Paris Metropolis: Day 3 – Modern Art, Shakespeare and Ice Cream

15 Rue Jules Ferry, Paris, France

    While I try to type as quietly as I can, Grandma is fast asleep. Shhh… She must be worn-out from our hectic day. I should probably be tired, as well, but… No. I’d rather be sharing with the world all of my actions and thoughts! Wow, that sounded really creepy.

Centre Geroges Pompidou

    I woke up slightly later today, which was nice. You know, nine o’clock instead of eight. Of course, Grandma had already gone out and bought us breakfast: croissants. Maybe that’s why she’s so tired… After eating, we hopped on the metro, ready for a new day.
    Remember yesterday? Centre Georges Pompidou? Ring a bell? Well, I said we would most likely go check it out. Turns out, I was right. Psychic powers! (Be afraid, be very afraid.) Two metro-stops away was the modern art museum, and guess what? It was actually open today. Huh. Upon seeing the lineup to get in stretching across the square and onto the sidewalk, I was a bit discouraged. Grandma had the right idea, however; she decided to wait, and sure enough, the line moved quickly. Maybe those psychic powers only work for certain things, huh?
    We got to see some really cool exhibits. First were the works of Matisse, who contributed to the beginnings of modern art. What was interesting about him was that he tended to paint a same piece twice to examine himself and his work. I suppose a bit of introspection never hurt, right? It also makes for a pretty cool exhibit. His style is not really that appealing to me, though; I prefer brighter colours and for the line between abstract and realistic to be clearly defined. He tends to do a bit of both.
    Next stop was the history of video art, requested by yours truly. You know; television, radio, anything being filmed or recorded. If I could describe the display in one word, it would be… unique. There wasn’t that much information though, which I suppose could be considered as refreshing, but a complete lack of info was, to me, a bit disorienting. The exhibition was two large rooms teeming with old little television sets, sometimes with a pair of headphones plugged in, playing some kind of video. Some (actually, most) were really strange; there was one where a voice told a man to do something such as to take off his shoes, to show them to the camera and to say “I look shorter without my shoes on.” Another one was a woman undressing herself. I was kind of curious as to how far she would go, but Grandma and I were gone as soon as the underwear came off. But hey, that’s art for you.
    We finally took a peek at the normal contemporary art exhibit. I actually really like modern art. I recall a picture I saw once, most likely on facebook, that said “MODERN ART=I COULD DO THAT+YEAH, BUT YOU DIDN’T.” I’m not sure what a real artist would say to that, but to my young, ignorant brain, it’s pretty accurate.

    After searching to no avail for the exhibit about manga, we departed, and headed towards the Latin Quarters.
    I didn’t mention this yesterday, but we stopped at the Place Saint-Michel, the center of the Latin Quarters, on the bike tour. The neighborhood was named that way because it is the location of the Sorbonne, you know, the great French university, and people studying there would often speak, well, Latin to each other. Before, obviously. Now, it’s a nice little touristy area full of little bookstores and restaurants. Before I left for Paris, Mom told me about this little shop where, in the past, English writers could go and crash for the night when they had nowhere else to sleep. It sounded pretty cool. On top of that, it’s named after THE English writer of all time, and a personal favorite of mine. That’s right.
    William Shakespeare.
    Wandering around for a bit, we finally reached “Shakespeare and Company,” the greatest English bookstore in Paris. It was split in two, one half having obviously been added much later than the other. It looked pretty small from the outside, but I was quite, quite wrong.

Little alcove at Shakespeare and Co.

    It was… beautiful. (Tear rolls down my cheek.) The most amazing sight I had ever seen. It was more than just a bookstore. It was a store full of books. It was profuse with winding passages, books piling high up to the ceiling. It felt so private, not commercialized at all. It was organized in a disorganized kind of way. Or was it disorganized in an organized way? The shelves were made of wood, and fully covered every single piece of wall. A diagonal shelf climbed up the stairs; everything, every table, chair, shelf and spare inch on the wall was dedicated to books.
    The sound of a piano wafted (Can sound waft? It could there.) from upstairs, and we crept up the creaking steps. And there, we found (see 2nd picture)… this great little spot. It was a nice little bed which I would have enjoyed reading on, but I didn’t, and the wall behind it was buried under layers and layers of post-its and pieces of paper. People had signed their names and left their mark in the shop, and had I some paper in my pocket, I would’ve done it too.
    Regretfully deciding that it was time to go, I left my fragment of paradise behind. But mark my words (Seriously, write this down somewhere), I will be back. O, Shakespeare, how I love thee! Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? (No, I shan’t, for this becometh too weird.) We went off to find some lunch.

    After twisting through the narrow streets of the “Quartier Latin,” we were drawn in (quite literally) to an Italian restaurant. We ordered; I, spaghetti with tomato sauce (duh) and Grandma, a seafood pasta dish (not quite so duh, but still). Before our food had arrived, we were served some red beverage in a small glass. After the server had left, I whispered to Grandma, “What is it?”
    “I don’t know,” she said. “Why don’t you try it?”
    “I’ll try after you have.”  I know, it’s not nice to sacrifice your grandmother to test for poison/other unknown and dangerous ingredients, but there was nobody else around, and it’s not like I was going to do it.
    “What is it?” I asked eagerly, after she had taken a few sips.
    “I think it’s a Campari,” she replied.
    “Does it have any alcohol in it?”
    “A little.”  Okay, then.
    I took a small sip. “It tastes like fruit punch,” I said.
    There you go. The first time I had ever had a full glass of something that had alcohol in it, no matter how little. In Europe, and particularly France, it’s normal for kids and teens to have a glass of wine with their dinner. Fortunately, I’m not at that point, yet. Of course, Grandma just had to tell me stories about my mom when she was fifteen and they went to Europe.
    “I allowed them to have one glass of wine every night.” She was speaking of my mom, 15, and my uncle, 12. I don’t even like wine. I just tolerated the Campari, so I don’t see how I would like it. Besides, I’ve tasted it before, and it’s too strong. Meh.  It’s not like I want alcohol.

    I bought an umbrella. It was five euros. That is all.

    Anyways, after lunch, we headed over to an ice cream shop. It was said to have the best ice cream in Paris, and we found it quite by mistake. I said it was somewhere in the area where we were, and it just magically popped up in front of us. Grandma had a pralines, caramel and coriander-flavored ice cream, while I chose white chocolate. I did not enjoy it. Why in the world I ordered white chocolate when I don’t even like white chocolate I don’t know. I ate it, anyways.
    It was raining. I took out my brand-new umbrella. It was also windy. And my umbrella broke.
    Seriously. Never, ever buy a 5-euro umbrella. Flimsy, it flipped inside out after ten minutes of use. I flipped it back, but it just kept flipping over and over again. Finally, after a particularly strong gust of wind, the metal cracked, and I was left with a very broken umbrella. Stuffing it into a garbage can, we ran into the nearest metro, soaking wet. We were laughing the whole time.

    Arriving home, Grandma took a loooooooooooong nap (That’s what you get when you’re up at 5 am.), while I did more homework. She finally awoke, and we decided to go check out a store called Chez Pascal—we were told it sold nothing but frozen products.
    Well, we were told right. Walking in, we found a store lined with white, horizontal freezers. I bought a dinner of ravioli, Grandma bought “crevettes avec legumes et pates,” and we decided that, for a vegetable, a bag of peas was satisfactory.
    It took us a while to figure out the microwave, but other than that, it was good. Then, I did more banging-head-against-wall-reading-Brave-New-World. It was a pretty good day.

    That’s all, folks. For today, anyways.