A Winter Escape: Provence to Paris

Van Gogh made me go. To Paris, that is. Not that the City of Light needed any more allure than it already has to draw me in. And by the fast train, the TGV, this magnificent city with its powerful je ne sais quoi energy is reachable in less than 3 hours from Avignon, just 20 minutes north of Saint-Rémy. 

So why now? Because for the first time ever, the much acclaimed exposition of paintings from Van Gogh’s last months in the town of Auvers-sur-Oise (30 kilometers north of Paris) was in full swing at my beloved Musée d’Orsay. This former train station houses an incredible range of works by my favorite Impressionists and Post-Impressionists and a treasure trove of other magnificent masterpieces. The expo would end the beginning of February, so if I wanted to witness this extraordinary collection by the Dutch master who spent a year in at a psychiatric hospital Saint-Rémy, this was the time.

The Van Gogh exhibition lived up to its hype but, the crowds rendered lingering pretty much impossible. Happily, the rest of the museum had plenty of room to roam through the insanely incredible permanent collection–to include many by Van Gogh which he painted before relocating in Auvers-sur-Oise.

The five-day, cram-packed trip was a non-stop whirlwind. I’d over-programmed to the hilt and beyond–even excluding the main tourists sites because we’d been there done that over the years. So we focused on art and architecture, to include the expo by the Latvian-American abstract painter Mark Rothko at the crazy cool Frank Gehry-designed Fondation Louis Vuitton–fashioned after a ship–as well as the Berthe Morisot exhibition at the Musée Marmottan. And we revisited some old haunts like the Luxembourg Gardens and Place Vosges, and indulged in some terrific culinary delights. Luckily, the weather cooperated, which was nothing short of a miracle the end of January, allowing us to walk everywhere. In fact, the last full day there, we clocked 25,000 steps–yikes!

To cap off the visit, we planned on a “bite” at the splendiferous restaurant Le Train Bleu, at the Gare de Lyon. It’s one of revered food critic Alexander Lobrano’s top 30 restaurants in Paris listed in his compelling book, My Place at the Table, so I was keen to try it. There wasn’t time for a relaxed meal in the ornate main dining room–as this quite pricey option merits–so we headed to the extensive “bar” area, which offers much more casual and reasonable fare. The Caesar salad and club sandwich were sensational. Highly recommend!

At the other end of the spectrum are the falafel pitas we picked up at Maoz (Latin Quarter). Stuffed with fresh veggies selected from a serve-yourself bar, they were delicious. And munching them on a bench, near the Seine while people-watching under sunny skies, made a happy memory.

And in between is Brasserie Balzac, which I’d read about in The New York Times. Hemingway and his crew used to hang out there. We just happened to be passing by around 1:30 PM en route to Luxembourg Gardens. Without a reservation at this historic haunt, which we assumed would be packed, we prepared ourselves to be turned away. Instead, we were greeted most warmly and seated right away at a well-positioned table–one of the few still available. The roast chicken was incredible and the ambiance authentic and lively.

Before I sign off, a few words of advice if you are planning a Paris trip soon. Chances are crowds will be even greater as the weather warms and the Olympics near, so be prepared for extended waits, be it trying to buy a metro ticket, browse in Shakespeare & Co. book shop, or munch a decadent treat at Angelina, the elegant pastry shop/restaurant. Target your top must-see and dos and calculate distances/time–considering construction delays–to avoid meltdowns. (Who, moi?) If you do end up walking more than you’d planned on, more reason to wear ultra comfy walking shoes—your footsies (and your emotional state) will thank you.

Bises, Gayle

PS

Yes, I’m beavering away on Book Three, to which, for the moment, I’ve assigned the working title, Pleasures of Provence. This seems fitting since it points to the special aspects of life in this region that I’ll strive to convey, perhaps in some surprising ways.

PPS

Our last day in Paris was dull and gray. But, this cooperative feathered friend–a Rose-ringed Parakeet–flitting about the park by the Musée Marmottan perked up our spirits when it posed for a moment as if to say, “Au revoir et bonne route!”