city of lights
Flying with a headcold is one of the most exquisite tortures of the modern world. The only pain worse than not being able to pop your ears is a migraine-- and even then it's not by much.
But the plane flight was mercifully brief, and I slept through the bus ride to Paris, arriving in good time at my hostel. So with much of the day left, I spent my afternoon wandering the Musee d'Orsay. I don't really like Impressionism, but I figured I should go see them anyway, for the sake of my soul's enrichment. Ironically the most famous works, the Monet collection, were all out on loan to another Parisian gallery.
Well, maybe I'll just go there on Saturday. Still, there was plenty to see, and I wandered through the highlights-- my fill of Rodin, Renoir, Manet, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Cezanne . . . none of whom I particularly like. But I found a small side gallery of Symbolist works which pleased me, and the models of the Opera House were fascinating, and there were many fun sculptures and whole rooms of Art Neuveau furniture to browse. So I had a grand time wandering about with my audio guide.
One of the excellent things was actually just looking out the window of the upstairs gallery. A boat tied up on the Seine was hosting an elegant black tie affair, and the Eiffel Tower glowed like a beacon over a typical Parisian roofline, and it was all so unbearably Paris that I could hardly contain my glee.
When I left the Musee I strolled across the bridge towards the Louvre, taking pictures as I went. Alone, I thought, as always, alone.
And then, watching the golden streetlights glitter off the rippling surface of the Seine, So what? I'M IN PARIS!
But the plane flight was mercifully brief, and I slept through the bus ride to Paris, arriving in good time at my hostel. So with much of the day left, I spent my afternoon wandering the Musee d'Orsay. I don't really like Impressionism, but I figured I should go see them anyway, for the sake of my soul's enrichment. Ironically the most famous works, the Monet collection, were all out on loan to another Parisian gallery.
Well, maybe I'll just go there on Saturday. Still, there was plenty to see, and I wandered through the highlights-- my fill of Rodin, Renoir, Manet, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Cezanne . . . none of whom I particularly like. But I found a small side gallery of Symbolist works which pleased me, and the models of the Opera House were fascinating, and there were many fun sculptures and whole rooms of Art Neuveau furniture to browse. So I had a grand time wandering about with my audio guide.
One of the excellent things was actually just looking out the window of the upstairs gallery. A boat tied up on the Seine was hosting an elegant black tie affair, and the Eiffel Tower glowed like a beacon over a typical Parisian roofline, and it was all so unbearably Paris that I could hardly contain my glee.
When I left the Musee I strolled across the bridge towards the Louvre, taking pictures as I went. Alone, I thought, as always, alone.
And then, watching the golden streetlights glitter off the rippling surface of the Seine, So what? I'M IN PARIS!