Life Is a Carnavalet

It’s been a few days since my last post, so let me begin by wishing all the fellow members of the tribe a Shana Tovah, as well as a happy post-BMan to those who went. And if you don’t fall into either category, well, your time for a special shout-out will come…don’t you worry .

After a rather gray Saturday (and another trip to the bank during which we could only accomplish one of several banking tasks…sigh), we were delighted to wake up to a brilliantly sunny Sunday. This weekend happens to be Les Journées du Patrimoine, an annual event during which many national monuments, museums, churches, and points of architectural interest are open free to the public. It took us about one millisecond to decide against going to the Louvre. While free admission seemed appealing, judging from its zoo-like atmosphere on a normal day, we decided fighting the crowds was not a favorable Sunday afternoon activity. Hence the plan to visit a lesser-known, relatively off-the-beaten path museum. Ironically, avoiding crowds was just not in the cards, but we had a lovely day nonetheless.


We headed to the Marais and first grabbed a bite at the much-lauded L’As du Falafel on Rue des Rosiers. The huge line snaking up the narrow street assured us that this was, as reported, the best falafel joint of the lot—and there are, literally, a lot on this street, with nary a line a third the size of this one. And so we waited, in a manner reminiscent of Sunday jaunts to Zazie. Our people-watching went into high gear. Now it’s true, there are many stylish people in this city, but there are also some pretty heinous fashion crimes running rampant. One particular disastrous trend we’ve noticed is a style of pants I can only describe as MC-Hammer-meets-50-Cent: super baggy, carpenter-style parachute pants that cinch at the bottom. Ugh. And no matter what type of shirt or shoes is worn with them, it’s a look that cannot be salvaged. Make it stop! (Ze goggles, zey do nah-seeng.) I wonder…is there a Vice Mag Paris bureau?

We took our falafel to go and ate in the street. It was DELICIOUS. Although we were then subject to the sandbag-in-the-belly sensation that naturally follows, we hopped over to the nearby Musée Carnavalet, a museum dedicated to the history of Paris. Nate didn’t seem as wowed by the grounds as I was upon my first discovery of the museum earlier this week (see previous blog entry). Apparently the grounds of the Musée Rodin outshine these, but I’m easily impressed, unlike the oh-so-jaded Parisians (toward which N seems to be slowly but surely evolving, hehe).


The Carnavalet galleries contain artifacts, paintings, furniture, and miniature architectural models from various time periods, ranging from the first to the twentieth centuries. We ogled the Merovingian medical instruments, Medieval stained glass, Renaissance iron works, deluxe 18th-Siècle furnishings, and images of Roaring Twenties taverns. Abundant paintings depicted views of the city from 200, 300, 400 years ago that boast the exact same architecture and Seine views that you can see at present. Of course, it’s impossible not to recognize this when walking the city streets nowadays, but it’s another thing altogether to see it captured on canvas by the artists who breathed that air. Europe is so thrillingly different from the States in this respect.

But our favorite section at the museum by far was the top floor, wholly dedicated to the French Revolution—one of the most fascinating historical periods, in my estimation. The artistic renderings of the siege of the Bastille and beheadings by guillotine were chilling in their realism. The replica of Marie Antoinette’s prison chamber was relatively amusing, as it was quite posh considering the people were rabid at the prospect of beheading her.

All the blood and gore was exciting at first, but eventually wore us down. We abandoned the bayonet-fueled battles of the past, only to enter the fray of present day foot-traffic battles. The Marais’ narrow streets (and even narrower sidewalks) that were so tranquil only a few days ago were now teeming with people. Free sightseeing + gorgeous weather + great shopping and dining + limited space = rubbernecking central. And I’m sure pedestrians do this all over the world, but we’ve noticed that it’s rather frequent in Paris—people will just stop in their tracks, right in front of you, and then it’s an acrobatic feat to circumnavigate them and the adjacent dense flow of foot traffic. Not to complain– it’s all part of the experience and small potatoes compared to places in other parts of the world (Chatuchak Market in Bangkok comes to mind). Nonetheless, it was a bit hairy getting out of the Marais, and afterwards we felt thankful that our apartment is removed from this part of the neighborhood, yet only a few minutes away by foot.

Now it’s time to hunker down and do some lesson planning for my first full week of teaching English to Parisian professionals. The prospect of alarm clocks and bleary-eyed subway rides is not too palatable, but I’m excited to teach again, to establish a routine, and to gain footing in this new chapter of my life.