because face it - most of us aren't art scholars, let alone modern art scholars, and the more you can educate an audience about the current trends in art, the more interest and support they'll take in our era. Half of the appreciation one develops towards modern art comes from understanding the theories behind it and how someone arrived at such a conclusion. The problem with Berlin's Neue National Galerie was that things were too chaotic and jumped around too much. This museum was perfectly spaced and timed out. Some notables were: -Matisse: Le violiniste a la fenetre -Balthus: Alice -Man Ray's collection of photography, particularly: Le violon de Ingres (cliche, I know, but hey - I'm a violinist and appreciate the picture) -Robert & Sofia Delaunay: they donated nearly 60 of their paintings to the museum. I wasn't previously aware of their work, and I'm glad that I know it somewhat better now. It's great stuff. -Kandinsky: Had about 10 paintings in the museum and was marked as the 'herald' of modern art in the west -Jean Dubuffet: La Gigue Irlandaise I also learned more about: -Picasso and Braque and how they laid the foundation for cubism. The whole movement was also furthered by Juan Gris. -France's embracing of nudity, especially the female body -Suprematism: a Russian modern art movement originating in the earlier 1900s, celebrated the usage of basic geometric shapes and in often neutral colors -COBRA: COpenhagen, BRussels, AMsterdam = COBRA. An art movement from these three cities, go here for more information (it's damn cool): http://www.cobraart.dk After my visit there, I bought some coffee coasters with prints of Degas, Modigliani, and Renoir from an Indian man on the street - I haggled him down in Hindi from 3.50 to 2.50. I struck up a conversation with a Sri Lankan man selling food on the street while buying a gaufre avec sucre (waffle w/sugar), and the man gave it to me for free. I insisted on paying because this is how he makes his living, but he said (in very broken English), "You're one of the first tourists who's been so friendly all day. Enjoy Paris." It was quite sweet :-) I took the Metro to the Marais to walk around it again, but being Sunday, things were mostly closed and quiet. Paris may be many things, but it's no New York or Mumbai in being a "city that doesn't sleep." Perhaps Parisians value their beauty sleep more. I decided to walk to the Bastille because even though Michal told me it's rather anticlimactic, the memorial site happened to be in the area. She was right; it's nothing more than a tall phallic-like structure in the middle of a somewhat busy cul-de-sac. The Opera Bastille is supposed to be a great building though (Thomas told me, as he's played there, too), but I was tired by that point and wanted to get going to Liat's. While on the Metro, I read "Hectors Reise" and noticed that an older French man was staring at me...I mean, blatantly. I finally looked up at him with a "Yes? Do you mind?" face, and he asked me in French, "D'où êtes-vous (Where are you from?)?" I replied with, "I am Indian but American and live in Germany." He blinked, and said, "Ahh, oui, un melange. (Ah, yes, a mixture)." He switched to broken English with me and explained that he just couldn't figure out where I was from - "I thought maybe British, but then you read in German...American didn't cross my mind." He asked me if I'd ever been to Vienna. I answered that I hadn't, and he said, "Well, you must go. It's the musician's city. Say hello to my friend Mozart when you visit." Then he got off at the next stop. Interesting exchange we had there. While being in Paris, so many random Parisians have just struck up conversation with me on the metro, thinking that I speak French. I don't look Parisian at all, but I guess people sometimes just can't figure out where I'm from until they hear me speak. I used to complain about it to Mom, and she just replied with, "I had the same problem...no one ever thought I was Indian, and people would insist that there was no way I could be. I was bothered by it until I realized, 'Wait, this is a wonderful thing. To be able to fit in wherever you go is a gift, and I should be thankful that people feel connected to me.' " I've said it before and I'll forever be saying it - my mother is an incredibly lady.