You'll never walk alone (Paris)

 

Well, that fits for anywhere in Paris, at any time of the day (except maybe Sunday morning), but it certainly was the case at the Louvre today. As Auden once wrote, "the crowds upon the pavement were like fields of harvest wheat" except that wheat is smarter than any tour group we came across.

You don't believe me? Even one of the statues had had enough. Check out the look on her face. If the scene form Taxi Driver doesn't come flooding back ... "you talking to me?" She has serious attitude. Love her.

And so today is a single title,

The Louvre

The lady herself. And that enigmatic smile.

We left home at 8:30 and walked back in at 5:40. In all that time we were walking to or from, or within the Louvre. That, dear reader, is a lot of walking and with my dodgy knees, it was no given. 

The real challenge of the day was getting to see La Giaconda before the bus groups and school groups arrived and then keeping my cool while tour groups walked over the top of me, because, clearly I am invisible. Join a tour group, watch your IQ plummet 100 points.

There are several artistic questions to be answered following my visit. The main one is to do with the random breast that was evident in so many paintings. Why? Who was the first to paint a picture with perfectly clothed people, except the woman in the centre who has a breast showing? Whoever it was should have patented the idea. Wildfire!

Random breast testing?

Another question - are you reaching for your books Kristy? - concerns the semi-naked men. It's OK to do naked sculptures, it's OK to paint woman naked, but with the blokes? It must have a windy day when they were all painted and a gust of wind has blown a piece of cloth up, down. across, whatever the offending piece of anatomy.

I'm waiting for answers people.

So, the story begins: We purchased our tickets prior to Mass last night, but you know all that. We arrived at the Musee de Louvre a fraction after 9 and the crowd was already snaking its way around the forecourt. Such a shame we had pre-purchased tickets ... we had a separate entrance. Oh yes!

Inside and straight for the bit where La Giaconda (Mona Lisa) lives. We weren't the first and there was already an annoying twat who wanted to take ten photos of the painting and then have his entire family photographed in front of it as well. No, it's all good, because he is the only person who matters. I didn't push him over, tempted though I was. Got the shot and left.

Another Paris traffic jam.

The shot I didn't get, was of a man and his friend (female) walking toward the Mona Lisa area. He was ridiculously tall. That was noteworthy. The fact that he was wearing a women's skirt was also of significance. Nice skirt too. Not plain. It had a double edged hem, both cut at different angles. Nice. I don't understand.

Our photos are typified by an absence of people, particularly us, so we both struggle to understand the concept of having your photo taken in front of every 'significant' painting, statue, whatever. Of course, significant means those tagged with a 'star' by the museum people. Lots of other beautiful treasures were ignored, and believe me, we were ecstatic about that.

Couldn't resist this shot.

With Mona in the can, we headed for the furthest most point of the museum, the second floor, next to the closed bit. You could go no further and from there we commenced our journey back to reality and sad blustery, rainy weather. In the next 8 hours though we had treasures to examine.

And examine we did, until fatigue and the increasing number of bus tour groups and their mindless ignorance of the fact that there were others in the museum who might like to (a) see the exhibit, or (b) just walk around without being trapped or buffeted by them, or (c) just get passed them, took it's toll on my patience. OK at 5pm my feet were a tad sore as well.

Better than your mozzie screen, Cait.

So, we left and struggled through the Paris afternoon traffic to the Asian restaurant next door to home. Sadly, it doesn't serve dinner until 7pm. Ever the innovator, I suggested we walk the 15 metres home and have a bottle of champagne and return at 7pm. Problem solved.

Dinner was lovely and the young girl working there was Australian. 

The best end to the day? An email from the booking company for the apartment acknowledging that they over-charged me €300. Oh yeah. A nice finish to the day.