Tuileries

I dropped into the office for a brief spell to peruse some teaching materials for Monday’s lesson. Afterwards I wandered about and realized how ridiculously close my office is to the Jardin des Tuileries. I haven’t been there since my first visit to Paris 11 years ago, so I felt compelled to go, even though a huge gray storm cloud hovered.


To get there, I had to cut through Place Vendôme, a.k.a. the Posh Pavilion (my name for it, anyway). The plaza boasts an impressive column, oxidized by time and intricately engraved; a statue of Napoleon rests on top. All around the plaza and on the streets leading to it are the schmanciest businesses imaginable (Chanel, Cartier, Boucheron, Van Cleef & Arpels, the Ritz, etc.) I then realized my plan to grab a bite on my way to the Tuileries was a mistake. Nearly an hour later, my wallet 13 euros lighter and my belly satisfied with a French version of Caesar salad (much better than in the US), I entered the Tuileries.


Even on a less-than-idyllic day, this public garden is a paradise. I wove through a kiddie football game, striding up the leafy lanes leading up to a swath of flower gardens (hello, dahlias!). After admiring the colors, I made my way to the fountain, which was surrounded by comfy looking chairs free for the sitting. I sat down, opened my book, and tried to read, although I was distracted by the utter beauty of my surroundings. Plus I could see Musée D’Orsay, the Eiffel Tower, the arcades of Rue de Rivoli, the Obelisque (over at Place de la Concorde), and the Ferris wheel from my seat (behold the pics). Directly behind me was the Louvre, the pyramid looming up from a bevy of camera-snapping internationals. I was in a tourist’s paradise, but interestingly enough, a lot of the voices around the fountain chattered away in French.


Soon some Russian intermingled with French, Italian, and English. An elderly Russian woman sat on a chair right near me, muttering at her husband, who was blithely filming the scene on his camcorder. Suddenly the woman toppled backwards in her seat and was splayed out on the ground. Her husband continued filming it, unfazed. Struggling to hold in some laughter at his ridiculousness, I was the one to get up and help her. I think at that point he finally stopped shooting, so hopefully I won’t wind up on YouTube.


Fiinally descending into the Metro, I was reminded of a wonderful little segment in the recent film, “Paris Je T’Aime,” a collection of shorts that each take place in a different arrondisement of Paris. Each short is written and directed by a different director, and is in essence its own unique ode to the city and its inhabitants (I definitely recommend renting it). The Coen Brothers directed the “Tuileries” short set in the eponymous Metro station, in which Steve Buscemi manages to make you laugh without ever saying one word. It’s all about the eyes.