Last Thursday, I had a final exam in Comparative International Law and a midterm in International Security. This, of course, almost killed me. Comparative International Law is not fun and if someone expresses recreational interest in the subject, you should treat this individual with great suspicion.
However, I pulled through because that evening, I had a ticket to see the Paris Opera Ballet in their closing night of Swan Lake.
I leaped on the metro at 6:45 only to encounter delays all the way to Bastille. After dashing out of the metro at 7:15, I lined up with everyone else to get through bag check and then got my ticket scanned and started up the stairs.
Here is where the Paris Opera fails: helping you find where the hell your seat is. There are no employees anywhere except at the doors, but when your entry door is #11, second tier balcony, and there doesn't seem to be a first balcony and the doors go from #9 to #12, all hope seems to be lost. I eventually found my seat by swallowing my pride and just walking into random doors until the usher didn't give me an eye roll.
I had the cheapest seats to the ballet, but they were the best seats for seeing Nureyev's Swan Lake. It's an awe-inspiring ballet, full of formations that are best seen from a bird's-eye-view, or as close as you can get to bird's eye. At the orchestra level you won't be able to see the circles that fold in on each other or the line changes that are made with military precision.
I'd settled into my seat that also had a great view of the orchestra, and it was then that I realized there was no curtain. The stage was open and empty, and when the house lights went down, the first person to appear was a man in a suit, who stepped into a spotlight on downstage right.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Paris Opera. Due to a nationwide strike, tonight's production of Swan Lake will be performed with minimal sets and the soloists and corps will be wearing modified costumes."
This announcement was met with whistles and cheers of encouragement from the entire opera house.
The next three hours were full of the most beautiful ballet I've ever seen, accompanied by dancers awkwardly moving set pieces and wearing heavy leather character boots with fairy princess dresses. I may have said that the St. Petersburg Ballet Theatre was wonderfully in synch, but the Paris Opera Corps de Ballet might have been sharing their brainwaves. Everything from head position to arabesque height was in tune with each other. In fact, I was so mesmerized by the corps, that I'm not sure I paid enough attention to Odette/Odile or the prince. The lead soloist did have some incredible balances and the soloist in the role of the prince may have actually been flying? Unconfirmed. I appreciated the Swan Lake as done by the Paris Opera because it also explains some things in the story better. In other productions I've seen, the prince just sort of finds Odette and decides he's going to marry her. Paris Opera has the decency to include a scene where they actually speak to each other (in mime, of course) and Odette explains that she needs someone to marry her in order to break the spell. I like that just because it rationalizes Siegfried's insane decision to marry a swan lady he met in the woods at midnight. Additionally, Rothbart also takes on two personalities in this production--both as the evil sorcerer and the Prince's tutor. There's a lot of pas-de-deux in Nureyev's Swan Lake, from Odette and the Prince to the Spanish dance to the Prince and Rothbart doing some very impressive lifts with each other.
Paris Opera Ballet is an environment where everyone knows what you do when you go to the ballet. Unlike every other spectacle I've been to here, I didn't see a single person leave the production early. They gave the dancers five curtain calls, the applause was thunderous, and I left the Opera Bastille in a cloud of elation. That production of Swan Lake was so beautiful that I almost never want to see another production of Swan Lake ever again.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Une semaine avec Victoria
Victoria and I spent the last week being Americans in Paris, and I quite frankly like it better than being Parisian in Paris. I've recharged, eaten good food, and done a lot of shopping.
Victoria arrived in Paris on Friday in the afternoon and when she arrived, I promptly headed out for ballet, leaving Victoria to her own devices. (She bought toothpaste and Pringles and a pizza). We finished the night with a lot of quiche and champagne.
Saturday was our first of many shopping days. We headed out on Rue de Rennes, exploring the area and popping into little shops that we'd never heard of as well as all the ones we knew from stateside. We amassed quite a bit of merchandise before we hopped back on the metro and I dragged her to my Saturday afternoon ballet class.
Sunday, I left Victoria in the morning so I could go to my ballet class and she could recover more fully from her jet lag. After my class, we met at Place Monge in order to make it to La Comedie Saint Michel. We walked out of the metro station and straight into a street market. After buying samosas and Moroccan tajine, we started the trek to the theatre, which took longer and was more painful than we had previously anticipated. After traipsing around the area for a while, we picked up our tickets, which were classic tear tickets stamped with my name--a cool bonus that happens when you reserve tickets through TickeTac (which you need to get on if you're going to be spending time in Paris). We saw a production of Le Petit Prince that was intended for children and it was maybe one of the best plays I've ever seen. I laughed wildly, joyfully engaged with the actors when prompted, and literally cried at the end. At the curtain call, the actor playing le petit prince declared that that day was his 107th trip to earth, which was children's-theatre-actor-code for "I've been playing this role for 107 shows" which is incredible.
We walked from the comedie to le Jardin du Luxembourg and from there we found ourselves at Pierre Hermé, and we jumped at the chance to start our discovery of macarons in Paris (the famous Pierre Hermé vs. Ladurée debate/war). We returned home and ate four pastries--the lemon tart, coffee tart, ispahan rose pastry, and baba rum cake as well as picking from the box of 24 macarons. The rum cake was immediately our favorite.
Monday went without a lot of fuss or interesting events, but Tuesday I made reservations for lunch at Ladurée.
We met at the church just by the Saint-Germain-des-Prés metro stop and walked up the street to Ladurée, where we were seated in the mostly empty café before being swiftly moved to the little table bearing a card with my name on it (which I saved, of course, like everything else). Lunch at Ladurée is delicious, but if you go for two courses it is a lot of food. Victoria opted for the cauliflower soup and chicken club sandwich and I got the smoked salmon plate and the duck with artichokes. Victoria couldn't finish her sandwich. The waiter told her that she couldn't take it home in a box, but I guess after her dismayed look or the fact that there was 2/3 of a sandwich on her plate, he snuck us a box from the bakery and made her hid it in her purse.
After lunch, we walked into the bakery area, so that we could continue the Pierre Hermé vs Ladurée discovery. We went home with macarons, the Ladurée version of the ispahan rose pastry, and a rose Saint-Honoré cake. Here, we came to the conclusion that Ladurée macarons are superior (as is the packaging--Laudrée is just cuter, all in pastel etc., while Pierre Hermé seems to be designed so that men don't feel weird shopping for sweets there).
Wednesday we started our day rather late and headed out to the local pharmacy (well, one of them). After all of the Youtube videos and the Buzzfeed articles, we decided we needed to stock up on the cult beauty products. While I only walked out with two things, it was only the beginning. After the pharmacy run, we swung by the pizzeria and picked up a ham and egg pizza and a calzone.
We had reservations at Le Petit Medicis restaurant to have the foie gras and other lovely things that night, but in the middle of the day, we both realized how much we didn't want to do that. So instead we met up at a park after my class at 7pm and haunted the Bon Marché as it started to close up, just touching pretty things and looking at interesting books and expensive juices. After that, we didn't stop and go home; oh no. We went out to late night at the Louvre, where the Louvre closes at 9:45pm and stayed until the announcement came over the speakers that it was time to get out. The museum is very empty at night, and we ran around through the Napoleon apartments before almost getting locked in the basement when the metro station closed. After that, we ate the rest of the pizza and calzone, more quiche, and drank red wine. Quite frankly, I think the cheap food and the wine and homemade quiche and Louvre time made us happier than Le Petit Medicis would have.
Thursday was pretty great because my law class was cancelled and so we went out shopping--our favorite shops and then also more pharmacies, where we picked up the famous homeoplasmine, which is supposed to be a miracle product. I had to leave Victoria for two hours during my security class before we met up again because she said that she'd found some good white sneakers for me.
White sneakers for Megan was one of Victoria's quests apparently, for her week and she'd found the Bensimon store near Sciences Po, where we spent some time. I eventually got navy blue sneakers (sorry Victoria) before we walked back to the metro and headed home.
On Friday, I put all of my ballet gear into my purse and we ran off to the Louvre. We fortunately got there before the enormous, enormous crowds and we popped up there and discovered the Dutch paintings and a lot of iconography and a whole bunch of stuff that Victoria knew very well and I had literally never ever seen before. We finished our trip with a long stay on a marble bench in the Babylonian area of the museum, overlooking the statue garden. After grabbing sandwiches at the Louvre's Paul bakery, we headed off to the Opera area to discover Rue Saint-Honoré and popped into all interesting stores. I had told myself that I didn't need to get to ballet but at 6:18 I suddenly decided I did, and so I dragged Victoria back to the studio, tossed her the keys, and got back to the apartment at 10pm, promising Victoria I would make Shakshuka for her, but that was a long time to go before dinner, so she had bought a calzone, and when I got back I ate the rest of it. I however, still needed to get the baking bug out of my system, so we made a grapefruit meringue pie, right then and there. Victoria discovered the secret to stiff meringues (not the soupy stuff I've been dealing with) and it consists of no cornstarch, whipping the eggs like you're starting a fire with a stick, and adding the sugar very, very slowly. We made that, stayed awake enough to eat a slice, and then went to bed.
Saturday was Victoria's last day in Paris and we decided to make it our last-minute shopping trip. We walked down Rue de Rennes again, then found ourselves by Pierre Hermé where we bought pastries (the rum cake included) and ate them in the Saint Sulplice church courtyard. After that, we made it to CityPharma (the discounts there are not quite worth the anxiety-inducing environment), which had been taken over by firefighters last time we were in the area. After abandoning our choices when confronted with the lines, we continued to Ladurée for macrons and more pastries. We ate sandwiches in a sidewalk café, bought more sneakers at Bensimon, and raided another pharmacy for all of the recommended products.
That evening I finally did make shakshuka and we ate it with pierogi and mangos and pie and washed it all down with a bottle of champagne that I accidentally spilled all over the kitchen.
And then that Sunday morning at 4am, Victoria hauled her suitcase, backpack, bag of macarons, and two pirozhi wrapped in foil out the door to the waiting airport shuttle.
This past week, I learned that Victoria sees Paris as I've finally realized I should see it and experiences the city like it should be experienced--shamelessly and with a brave smile and an eagerness to see everything. Who cares if you aren't wearing great street style? Who cares if your dress is too fancy? Who cares if you're speaking English loudly on the street or in a shop or in the Louvre? Show salespeople pictures of what you're looking for, grin widely, point at dresses you want to try on, touch expensive clothes in high-end stores. Who cares? It's Paris. Be brave and unashamed. I am trying my best to do this, but I've also realized that Paris is only like this when I'm with an old friend.
Victoria arrived in Paris on Friday in the afternoon and when she arrived, I promptly headed out for ballet, leaving Victoria to her own devices. (She bought toothpaste and Pringles and a pizza). We finished the night with a lot of quiche and champagne.
Saturday was our first of many shopping days. We headed out on Rue de Rennes, exploring the area and popping into little shops that we'd never heard of as well as all the ones we knew from stateside. We amassed quite a bit of merchandise before we hopped back on the metro and I dragged her to my Saturday afternoon ballet class.
Sunday, I left Victoria in the morning so I could go to my ballet class and she could recover more fully from her jet lag. After my class, we met at Place Monge in order to make it to La Comedie Saint Michel. We walked out of the metro station and straight into a street market. After buying samosas and Moroccan tajine, we started the trek to the theatre, which took longer and was more painful than we had previously anticipated. After traipsing around the area for a while, we picked up our tickets, which were classic tear tickets stamped with my name--a cool bonus that happens when you reserve tickets through TickeTac (which you need to get on if you're going to be spending time in Paris). We saw a production of Le Petit Prince that was intended for children and it was maybe one of the best plays I've ever seen. I laughed wildly, joyfully engaged with the actors when prompted, and literally cried at the end. At the curtain call, the actor playing le petit prince declared that that day was his 107th trip to earth, which was children's-theatre-actor-code for "I've been playing this role for 107 shows" which is incredible.
We walked from the comedie to le Jardin du Luxembourg and from there we found ourselves at Pierre Hermé, and we jumped at the chance to start our discovery of macarons in Paris (the famous Pierre Hermé vs. Ladurée debate/war). We returned home and ate four pastries--the lemon tart, coffee tart, ispahan rose pastry, and baba rum cake as well as picking from the box of 24 macarons. The rum cake was immediately our favorite.
Monday went without a lot of fuss or interesting events, but Tuesday I made reservations for lunch at Ladurée.
We met at the church just by the Saint-Germain-des-Prés metro stop and walked up the street to Ladurée, where we were seated in the mostly empty café before being swiftly moved to the little table bearing a card with my name on it (which I saved, of course, like everything else). Lunch at Ladurée is delicious, but if you go for two courses it is a lot of food. Victoria opted for the cauliflower soup and chicken club sandwich and I got the smoked salmon plate and the duck with artichokes. Victoria couldn't finish her sandwich. The waiter told her that she couldn't take it home in a box, but I guess after her dismayed look or the fact that there was 2/3 of a sandwich on her plate, he snuck us a box from the bakery and made her hid it in her purse.
After lunch, we walked into the bakery area, so that we could continue the Pierre Hermé vs Ladurée discovery. We went home with macarons, the Ladurée version of the ispahan rose pastry, and a rose Saint-Honoré cake. Here, we came to the conclusion that Ladurée macarons are superior (as is the packaging--Laudrée is just cuter, all in pastel etc., while Pierre Hermé seems to be designed so that men don't feel weird shopping for sweets there).
Wednesday we started our day rather late and headed out to the local pharmacy (well, one of them). After all of the Youtube videos and the Buzzfeed articles, we decided we needed to stock up on the cult beauty products. While I only walked out with two things, it was only the beginning. After the pharmacy run, we swung by the pizzeria and picked up a ham and egg pizza and a calzone.
We had reservations at Le Petit Medicis restaurant to have the foie gras and other lovely things that night, but in the middle of the day, we both realized how much we didn't want to do that. So instead we met up at a park after my class at 7pm and haunted the Bon Marché as it started to close up, just touching pretty things and looking at interesting books and expensive juices. After that, we didn't stop and go home; oh no. We went out to late night at the Louvre, where the Louvre closes at 9:45pm and stayed until the announcement came over the speakers that it was time to get out. The museum is very empty at night, and we ran around through the Napoleon apartments before almost getting locked in the basement when the metro station closed. After that, we ate the rest of the pizza and calzone, more quiche, and drank red wine. Quite frankly, I think the cheap food and the wine and homemade quiche and Louvre time made us happier than Le Petit Medicis would have.
Thursday was pretty great because my law class was cancelled and so we went out shopping--our favorite shops and then also more pharmacies, where we picked up the famous homeoplasmine, which is supposed to be a miracle product. I had to leave Victoria for two hours during my security class before we met up again because she said that she'd found some good white sneakers for me.
White sneakers for Megan was one of Victoria's quests apparently, for her week and she'd found the Bensimon store near Sciences Po, where we spent some time. I eventually got navy blue sneakers (sorry Victoria) before we walked back to the metro and headed home.
On Friday, I put all of my ballet gear into my purse and we ran off to the Louvre. We fortunately got there before the enormous, enormous crowds and we popped up there and discovered the Dutch paintings and a lot of iconography and a whole bunch of stuff that Victoria knew very well and I had literally never ever seen before. We finished our trip with a long stay on a marble bench in the Babylonian area of the museum, overlooking the statue garden. After grabbing sandwiches at the Louvre's Paul bakery, we headed off to the Opera area to discover Rue Saint-Honoré and popped into all interesting stores. I had told myself that I didn't need to get to ballet but at 6:18 I suddenly decided I did, and so I dragged Victoria back to the studio, tossed her the keys, and got back to the apartment at 10pm, promising Victoria I would make Shakshuka for her, but that was a long time to go before dinner, so she had bought a calzone, and when I got back I ate the rest of it. I however, still needed to get the baking bug out of my system, so we made a grapefruit meringue pie, right then and there. Victoria discovered the secret to stiff meringues (not the soupy stuff I've been dealing with) and it consists of no cornstarch, whipping the eggs like you're starting a fire with a stick, and adding the sugar very, very slowly. We made that, stayed awake enough to eat a slice, and then went to bed.
Saturday was Victoria's last day in Paris and we decided to make it our last-minute shopping trip. We walked down Rue de Rennes again, then found ourselves by Pierre Hermé where we bought pastries (the rum cake included) and ate them in the Saint Sulplice church courtyard. After that, we made it to CityPharma (the discounts there are not quite worth the anxiety-inducing environment), which had been taken over by firefighters last time we were in the area. After abandoning our choices when confronted with the lines, we continued to Ladurée for macrons and more pastries. We ate sandwiches in a sidewalk café, bought more sneakers at Bensimon, and raided another pharmacy for all of the recommended products.
That evening I finally did make shakshuka and we ate it with pierogi and mangos and pie and washed it all down with a bottle of champagne that I accidentally spilled all over the kitchen.
And then that Sunday morning at 4am, Victoria hauled her suitcase, backpack, bag of macarons, and two pirozhi wrapped in foil out the door to the waiting airport shuttle.
This past week, I learned that Victoria sees Paris as I've finally realized I should see it and experiences the city like it should be experienced--shamelessly and with a brave smile and an eagerness to see everything. Who cares if you aren't wearing great street style? Who cares if your dress is too fancy? Who cares if you're speaking English loudly on the street or in a shop or in the Louvre? Show salespeople pictures of what you're looking for, grin widely, point at dresses you want to try on, touch expensive clothes in high-end stores. Who cares? It's Paris. Be brave and unashamed. I am trying my best to do this, but I've also realized that Paris is only like this when I'm with an old friend.
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