Category: Parc de Bagatelle

I am a daffodil

Reader: (this is my Jane Eyre moment)

Over the past three weeks, I have had so much to write about but every morning, I read the headlines out of the US and, much like many others on Substack, it takes me most of the day to shake off the feeling of dread. Unless I’m writing fiction, writing brings me closer to whatever is going on inside my head and heart. I end up staring out the window in front of my desk, gazing at the Parisian rooftops, both grateful I live in France yet very aware that what happens in the US will affect us all.

I have also learned that I have to have a second carpal tunnel surgery on March 31. This time on my right wrist. This will dampen my writing 95% and I still am rubbish at dictating to my computer.

I have a deadline. I have to submit three chapters of my next book by sometime in June which means a lot of work. I have been viscious in axing many of the things I do on a volunteer basis and hoping that what is on my calendar now is the most neccessary appointments with myself and the things that keep my heart and soul healthy and growing. Not easy in this strange time of being alive.

Between now and September, I will only be writing sporadically. I’m suspending the paid subscriptions and everything will be free. Meanwhile, here are the things I’ve been thinking about, experiencing, and responding to:

THE BRUTALIST: I saw this movie last week. I rarely go to a cinema these days for no reason that I can explain. My friend, Elsie, said “It’s vacation here in France and I’d love to go a movie. Which one?” I didn’t even know what the word Brutalist referred to and fearing that it would be violent yet knowing it was nominated for every award possible, I thought this was my chance to see it and not go alone!!! Another friend had seen it the night before, loved it, and said the almost four hours flew by. I suggested going to it. We went to a 4pm showing. 

I thought the movie was stunning. Visually, it was a treat and not to be seen on a small screen. Adrien Brody plays what he does best—a long suffering Jew. His face was made for that role. My friend was right. The time flew by. The intermission is a welcome respite for those of us who need to stand up or go to the Toilettes during a movie. And the themes of the movie, whether you like it or not, make you think. Fascism vs Capitalism. Little educated guy vs power-hungry uneducated rich guy. Brutalism itself: which is the name of the school of architecture that came out of the Bauhaus movement in Germany. Immigration in North America: how immigrants get used and thrown away. Psychological violence vs physical violence.

I left the cinema wanting to read everything I could about the movie, about the writer and director. There was a similarity to reading a one thousand page book that has a profundity on every page. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The next day, I had lunch with three friends and recommended they see it. All three looked at me in surprise. “Everyone I know who saw it, hated it,” they said. How could that be possible? More to think about. I came to my own conclusion that we are all overloaded and overwhelmed. During WWII, musicals became the rage as did Film Noir. Escapist movies that took the viewer away from the realities of their lives.  The Brutalist pushed issues in the viewer’s face. Many of us don’t want our movies to do that right now. When I’m at home, I want to watch All Creatures Great and Small, Father Brown, reruns of Miss Marple, old classic movies. Every part of me feels so sensitive that my tolerance for violence and too much suspense is nil. Yet, I loved The Brutalist. Go figure.

CLOCKS: REMINDER to all readers around the world: On March 9th, somewhere in the dead of night or early morning, the US will move clocks forward one hour. Here in Europe, we don’t have the luxury of late days until March 30. That is three weeks of mayhem if you don’t plan ahead. What is usually six hours difference between New York and Paris becomes five hours. If I have a scheduled phone call every Monday morning at 9am ET and the call originates in Michigan, I need to call at 2pm in Paris instead of 3pm. If a friend in California calls me each week on a Tuesday at 5pm in Paris, she would call me at 9am PT instead of 8am. 

The best thing to do is use your smart phone and look up the world clock and the times. I have missed many meetings because I couldn’t, on the spur of the moment, think correctly if I was to call one hour before or one hour after the normally scheduled time.

daffodils – Parc de Bagatelle 2022

PARC DE BAGATELLE: As long time readers know, I love to write about my favorite park at least once a year. The Parc de Bagatelle is situated in the upper north west corner of Bois de Boulogne. It is now a 50 minute walk for me instead of the 35 minute walk when I lived two stops higher on the metro #9. I strolled there two weeks ago to investigate the daffodils fields. These fields flower like a Wordsworth poem every February and March. It is a stunning sight if you hit it at the right time. Two weeks ago was not the right time. Maybe it is the cold of this winter, the amount of rain, the lack of sun—although none of those things is particularly unParisian—there wasn’t a bloom to be seen. Scraggly stems about three to five inches high were pushing their way up from the ground. The tulips, which usually follow daffodil season in mid March to mid April and love cold ground, the colder the better, were sprouting right on time. You can imagine the disappointment when rounding a corner and expecting to see YELLOW. Yellow everywhere. This time, just green shoots.

Today, I’m returning and taking some friends with me. The sun has been out a lot in the past two weeks and I’m crossing my fingers, hoping, hoping, hoping, to show them the glory of daffodil season at the Parc de Bagatelle. Truthfully, nothing can dampen the joy I feel when I’m there. Seeing the cats who gather very close to the majority of daffodil fields, the many peacocks who strut the grounds, barking and honking and showing off their gorgeous plumage, the lovely mallards who stroll around near the lakes they frequent, and the anticipation of tulip season, iris season, peony season, and the formal rose garden that has a yearly competition for the best rose in Paris for the year. If the daffodils are at a minimum, I will have to draw on every oral skill I have to paint a portrait of this parc that the City of Paris maintains so beautifully.

Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Until the next time,

A bientôt,

Sara

Back in Paris….

I flew back home last week, a smooth-as-ice plane ride with no hiccups, just nice people in the air. No flat tires, no holes blown out in the side of a plane. It was a United flight and United is getting bashed but this was a great flight. People smarter than I am say that it takes one day of jet lag for each time zone one crosses. I crossed nine and it took me about two weeks to feel solidly on French soil.

The day after I arrived, I walked to Parc de Bagatelle to check on my cats and peacocks. I was also crossing my fingers that I had not missed the daffodils which bloom in February and March. It is a sight to behold. Fields and fields of daffodils, yellow, white, cream, and even cream with yellow centers. Daffodils have long been one of my favorite flowers, and to see the Wordsworth poem laid out like a carpet in front of me is un émerveillement. I was not too late. I think that the entire month of March will be Daffodil Heaven!!

I also saw something else that in all my years of going to Bagatelle I’ve never seen. A male peacock courting a female peacock. Mating season starts now and goes through June or July. Female peacocks make themselves scarce while the males prance all over the parc. They are real show-offs. They will spread their beautiful tail feathers into a peacock fan if there are enough people to watch. They will walk right up to you, and, if you keep your hand open and flat, like one does with a horse, they will eat kibble out of your palm. What I saw was fascinating. A female was up on the stump of a tree cleaning herself and ignoring the male. The male had his fan unfolded. He would literally shake a tail feather and the entire fan would vibrate for about 30 seconds. If you watch the video, you can see him start the vibrations. The feathers shake like leaves blowing on a tree. It’s as if with the shaking of the tail feathers, he is winding up his motor for the fan vibration. He slowly takes little steps towards her. But before he gets close, she takes off.

Peacock courting
dance

Many European cities have Parks, Gardens, and Squares for the public and, probably Paris is not #1 but only because many European cities share the best public gardens with Paris. One cannot go walking for more than ten minutes without stumbling on a green space where Parisians are sitting on benches reading books, or eating a meal, or taking longs walks as is true with Bagatelle. Parc de Bagatelle is in the northeast corner of Bois de Boulogne. North, in the 17th arrondissement, is the beautiful Parc Monceau which combines the best of manicured gardens with wild grasses and trees, and the feel of walking in a forest. In the 20th is the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. It is large but not on the scale of Boulogne or Vincennes, the two Bois that sandwich Paris between them. Buttes-Chaumont has many walking paths, a playground for children, marionettes, and food stands. East of the 20th arrondissement is Bois de Vincennes, slightly larger than Bois de Boulogne. There is a Chateau that is open to the public, two lakes, a tennis club, riding club and a sports arena. Among other things.

I have long theorised that the majority of Parisians have small apartments. With no front or back lawns to enjoy the sunshine, Parisians use the closest park as their outdoor home. The same is true for meeting for a coffee or a drink. Apartments for the most part are small and few of us have a kitchen table to hang out at with a friend. So we meet in cafés where no one will urge you to leave. As we exPats learn to do that, we join the wonderful sidewalk society that Paris is so famous for.

Avenue Mozart

I will end with one of my quibbles of living here and having a lot of communication with the US. The US changed their clocks and sprung forward on March 9/10. Europe and the UK do not change their clocks until Easter. Three weeks of having to remember that the time difference is one hour less than normal. I missed an important meeting last night, came an hour late to my writing class and my writing group. I usually am very good at remember this difference, and I’m blaming it all on still being sleepy from jet lag. I can’t get away with that much longer. So I wish those readers in the US: “Enjoy your late evenings” We will catch up with you!

A bientôt,

Sara

Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

After three months in stormy, wet, miserable California, I am now back in Paris. Question marks hovered over my head for days wondering what would greet me. I read that the garbage strike was over but….how many days does it take to clean up ten days worth of a strike that left streets unpassable and people holding their noses? Many as it turns out. By the time I was taxing from CDG to my apartment, garbage bags were off the street but still in piles on sidewalks. The news says the outer arrondissements are taking longer to clean than the inner.

Garbage waiting to be picked up on April 1, in the 16ème near Parc du Ranelagh

I wondered about the airport itself. Everything I read said only Orly and Marseille airport workers were striking. In France, it is mandatory to tell the police ahead of time where, when, and who is striking. But I was raised in the US where surprise is part of the strike so I expect things to happen that aren’t known. The worst thing that happened, the day of my return, was that there was no place for the plane to taxi to. We waited thirty minutes on the plane in Frankfurt until the pilot was assured of a gate and then waited another ten minutes upon arrival in Paris for the gate to free up. After that, it was easy peasy. The unplanned wait allowed morning rush hour traffic to disappear and I was in my apartment less than two hours after we finally got to the gate.

I stepped into my apartment and it seemed as if I’d never been away. Time is something I don’t understand. I find it fascinating that some hours seem like days and some days pass by so fast, it feels like just a few breaths. Here I was, back in Paris, after what had felt like a decade of horrendous storms and now it all felt like a dream. It wasn’t raining and, though the sun wasn’t out, it was clear.

Parc du Ranelagh April 2, 2023

I suffer terrible jet lag and the common sense wisdom says jet lag is always worse going west to east. I had cut out three hours (or three days) by stopping in Michigan to visit my sister. I decided not to try and plan the jet lag or outsmart it or any of the other attempts at controlling what I can’t contol. I would sleep if I felt like sleeping and take everything else easy. So I made a few commitments and had to apologize for most of them when I was too tired to follow through. I did get outside and walk my neighborhood. The world was green, young green, shoots of baby plants green, that light green that says it can only be Spring. After a winter of so much rain (yes, I was grateful for California rain and that the Bay Area is no longer in drought conditions, but that didn’t make it fun), grey in the sky, grey on people’s faces, carrying an umbrella and warm clothes everywhere, I was experiencing a literal ‘light at the end of the tunnel.’ 

Rue de l’Assomption April 2, 2023

I managed to make it out to Parc de Bagatelle in my first days back. I knew I had missed the fields of golden daffodils that had taken my breath away last year. But Spring was here and I wanted to see the peacocks and the cats. I could hear the peacocks ‘crowing’ before I even entered the parc. Mating season was officially open. The first peacock I saw had his fan tail completely open and was doing a cat walk for a number of people with cameras and phones, and for two females who were playing hide and seek with him. It was a wonderful show. I kept wondering where all the feathers go when the tails start to molt. All the times I went to watch the progress of the new tail growth, I never saw a single feather.

Male peacock putting on a show for people and females alike. You can see one of the females vehind him at about 2 O’Clock.

And though I missed the daffodils, the tulips were on display, tiny flowers of yellow and purple, red and orange, magnolia trees with purple flowers at its base, all sang of Spring. I was so happy to be back in Paris.

Fields of orange tulips replacing the plethera of daffodils
The albino peacock
One of two magnolias at Bagatelle

Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

A bientôt,

Sara

Art in Paris: digital and natural

Monday, I was sitting on a platform in the back of an old foundry in Paris overlooking what is now known as Atelier des Lumières. The Atelier is the first digital art museum in Paris. I have gone five times since it opened its doors in April of 2018. All the shows are a combination of Art and Technology. Using 120 projectors, images are thrown up on walls and the floor. They are in constant motion and accompanied by music.

After watching a show of Cezanne, Kandinsky, and Van Gogh, I decided I wanted to know more about the origins of the Atelier des Lumières. As each of the shows ended and the credits were projected on the walls, eight cities (including Paris) now house these light shows: Bordeaux, Les Baux-de-Province, Amsterdam, New York, Dubai, Seoul, and Jeju. That is six more than the last time I was there during the summer of 2020. My sister had told me she had tickets to see the Van Gogh show in Detroit (for five times the price we pay here in Paris!). I had assumed it was the Paris show that was traveling but I’m not so sure. There is a permanent installation in New York.

The first of these art and technology shows, Carrières des Lumières, started in les Baux-de-Province. There the art is projected onto the walls of caves. It is part of a much larger organization called Cultural Spaces. Bruno Monnier, the president of Cultural Spaces, wanted to bring the idea to Paris. He found an unused foundry from the 19th century called Chemin-Vert located in the 11th arrondissement. It was created in 1835 to meet the needs of the Navy and railways for high-quality castings. It closed in 1929 due to the International crisis. Monnier has taken the space, left it intact, and cleaned it up while fitting it for all the projectors. It opened in 2018 with a show of Klimpt’s famous paintings. It is hard to describe the show if you haven’t seen one. My photos are static but the images are constantly moving like a giant slide show. Music is chosen specifically for certain periods in an artist’s life. The result is captivating. It’s not a stretch to call it a completely immersive experience. Children often run around chasing the images on the floor and become part of the fun of the show.

Kandinsky

After writing the above, I walked to Parc de Bagatelle to check on the peacocks and the cats. I couldn’t go on Sunday. I saw how fast the peacock tails were growing in. I thought of sitting in the Atelier watching these famous artists’ depictions of nature dancing on the walls. And, of being in Bagatelle week after week, looking at the trees turn colors, the roses die away, a few defying nature and hanging on to their stems, the peacocks strutting around, their tails growing so fast it just might be a slide show. There is no sign of the females. There aren’t even that many people even though it was a lovely autumn day. The cats were all out enjoying the warmth of the sun.

Gaston and Zoe (the cats from the circus) are lying on the bench.

The regular volunteer was just finishing up feeding time for the cats. I asked him how long it took the peacock tails to complete the circle to full growth. He said April. They molt in August. Four months is the short time they are full and probably the equivalent of mating season.

Two months worth of growth, the eyes are now clearly visible

I asked him about kittens. He said most are born between September and December. We never see them because the mothers hide them in the thick bushes on the periphery of the park. I had visions of bushwacking my way through those bushes until I found a litter. Then I’d steal one and raise it—much to the chagrin of Bijou who is the true Lady and Mistress of my small apartment. A girl can dream.

One rose, with a strong perfume, is hanging on. Because it is an entrant into the competition of 2023, it is not named.

Being at Bagatelle week after week is as immersive an experience as the digital art show at the Atelier. One shouldn’t compare apples and oranges but, if I were forced to choose…..

Van Gogh’s Starry Night

Thanks for reading Out My Window! Subscribe to receive new posts and support my work. This post is public so feel free to share it.

A bientôt,

Sara