Paris Under the Lights

Leonid Afremov

It’s well-known that Paris is called “The City if Light” and it’s easy to understand why once the sun goes down. During the day, Paris Is a vibrant city overflowing with life. People move like worker ants along the busy streets, up and down the sidewalks, and through the metro stations. Excited tourists heading for the big attractions and determined Parisians making their daily commute. Each lend to the incredible energy that the city is known for. But at the end of the day when the sun sets, when the Parisian’s workday is done, when the Louvre and d’Orsay close their doors, a whole new Paris unfolds before your eyes.

One regret that I have concerning our trip to Paris was that we didn’t spend more time in the city after dark. We went in June where it’s still daylight at 10 PM. It was also our first ever trip to Paris. As with most typical first-time travelers we had several things planned for each day so staying out into the early hours of the morning wasn’t feasible. Now don’t get me wrong, there were advantages to the long days. We had plenty of daylight to sightsee and explore and we used that time to venture all around the city. But my small taste of nighttime in Paris revealed another beautiful layer of this magical place.

Paris is a proud city. It’s proud of its culture. It’s proud of its history. It’s proud of its beauty. That doesn’t change at night. After dark the city lights up, showcasing its beauty under an array of gorgeous lights. Whether it’s the Notre Dame Cathedral or a popular corner café, Paris under the lights offers an entirely new appeal. The golden glow of the bridges, the monuments, and Haussmann’s architecture generates a special energy and vibrancy that’s unique and different from what you get during the day. It’s hard to explain but I felt it. I genuinely felt it.

Now each of our days in Paris wound down in pretty much the same way. We spent the full day exploring the city, seeing the sights, and tasting the culture. We would then make our way back to our hotel in the 7th arrondissement to rest and freshen up before heading back out to enjoy a wonderful meal. Each night we arrived at our restaurant of choice for that evening with a little bit of daylight remaining. During our delightful 2-hour dining experiences, night would fall and Paris would light up. A whole new city greeted us each night as we left the restaurants and the beautiful after dark walks that followed were moments of our trip that I’ll never forget.

The nighttime walks in Paris are indescribable. To put it in inadequate words, you feel a deep inner happiness and a state of absolute contentment as you walk the streets of this beautiful city at night. I also felt an overwhelming sense of awe stemming from both the beauty and the realization of where I was. But there’s another component to Paris at night – a component that’s been captured over the years in movies, books, and music. It’s romance and there’s a reason why Paris is considered one of the most romantic cities in the entire world. You can’t help but feel it. In one part it’s a romantic attraction to the city itself. As you walk under the night lights of Paris, the city woos you and romances you with the sheer beauty of its appearance and culture. I was taken in. I truly fell in love with Paris during these nighttime strolls.

But the true romantic magnetism of Paris comes with sharing it with the one you love. Those after dinner walks were made all the more precious by the fact that I spent them in the company of my wonderful wife. We walked hand-in-hand down streets soaking up the culture and each other’s company. One lovely night we walked from our café in the 6th arrondissement all the way to our hotel in the 7th. Another night we strolled the Champs de Mars where we stood and let Eiffel’s tower sweep away with its breathtaking light show. I particularly remember another night where a light rain was falling. We huddled close together under our umbrella just as all the Parisians did, never letting the rain slow us down, but enjoying it. The wet cobblestones on the streets glistened under the lights and the gentle sounds of the raindrops on our umbrella only magnified the experience. It couldn’t get more romantic.

Most of our nighttime walks together were spent enjoying our new but temporary neighborhood in the 7th arrondissement. It was during these times that we gained not only a familiarity but an affection for area streets such as Rue Saint-Dominique, Avenue Bosquet, Rue de Grenelle, Avenue de La Motte-Picquet, and of course the lovely Rue Cler. And while each were amazing in their own way during the day, they showed an entirely different personality at night. Their new energy and charm was infectious and undeniable. The streets shined. The buildings glowed. The cafés burst with light and excitement. There were more smiling faces. There were more cuddling couples. Everything seemed to change when darkness fell and the lights came on in Paris, France.

We finished every single day in Paris with a slow, deliberate walk under the city’s nighttime lights. Never were we anxious to arrive at our hotel. Never were we wanting our walk to end. Such is the spell cast by the world’s most romantic city. There’s a real attraction, a seduction, that grabs you from the moment you first experience Paris under the lights. And one of my biggest regrets is that we didn’t have more time to experience it even more. But that’s one of the great things about Paris. That’s part of its magic. You never feel as though you’ve seen it all. You never feel as though you have experienced enough. Paris teases you with new pleasures. Paris winks at you and smiles. Paris leaves you wanting more. And then Paris draws you back. For the lovers of the city, these are feelings we’ve all experienced. These are the feelings that are amplified during the Paris nights. And these are the feelings that assure us that we will one return to the “City of Light”.

Hotel or Apartment? Who Cares, It’s Paris!

In the planning stages of our maiden voyage to Paris, my wife and I tossed back and forth whether to make a hotel or an apartment our temporary Paris home. We measured both options thoroughly and circumspectly almost as if it were a life-threatening surgery with a 50/50 chance of survival. We looked at prices. We looked at locations. We read travel guides and frequented travel forums where often times the most heated arguments you will find center around the “apartment or hotel” debate. We made one of those pros and cons lists that people make when contemplating changing jobs or moving into a new neighborhood. We considered the clear advantages of an apartment most notably the more space they provide and the addition of a kitchen which allows you more options in terms of meals. We also considered the advantages of a hotel including the convenience of having a staff at your disposal for cleaning, making reservations, and answering questions. We also considered which was more efficient considering the itinerary we had in mind.

In the end we went against the advise of many much wiser and more seasoned travelers and chose a hotel. For us the reasons became obvious. It was a one week trip and our plans were to be out in the city from the time we woke up until time for bed. That being considered, the last thing we planned on doing was cooking and washing dishes – maybe for another trip but not for our first time in Paris. We decided on Grand Hotel Leveque, a humble and economical hotel known more for its grand location than its grand amenities. It humbly identifies itself with a small but stylish gold and blue awning and a vertical yellow “HOTEL” sign about halfway up the face of the building. Each window is adorned with a black iron railing and a flower box filled with fire-red blooms. This was what greeted us after our long flight from the states.

There’s no glitzy lobby as you walk in and no bellhop to take your bags. Two glass doors under the awning open up to a hallway leading to the front desk. A mirror is strategically placed on the hallway wall allowing the receptionist to see who’s coming so they can have a hearty “Bonjour” armed and ready. I vividly remember first arriving at Hotel Leveque and heading to the front desk for what was going to be my first real conversation with a Parisian. A young woman in her early 30’s sat working on her computer.

“Bonjour Madame,” I said nervously.

“Bonjour.”

Everything was going exactly how I had rehearsed. Now was my chance to flex my limited and fractured French-speaking muscle.

“Pardon madame. Je ne parle pas francais.”

“I speak English”, she said with a small grin which let me know she found my well intended attempt at using the local language amusing. All of the staff we encountered spoke good English and they were quite friendly. They helped many of their people by making reservations, giving directions, and even retrieving room keys that scatter-brained occupants like me locked in their room….repeatedly.

A small glass elevator just big enough for one person and a piece of luggage runs up the middle of the hotel with a spiral staircase wrapped around it. Snug hallways lead to an assortment of rooms, each small and basic but cozy. There was a time when the Grand Hotel Leveque had a shared bath on each floor but now each room has a bathroom with a sink, toilet, and shower with hot streaming water. Our street side room had lovely french windows which opened up to the infectious energies of the market street Rue Cler below. It was perfect for us. I know some have spoken poorly of Hotel Leveque mainly due to the meager accommodations provided. But we knew what to expect and it satisfied our two most important requirements – cleanliness and a comfortable bed. Toss in the opportunity to wake up to the glorious sounds of Rue Cler each morning, and we couldn’t have asked for a better experience.

So this is the Champs Élysées?

Antoine Blanchard

No one can question the fact that the Champs-Élysées is one of the most famous avenues in the entire world. This incredibly historic strip is bookended by Napoleon’s glorious Arc de Triomphe to the west and the lovely Place de la Concorde to the east. One of the things I was so eager to do during our visit to Paris was to walk the Champs-Élysées. During the planning of our trip my mind was fixated on the history of this amazing one mile plus stretch. I thought about the people who once walked this swanky, upscale street during the 18th century. And how could I not think of the German’s march down the Champs-Élysées after occupying Paris only to be outdone by the celebration of liberation via the Allies march down the same street. So much history and I was going to get the chance to experience it. Obviously I had built up a perception of the Champs-Élysées that was perhaps a bit unfair and unrealistic. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a worthwhile experience.

The Champs-Élysées

I stood at the top of the Arc de Triomphe and gazed down at this famous street. It was buzzing with energy and vibrancy that I could feel even as I stood at a distance. We made our way under the chaotic but always entertaining Place de l’Étoile and resurfaced on the corner of the Champs-Élysées. I had read that the avenue had become the spot for high-end shopping. We quickly found that to be true as my wife noticed Cartier. I had never heard of this luxury jeweler but she certainly had. We never went in but the fact that it was beyond our price range was evident by our photo taking of the sparkling diamonds in the window display. That was all of Cartier we would be taking home.

From there I began to realize that the only history to admire would have to be in my head. The Champs-Élysées has become a shopping hot spot for tourists. Several other upscale brands have stores there including Louis Vuitton and Hugo Boss. But it’s also the home of Adidas, Gap, Abercrombie Fitch, Disney, and Nike. Even car companies such as Mercedes, Renault, and Toyota have elaborate almost futuristic showrooms for their ultra-cool concept cars. There was even a McDonald’s plopped right in the middle of the other attractive but overpriced cafes. I have to admit, even though I had read that the Champs-Élysées had become a location frequented predominantly by tourists, it was far more commercial than I anticipated.

But it’s not as if we didn’t enjoy our stroll. In fact, much to my surprise, we had a splendid time. There were still touches that made the Champs-Élysées distinctly Parisian. The biggest example was the Ladurée Champs Elysées. As my wife and I weaved through the shoulder-to-shoulder sidewalk traffic, Ladurée caught our attention. It set on the opposite side of the street and I instantly felt a slight tingle in my sweet tooth. We crossed the avenue like the confident psuedo-Parisians we had become and were greeted by a deflating sight. Ladurée Champs Elysées was undergoing an extensive renovation project and the main shop was closed to the public. We could have cried. But on the sidewalk was a makeshift Ladurée selling many of their sweet self-indulgent pleasures. We went through the line and got our fix of macaroons – coffee for my wife, straight chocolate for me. Mine were snuggly packaged in Ladurée’s classy cylindrical containers. Those small containers now sit on my bar at home – simple treasures.

The Champs-Élysées

We walked past more stores and cafes before eventually hitting the calmer end of the avenue lined with benches and chestnut trees. It’s there, just before reaching Place de la Concorde, that we sat watching the traffic and resting our sore feet. We talked about what we had seen and what we were to do next. We had just walked together down the most famous avenue on the planet. It still feels a bit surreal even as I sit here now, over 4,600 miles away from the City of Light. We didn’t sit there long and looking back now I regret it. Those were some of the best moments of our trip and I can’t express how much I would love to be sitting on the bench with my wife under the chestnut trees on the Champs Elysées.

The Champs Elysées wasn’t how I had envisioned it. It wasn’t the historical experience that I had anticipated. But perhaps my expectations were misguided. The Champs Elysées has evolved. Whether for better or for worse would be a fun discussion, but the truth is it has changed. Yet despite this, we had a marvelous and memorable time. What’s more, the true treat has been in the reflection. I realize that what we experienced may not have been what I had expected but it was uniquely Parisian nonetheless. And as I flip through my photos of Paris, I find my smile just as wide when looking at our photos from the Champs Elysées. The scrumptuous Ladurée, the dazzling automobiles, the perfectly manicured sidewalks, our McDonald’s experience – It all reminded me of what the Champs Elysées has become. It also reminded me of just how much fun we had there and of how anxious I am to go back.

“An Obvious Tourist in Paris”

Antoine Blanchard

Why I would want to hide the fact that I was a tourist in a city that welcomes over 40 million tourists a year is beyond me. For some warped reason I felt the only one true way to fully enjoy Paris was to blend in with the Parisians – to look like them, walk like them, eat like them, sip my warm hot chocolate from Les Deux Magots like them. Maybe it was because I had read several exaggerated perspectives that claimed Parisians viewed tourists as some type of primitive lower life form. Perhaps I felt that I would somehow impress the locals with my knowledge of Paris and my smooth adaptive prowess. Regardless of my misguided reasoning, I had studied hard on how to blend in. It’s kind of funny that during our stay I was probably the most obvious tourist in all of Paris.

There are so many moments that come to my mind – moments where any normal tourist would just do what tourists do. Tourists would ask questions, pull out a map, or take their time. Not me. To give you an example of what I’m talking about, I look no further than the Paris Metro. Just under the surface of the city of Paris is an incredible underground world. It’s the city’s cardiovascular system with people racing like blood through the system’s complex layers of train tracks and hallways. Parisians walk through the Metro about as fast as I run but they move with a fluid rhythm. Now imagine me, with my skewed view of being a tourist, tackling it for the first time! I did everything I could avoid the dreaded tourist tag. I refused to look at the huge metro wall maps except as a last resort. And I almost had a stroke when I realized a line of locals had gathered behind me as I tried to operate the ticket kiosk. Silly, I know.

Then there was the time when my wife and I stood on a street corner in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Instead of just pulling out the map and getting my bearings, we slipped over against the wall with our backs to the steady stream of people. I eased out the map as my body shielded it from the pedestrians. I laugh now because we probably looked like a shady pair consummating a drug deal. Again, a result of my overactive idea that fitting it would carry more weight with the Parisians. They knew who I was – what I was.

Parisians recognize tourists. Tourism is an enormous part of Paris. People travel all over the world to see the beautiful gardens, spectacular architecture, classic art, and mighty monuments. People come to walk the streets, eat French food, and experience the culture. They come to climb Eiffel’s tower, sit in Notre Dame, and climb the steps in Montmartre. 40 million tourists visit Paris each year. Why not just be one of them? I think the Parisians will be just fine with that.

“Musee d’Orsay – Treasures in the Attic”

Any first time visitor to Paris with even a modest appreciation for art and art history has to include the Musee d’Orsay in the “must-see” category of their itinerary. The Orsay is recognized as the home of arguably the greatest collection of impressionist and post-impressionist paintings in the world. While the Musee du Louvre features a massive pre-1848 collection and the Pompidou Center, with its Mad Max inspired post-modern design, features more modern art, the Orsay houses the period in between. Within it’s doors you’ll find many mid-19th century to early 20th century works from Monet, Manet, Renoir, Degas, Van Gogh and a host of other brilliant artists. It’s a spectacular collection.

My wife and I are art experts but only within the confines of our naive yet imaginative minds. We both know Da Vinci painted Mona Lisa and Monet’s Nymheas, or Water Lilies, were depictions from his flower garden at his home in Giverny. I take great pride in being able to recognize Paul Cezanne’s painting style and of having Gustave Caillebotte as my favorite Impressionist-era painter – a hip, lesser known choice without a doubt. But as with many things my “expertise” only shines as bright as my surroundings allow it to. If in the company of a group of savvy, erudite art aficionados, I would quickly be exposed as the least knowledgeable person in the room. But to my 8 and 10-year old children, I could be the curator to all of the world’s most illustrious museums.

So describing us as “art experts” is a little like a drunken man’s delusion. I guess a better description of us would be ‘art appreciators’. I would even go as far as to call us ‘art lovers’ but with a small asterisk. It’s hard to be a true lover of something if you have almost no access to it. The ability to spend time with and connect with the object of your love is key to nurturing and solidifying your affection.  And that’s the problem with us and art. When home, we are hundreds of miles away from any art museum of consequence and the pleasures of making regular visits are simply unavailable. Therefore we rely on our large fifty pound art books – massive volumes that would cause any coffee table to collapse under their weight – and a host of informative internet resources to satisfy our appetites. But there’s just nothing like seeing the amazing works of art in person which is why the Musee d’Orsay was one of our first things to see in Paris.

A visit to the Orsay is an unforgettable experience but it can also be a frustrating one. We arrived there early on an overcast June morning but were still met by a large crowd moving like slow herded cattle through the long,winding, back-and-forth security line. While waiting, the clouds opened up and showered just enough to cause a colorful assortment of umbrellas to pop up throughout the outside line. A group of men equipped with plastic bags sprang into action – whether they were opportunists or entrepreneurs I don’t know – selling cheap umbrellas for 5 euros to those without. We noticed a little old lady no higher than my belt buckle and clearly tired of waiting in the rain slithering through the line, cutting in front of people with surgical precision without ever being noticed. She seemed like a local and this wasn’t her first rodeo.

Once finally inside the museum we quickly found ourselves facing the beautiful central hall with its array of sub-Louvre quality but still impressive sculptures. I actually found myself more enamored with the high crescent ceilings and huge ornate clock which hint back to the building’s roots.  A quick look around and you can tell you’re standing in what was once the Gare d’Orsay Railway Station. The journey from railway station to museum wasn’t without difficulty. In fact after enduring threats of demolition, the official decision to save the building and turn it into a museum came in 1977. It was finally completed and opened to the public in 1986. Now it’s one of the most stunning and recognizable buildings you’ll see while cruising the Seine and it’s treasures inside draw visitors from all around the world. But finding those treasures can be a little…well, annoying.

Maneuvering through the Orsay, even with the help of the free interior map, would challenge even the most skilled ocean navigator and helmsman. The inside in deceptively large. Connecting rooms run down both the left and right sides of the museum, some affixed by short hallways and others by stairs leading to the floor above where a different but equally disjointed floor plan awaits. People would enter and exit rooms from different directions each following their own well thought out and fluid course while wondering, as we certainly did, if they had missed a room along the way. The upper floors on each side of the museum were sometimes connected but sometimes roped off contributing to more human traffic jams and backtracking. And between all of this was the large central hall – a sanctuary where people could come up for air after tackling the masses.  Now by masses, I’m referring to the several thousand fellow summertime tourists as well as a few groups of school children on field trips (who, by the way, in many instances behaved much better than the adult tourists we encountered).

But even with the surprisingly large area to explore and the sometimes convoluted layout, we were mesmerized; stricken by the reality of actually being in such a spectacular place. We approached the Orsay like adventurers. We explored many rooms, completely missed others, and discovered many treasures. We found the quirky and stylistic work of Toulouse-Lautrec. We stumbled upon Vincent Van Gogh’s room and the mass of people gathered around to see his self-portrait and “The Church at Auvers”. We stood by as two defiant twenty-somethings, not at all intimidated by the museum’s strict no photo policy, photographed their garden gnome with perfect “Amelie” style in front of the beautiful “Starry Night Over the Rhone”. We even found the massive clock facing the Seine River with its lovely view of the right bank.

So the Orsay had treated us well but we were unfulfilled. It was as if we had seen the early matches on a fight card but missed the main event. It was like watching the opening acts at a concert but skipping the headlining band. Where were these magnificent and celebrated works of great impressionist’s art – the hallmark of the Orsay museum’s collection? The museum’s reputation had been built upon these masterpieces that we had so far only tasted through small portions. We were ready for the main course but we couldn’t find it.

We floundered around following the floor plan about as astutely as my 8-year old would have before finding a set of stairs that seemed to be attracting a lot of traffic. Those stairs led to more stairs and then escalators and it felt as if we were ascending high up to the museum’s attic. Before long we started noticing little signs that verified we were heading in the right direction. And then, lo and behold, just like boxed up old clothes, plastic tubs of christmas ornaments, and sentimental childhood toys in your attic at home, we found the Impressionists collection. We also found a swarm of people who made the busiest rooms below seem as empty as the Army Museum at Les Invalides two minutes after closing time.

Throwing personal safety out the window and with fortitude and conviction we headed into the crowd of people.  The chaotic flow of humanity in the rooms resembled the hazardous bumper-to-bumper street traffic that battles for position daily at Place Charles de Gaulle.  The cramped people moved slowly in what looked like a pickpocket’s playground, all jockeying for position to get the best view of Renoir’s magnum opus “Dance at le Moulin de la Galette “, Manet’s hyper-sensual “Olympia”, or Monet’s elegant “Woman with the Parasol” paintings. If you were fortunate enough to get up close, the impatient crowd expected you to look briefly and then move along. If you actually dared to examine and admire the painting, you could be subjected to several groans and sighs from those behind you. Fortunately some of the lesser known but equally impressive paintings offered a type of refuge. I loved slipping out of the crowd and into the corner to enjoy my time with Caillebotte’s realism meets impressionism gem “The Floor Planers”.

We finished the Impressionists wing and made our way back down and to the exit. I remembered feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of classic, world-renowned art that I had seen. I remember the satisfaction of being able to say I have seen with my own eyes the great works of the French masters that I had previously only seen in books. But over time I also began to feel that I had missed something. Getting caught in the assembly line movement of people from painting to painting didn’t feel like art appreciation. Yes I had “seen” the great works but had I experienced them? Had I appreciated them?

Reflecting back, I now wonder if maybe it wasn’t the Orsay with its smaller rooms that are unwelcoming to bigger crowds or its tricky interior layout that left me feeling slightly unfulfilled. Perhaps it was my lack of dedication to each individual work of art that I wanted to see. Perhaps I let a few sighs, moans, and shoulder bumps determine my experience rather than the beautiful oils put together by masterful hands on the canvases before me. Perhaps I was the reason I missed out on all that the Orsay had to offer.

Nonetheless I loved our visit to the Musee d’Orsay and, being that it was our first full day in Paris, it was our baptism into the Paris art scene. We would go on to see several other museums throughout the city but the Orsay set the table for us. This grand building, an old railway station that was once in danger of being demolished, is now one of Paris’ most popular attractions. The lower floors tease you with a variety of art – sculptures, paintings, photography, and even decorative arts – much of it phenomenal, some not as much. But the real treasures are hidden and almost begging to be discovered – treasures made significant by the names attached to them – Monet, Renoir, Manet, Cezanne, Degas, Courbet, and even Gustave Caillebotte. The Orsay has many artistic delights but, as I’ve said, it’s true treasures are in the attic.

Visiting the Locations of “Midnight in Paris”

It was only a little over a month ago that my wife and I made our first visit to Paris, France. Obviously this amazing city has tons of history and culture to offer and its sheer beauty, natural vibrancy, and great food make it a destination that shouldn’t be missed. But as a movie fan, and in this case a huge fan of Woody Allen’s “Midnight in Paris”, I saw our visit as an opportunity to see some of the locations he chose for his film (as well as several other Paris movies). We wandered all over the city from Montmartre to the Latin Quarter, from the upscale 7th arrondissement to Les Marais, and along the way I ran into several of Allen’s spots. So I thought it would be cool to share them here, not just as another way to drool over Paris (something I could easily do), but as a chance to share the great experience I had as a movie fan.

MUSEE RODIN

Early in the film we get our first real glimpse into Paul’s true pseudo-intellectual self absorption as they visit The Rodin Museum. As the four are admiring Rodin’s popular sculpture “The Thinker”, Paul flexes his faux knowledge of Rodin until he is corrected by the guide as well as Gil. Paul will have none of it and goes as far as to argue with the guide. Gil later returns to ask the guide for a favor.

I loved our visit to Musee Rodin. The inside collection was fabulous but for me the true treasures were in the beautiful gardens and wonderfully placed sculptures none better than “The Thinker”. While much smaller in scale than the Louvre or the Orsay, the Rodin Museum still managed to be a favorite spot of mine in all of Paris.

PLACE DAUPHINE

In one of the most romantic scenes in the movie, Gil and Adriana take a nighttime stroll and end up on the terrace at Restaurant Paul’s in Place Dauphine. It’s here that Gil gives her the earrings and then pours his heart out to her before a carriage comes to transport them back even further in time.

The cool thing is that Restaurant Paul isn’t a fictional place. It sits right in the cozy Place Dauphine. Unfortunately due to the time of day the restaurant was closed but we did get a chance to take pictures and admire the cool setting for what was one of my favorite scenes in the film.

SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY

There’s a brief scene in “Midnight in Paris” that shows Gil walking out of Shakespeare and Company. It’s certainly not a pivotal scene but it shows Gil on one of his strolls admiring the city that he truly loves.

I loved Shakespeare and Company! We stumbled on it after walking around the Latin Quarter. There is such a great feel of history as you approach the cool English bookstore. The narrow aisles inside house an amazing assortment of titles and going upstairs takes you right back to the days of Hemingway, Joyce, and Sylvia Beach. I bought a copy of “The Great Gatsby” and got my Shakespeare and Company stamp on the inside. I left one happy traveler.

QUAI DE BOURBON

After Gil is picked up by the old-time classic car, it takes him back in time to a  lively party on Quai de Bourbon. It’s at this party that Gil notices Cole Porter singing and playing the piano. It’s here that he also meets Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald. In the film we see the street as the car drives up and this was Gil’s first taste of the Roaring Twenties.

Quai de Bourbon winds around the tip of Ile Saint-Louis. We crossed over from the Notre Dame cathedral and came across the street by mistake. In fact at the time I didn’t remember the name but I most certainly recognized it from the film. It was a great moment of discovery and I couldn’t help but reflect back on the film as we walked down the street.

QUAI DES ORFEVRES

Quai des Orfevres appears in the movie on two different occasions. One of the scenes has Gil walking along the Seine clearing his mind and soaking up the city. Later in the movie it’s here that Gil and Adriana comes across a distraught Zelda threatening to jump into the Seine.

We came across this lovely location on a number of occasions. It was a gorgeous cobblestone walk along the river lined with trees and featuring some beautiful views of Paris. When you see it, it’s so easy to see why Woody Allen chose to include this particular location in his film.

SQUARE JEAN XXII

After buying an old book written by Adriana at a riverside book seller, Gil convinces the guide from the Rodin Museum the translate it for him. The two sit on a bench at Square Jean XXIII with Notre Dame standing tall in the background. It’s here that Gil finds out that there is a true connection between him and Adriana.

After visiting Notre Dame we spent a little time in the lovely Square Saint Jean. It’s here that you get the best views of Notre Dame’s buttresses and really highlights the Gothic architecture. The park is lined with benches, trees, and play areas for children. They also have bathrooms that you have to pay to use! No thanks.

PONT ALEXANDRE III

While it also appears in Woody Allen’s opening montage, the bridge known as Pont Alexandre III is also in the final scene of the film. Gil has broken up with Inez and is wandering around the city when he bumps into Gabrielle again on Pont Alexandre III. It’s here he tells her he’s staying and Paris. He offers to walk her home just as the rain starts to fall. It’s a wonderful ending.

After leaving Les Invalides we made our way to Pont Alexandre III. The beautiful ornate bridge was a sight. Tourists were snapping photos and brides were having wedding pictures made. We walked under it and over it admiring the River Seine and the wonderful architecture of the bridge itself.

There are so many wonderful locations in the city of Paris and Woody Allen takes advantage of so many. We visited several other places that you can see in the movie and missed out on some as well. Looks like we already have our excuse to head back to what I believe may be the world’s greatest city. I truly love this city!

“The Battle of Saint-Germain-des-Prés”

Jeffrey Dale Starr

It seems to be human nature to over-dramatize things. In the United States we blow everything, from a politician’s quote to a little league baseball game, out of proportion. We feed off of drama and often times when none exists we manufacture some. But this certainly isn’t restricted to just Americans. Some of the word’s greatest disagreements came as a result of people making more out of something small than they should. But on a much smaller scale good drama, either real or manufactured, can make for really good conversation. Such is the case with the dueling cafes and the Battle of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

Located in Paris’ 6th arrondissement, Saint-Germain-des-Prés rose up around the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, one of the most historic churches on the Left Bank. Today it’s a bustling and energetic spot filled with lots of traffic, fast walkers, good shopping, and trendy cafes – none more well-known than the famous Les Deux Magots and its neighbor Café de Flore. These two famous cafes both have impressive histories going as far back to the late 1800’s and even though today they are known more as a tourist draw, they are both still significant parts of the city of Paris. But what’s even more noted about these cafes is the rivalry between them that’s been going on for decades. While actually based more on perception, preference, politics, and ‘in crowds’, many have blown the rivalry up to the point to where it’s known worldwide.

Les Deux Magots got its name from a popular play of the time and started out as a silk shop. Even today a quick peek inside will get you a glimpse at the two “magots” – mounted mandarin statues that date back to the start of the business. It later became a cafe and a meeting place for some of Paris’ intellectual, artistic, and literary crowds. Intellectuals like Jean-Paul Sartre, artists like Pablo Picasso, and writers like Ernest Hemingway were just some of the young, energetic characters that frequented the place. Café de Flore has an equally rich history and it has had its share of poets, painters, and thinkers who spent time there. In fact, in the 1930’s Café de Flore became THE place to be. Many well-knowns left Les Deux Magots for Café de Flore due to its openness to the literary and artistic world as well as it’s growing attraction to left-wing thinkers. Sartre would later go as far as to call Café de Flore “home”.

But which is the better cafe? Which is the fashionable place to be seen? Parisians are all about fashion. But what’s fashionable for Parisians isn’t restricted to what you wear. For Parisians there are fashionable cars, fashionable friends, fashionable food, and of course fashionable cafe’s. Over the years Café de Flore has drawn more of the “in” crowd and even today it’s viewed by many as the more fashionable cafe of the two. But it’s not as though Les Deux Magots had a terrace full of empty tables. And even though both establishments are basically tourist hotbeds, there are still those in Paris who will judge your societal standing based upon which of these cafes you chose.

As newcomers to Paris, we found ourselves faced with the weighty choice of Les Deux Magots or Café de Flore. According to those better versed in this inflated conflict, this was not something to be taken lightly. It was a decision that could reveal everything from our inherent coolness to our social worth. It would reveal just how connected we were to culture, philosophy, and the arts. Much better writers than I have documented the long-standing battle for the business of the self-proclaimed intelligentsia, and here we were about to make a decision that would either identify us with them or place us among the pseudo-intellectuals and unenlightened. Talk about being burdened with a major choice. Oh, and didn’t I mention that we tend to over-dramatize things?

We walked down Boulevard Saint-Germain until we stumbled upon the lively Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The first cafe we came to was Les Deux Magots. The corner cafe was in a wonderful location with the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés in clear site of those eating on the right side of the terrace and the flowing energy of one of Boulevard Saint-Germain’s most energized intersections in view for those on the left side. The perfectly manicured facade of the building was an attention getter. The white awning with green trim and gold lettering along with the wood and glass cafe front exuded class and the small white-top tables and wooden chairs were very inviting. There were sprinkles falling from the light gray overcast sky and because of that the front row of tables were left vacant. But the rows closer to the building were filling up fast and the inside looked to be busy. Waiters in black suits and bow ties with long white aprons whizzed in and out of the stylish revolving front door with trays of food and drinks held high over their heads. Les Deux Magots left quite an impression.

We walked on and right next door was Café de Flore. The two cafes were separated only by a few beautiful tall trees, a newstand, and the small Rue Saint-Benoit. Café de Flore also sat on a corner and it’s facade resembled that of Les Deux Magots. A full white awning with green lettering stretched around the corner cafe. Just above the awning attractive greenery surrounded chic cursive lettering that spelled out Café de Flore in white. A small group was huddled around the few tables near the front door while many others had grabbed the tight-knit tables under the extended awning on the Boulevard Saint-Germain side of the building. The cafe was buzzing with hungry and thirsty patrons, some looking as new as we were to the area while others looked right at home. Café de Flore’s charm and spirit did nothing to make our decision between the two any easier.

We stepped back toward the little newstand to weigh our options. We couldn’t leave something so monumental and crucial to chance. How could we choose between two cafe’s with such history? Both places had left good first impressions and both places were full of people. We meandered towards Café de Flore then we slowly walked back towards Les Deux Magots. I could sense that my typical indecisiveness combined with the ridiculous over-dramatization of this decision was stretching my lovely wife’s patience. So I used an exhaustive and deeply intellectual approach to making the choice. We chose Les Deux Magots for no other reason than our two kids love the way the name sounds. Before we left them for our week-long trip we had told them about some of the places we might visit and eat at. They loved the sound Les Duex Magots made as it rolled off my faux French tongue. So what other influence would I possibly use for such an important decision?

We walked back to Les Duex Magots just in time to grab the last vacant table we saw. Before long our slender (and very French) waiter dressed in black with a long white apron was bringing us our meal – a salad for my wife, a club sandwich for me, and two Cokes. While the food was simple, it was delicious. We sat, talked, and watched the steady parade of people walking by in our fantastic view of Boulevard Saint-Germain. We watched the waiters as they took care of the large number of customers, never letting the revolving front door come to a stop. We watched the people sitting around us. Some were looking at maps and tour guides. Others were reading French newspapers or conversing with friends with their lightning-fast French tongues. It was a lovely mix of tourists and locals. We finished our meal with some of the most amazing hot chocolate – thick and rich to the point of almost feeling sinful. It was the perfect way to end the meal.

As we left I felt great. I had just ate a wonderful meal. I had a great conversation with my wife. We had a wonderful view of the city. I loved the surrounding scene and the local ambiance. But I have to be honest, I didn’t feel smarter. I didn’t feel more fashionable. I didn’t feel my societal worth had went up several notches. Had I made the wrong choice? Is that why I wasn’t feeling that I had connected with the true intellectual side of the culture? Should we have chosen Café de Flore? Or is the whole dueling cafes thing another instance of us blowing things out of proportion? Is it more about “I like Magots club sandwich better than Flores” or ” I prefer Flores’ salad over Magots”? All I know is that I had a great meal and a great experience at a historical cafe in Paris. But what about next time? When we return to Paris one day and we’re faced with the choice between Les Deux Magots or neighbor Café de Flore, will we go to Flore for something new or we will return to Magots for another pitcher a glorious hot chocolate? I don’t know, maybe we’ll just go across the street to Brasserie Lipp.