June 1st--Recalling a Sunday in Paris

Dear Mother,

Yesterday, Sunday, May 30th, we decided to be true to our pre-Anabaptist ancestors and attend Mass. Perhaps two months ago, I had heard an organ recital in Vancouver performed by an organist from Paris and I wanted to hear him play on ‘his’ own organ in his church. So we headed downtown to the 5th Arrondissement, south of the River Seine and basically across the square from the Panthéon, toward the southern edge of the Latin Quarter and near the Sorbonne. We left a bit later than was wise, forgetting that the métros do not run quite as frequently on a Sunday. However, we never had to wait more than five minutes and found the church, rather high on a little hill that once surprised me in the 1970s when I first encountered it, since the rest of the area is so flat.

Saint-Étienne-du-Mont (St Stephen on the Mount/hill) had more attendees than expected, but we got seats toward the front, just outside the roped off area (meant to keep visitors away from people wishing to pray during the week). We could see just about everything, and the speaker system was pretty good for my working ear. People sang when appropriate, so it seemed that the people were Parisian and not tourists. The young woman leading singing was able to conduct from the front, and worked well with the organist, who was playing from the far back of the church up in the balcony, watching her by mirror.

I also noticed that some people knelt at certain times (others remained standing), kneeling on the cold stone floor, whether in dress pants, dress/skirt, or nylons (with skirt above the knees). The other thing that really impressed me was that the Mass was finished at 11:00 sharp—none of this meandering all over the place with lengthy warmup remarks or endless singing. Wish our church would take note. My students would occasionally grant me an additional 30 seconds for my lectures, but we had to vacate the room on schedule. If only my church would be like that . . . .

The organist is a great improviser, so I enjoyed hearing him take one of the chants sung during the Trinity Sunday service and improvise all sorts of accompaniment around it. At the end of the service, he improvised for an extended period of time. We stayed to listen, as did a couple ahead of us to the left. Afterwards, I took a few photos but was soon asked to leave so that the church could close for a few hours, except for the family which had requested baptism for their newborn.

Inside the church, I was fascinated by two elaborate stone staircases which wound their way up two pillars, apparently leading to some sort of walkway around the choir screen and walls.  I tried to imagine what it would be like to have singers and/or instrumentalists stationed on the stairways and on the narrow walkways around the choir, performing from high in the air, sending music out into the open spaces.  I certainly wished I could get permission to go up there to look around and photograph, but it will never happen.

I knew there would not be much time before the church would be closed for noon, so I quickly looked at the choir area, which is close to the old altar.  In the good old days, this would have been more or less closed off for the monks and priests (and it was closed to me since someone was praying there).  In earlier eras, the laity could basically listen in on the service, through the screen.  Today, a temporary altar has been moved out into the nave proper, where everybody can see what is happening, ordinary people can now sit in the choir stalls or on the benches between the facing choir stalls (all of which were filled), and the priest is now out with the people, in front of the choir area.  Laity helped to serve communion bread, reminding me of how Vatican II has changed things during my lifetime.  Of course many Catholics now await a Vatican III.

Once they closed the church, we walked around in the district. Janice was delighted to find a restaurant recommended by Veronica. Since it is never open for lunch, we had to settle with a photo, but it did look intriguing, very small, possibly with additional rooms below or in the back.

We soon settled on a small restaurant, sitting inside because of the threat of rain and the cold wind which was chilling Janice to the bone.  Even inside also proved to be rather airy because all of the front windows were wide open, floor to ceiling.  There was plenty of light from the front, but by comparison, the inside was rather darker than were the tables outside.  Some students were having intense student-like conversations over their meal, which was nice to see.

After a salad lunch, we embarked on a leisurely lengthy walk over to the west end of the Jardin des Tuileries (west end of the grounds at the Louvre) to find Janice’s favourite gardening bookstore. On the way, we came upon a book market featuring many book dealers under tents. My favourite part was the stretch of boxes where books were sold by weight, 5 Euros/kilogram. Those books were hopelessly unorganized but it would likely be well worth spending a few hours of rummaging time, which we felt we didn't really have.

Shortly after that, we saw in the distance quite a few in-line skaters go through an intersection.  After a while I realized they were still going through and that there may have been several hundred roller skaters going as a group through the streets of Paris, complete with police escorts. I wasn't close enough to get a good picture (wrong lens on the camera) but it looked nice to see the informality of the happy skaters against the very form background of elegant stone buildings and stately trees.

I was interested in a kiosk advertising Radio Classique, FM 101, my favourite station.  I think it may also be available on the internet so I will have to look for it when we get home.

We soon resumed our walk towards the afternoon's goal, the Librairie des Jardins (garden bookstore). This bookstore is located under an elevated formal park which was designed and constructed by one of the Louis kings during the 1600s. The bookstore is Janice's favourite, so this is becoming an annual pilgrimage for her.

While Janice perused the many books, I mostly stayed outside, observing the many visitors and locals, and watching birds deal with the very strong winds. There was some sort of project underway that afternoon, something like “Lire et faire lire” (we might say something like 'read and encourage reading'). They had all sorts of people stationed around, here and there, identified by white helium-filled balloons. Small groups of people would then gather, or even just a single person, and listen intently to the person give a very dramatic and expressive reading of some excerpt. Children would sit and hear stories, one guy read and then sang some song associated with the story, all in a very folks manner. To me, it was yet another illustration of how the French take their cultural life seriously and attempt to keep it alive, and one thing they still treasure is reading books.

There was even a reader in front of Janice's book store.

As the rain clouds continued to gather, we decided to head home. Janice bought perhaps six gardening books and started reading as soon as we sat down on the métro. We got back, took a short rest, went out with Neal and Janie for a celebratory dinner (tomorrow's blog).  After the meal, we were most willing to have another 45-minute walk back to let things settle a bit. The gals then turned in but Neal and I watched France play Tunisia for another pre-World Cup warm up game (1-1), which was hardly the result France wanted.  The way France played, they won't make it to the second round.  I've seen more imaginative soccer played in Parisian parks by young energetic teenagers, steroid-free. 

Today (Monday)  may not produce anything blogable. Janice has 10 stacks of books waiting for me to apply tape, cards, card pockets and call numbers.  It is hard to imagine that we will be flying back home a week from now. I have no idea where the time went, but I do seem to have an impressive pile of photographs needing attention this winter.

With love from us both, Evan.

May 30th--Cour St-Emilion

Dear Mother,
After breakfast yesterday (Saturday), Janice started some laundry, which takes quite a while because the washing machine is ever so thorough, heating the water to the precise temperature specified. A load can take nearly two hours (and if not, it just seems like it does). Once the machine was on its way, Janice settled into the library office for the rest of the day.

I mowed the lawn early morning (well, early for me, and possibly also for the neighbours), realizing that it might rain later in the day.  I also knew mowing would be distracting to the meetings planed for morning and afternoon.  I then decided to head off to the Cour St-Émilion to see whether I could find the kitchen store where I got my wonderful plastic holder for camembert cheese last year. Some Vancouver friends expressed interest in getting something similar, and our favourite cheese store in Vancouver would also like to know where it is made so they can sell them. 

This court is in a warehouse district that has been redeveloped in the last few years, being transformed into a very active collection of restaurants. They were advertising that another seven restaurants would join the complex shortly, so the idea is obviously working. I arrived by 10:30, hardly early, but discovered nothing would open until 11:00 so I had some time to look around and shoot.

These warehouses taking up several square blocks of the city close to the River Seine, used to be the central district for wine distribution for all of Paris. That would have been a lot of wine, even in the 1700s. Thousands of barrels would be brought by farmers and delivery men by horse-drawn carts and then stored in the series of uniformly sized warehouses until sold.

Each distributor would sell his particular wines (likely from specific regions of France) to restaurants, cafés and city wine merchants. Since liquids are heavy, the casks would have been received and distributed by smaller carts pulled by horses.  The warehouses were therefore designed so that a horse and cart could enter at one end and leave at the other.

There would also be passageways through the entire complex of buildings, granting the carts access to and from the inner courts.  There would often be three openings for carts, which suggests that traffic could become congested during certain seasons of the year.

I'm uncertain whether the somewhat larger warehouses across the road from those for the wine merchants also dealt with wine, but it would seem that they specialized in other commodities.  Their openings for carts appear to have accomodated larger carts and wagons, and the buildings are at least one or two stories higher.  Obviously, heavy barrels can only be stacked so high, and one would not dare stack them upstairs on a wooden floor, whereas grain and fabric could be piled much higher and be retrieved more easily from below.

This complex of renovated warehouses is now, among other things, a school for future bakers and pastry makers, jobs which see quite secure in France.

Back to the wine warehouses:  These apparently ceased to be used once trucks began delivering wine and the custom of direct delivery took hold of the industry. Fortunately, these particular warehouses were somehow sufficiently preserved to be renovated and be transformed into stores and restaurants, complete with electricity, running water and the like, none of which was originally present. I was glad they also carefully retained the original openings for the carts, at least on the sides facing the central courtyard.  The warehouses were apparently still in use when trams were in vogue; one track still runs down the middle of the central courtyard.

I am fascinated by the use of stone in Paris.  The elaborate government and ecclesiastical buildings use finely chiselled stone, but people with fewer financial resources sometimes used a very porous kind  of stone which is quite decorative.

The older streets used a various stones, including granite.  I liked the variety of stones used in the pavement of this particular courtyard.  These stones would be particularly colourful in a rain, because water always makes unpolished stones interesting.

After this excursion, I went to our favourite market in Charenton, picked up some breaded veal cutlets, flat green beans, potatoes and strawberries, and headed home. By this time, the ecumenical meeting was well underway in the basement, a meeting of pastors and theologians interested in discussing denominational differences in faith and practice, both to understand other traditions better and to explain their own. In the afternoon, a Russian Orthodox engineer who also teaches theology came to explain some of the similarities and differences between his faith tradition and others, as he sees it, and to explain how and why there are different branches of the Orthodox Church. The talk was interesting, though I haven’t thought those issues for a very long time (this helped me remember why!) They graciously let me take pictures for the Centre's eventual publicity, which I did during introductions, coffee and discussion time. Two long-time attendees are soon getting married, so I was very pleased when asked to take a picture of them together.  We went outside for better lighting--they are born models.

Before a rather late dinner, the Bloughs joined us in our kitchen to discuss the day's events, to help me understand some of the theological issues the group has been discussing over time, and to reflect on the very busy past week.  After dinner, we enjoyed a quiet evening with some photo processing, reading, making the beds, and listening to Radio Classique (how I wish every western country had this station).

We hope you are doing well and have a good Sunday. With love from us both, Evan

May 28th--La Marais

Dear Mother,

Today, Friday the 28th, was filled with variety. I straggled out of bed at 6:20 to set out the butter and jam for Denis, who needed to eat breakfast and leave by 7:00, but my efforts were not needed because Janie always gets up early and had already arranged breakfast for him.  She then talked with him about church music in his congregation (while I went back to bed).

After showering, Janice and I set up breakfast for 6 (not including Neal and Janie) in the library, coffee and all, and then the Bloughs eventually joined us for a wonderfully leisurely time together over coffree, covering all kinds of things as people waited to catch the metro to get their train, etc. The conversation was so interesting, involving Mennonites from various countries but with very similar global perspectives. In spite of missions virtually screaming for funding, these people continue working in the most positive ways imaginable. None of them is in it for the money, that is clear, and they figure out how to get by on far less in expensive Europe than we ever would in North America.

I spent the remainder of the morning on photography, selecting several hundred of my photographs from France 2009-10, and putting them in a format Linda Oyer can use when speaking to people. Yesterday, I had offered to take photos if she ever wanted during our future visits (plural) and she confessed to following my blogs, enjoying my photography and thinking some of my present photos could be useful. Well! That was all I needed to hear, so I put three CDs together for her and Yves delivered them this evening. Meanwhile, Janice and Yves had a long and productive four hours in the library office going over classification problems, software challenges, discussing books which offer cataloguing challenges, and some theology. Janice tells me they made good progress. Yves’ ongoing weekly work is crucial to the Centre's library, and he is involved in other activities undertaken by the Centre. 

After a salad lunch, I headed somewhat ambiguously downtown, no specific goal in mind. This was my first outing after getting over my cold and I had not thought things through. I just wanted to have fun shooting. I missed one métro stop which had crossed my mind, so I got off at St Paul (Le Marais), one of the old Jewish districts of the city.

First of all, I happened upon a fascinating book store which seemed to specialize in remainders and artsy things.  It was obviously a low-overhead operation with young and dedicated staff.  I simply had to take a photo of French books being displayed in French wooded wine cases--how wonderfully French.  In retrospect, and with considerably more courage I could have taken a few pictures on the ground floor, though there were quite a few customers and laws say you need everybody's permission when shooting in private spaces.  Anyway, this whole store was built into one of those old carriage entry ways that go through a building wall into an inner courtyard.  Both the carriage way (tall and wide enough for a horse-drawn carriage) and courtyard were transformed into this book store, complete with the original cobblestone floor (just like the road outside), granite curbing--I never saw the like.

I saw an old window that interested me as the light reflected off the panes in different ways since the panes themselves were at differing angles.  The windows' glass is structurally weak but what an interesting design.  It would be worth being chilled all winter if I could see the day through windows like that.

Then I keep seeing all the chimneys and realize that each once serviced a fireplace, and that each chimney had to be cleaned by chimney sweeps for centuries, somehow scaling those steep slippery slate roofs.

I also enjoy the way Paris has cafés at the most narrow places, forcing pedestrians to walk around them and sometimes walk on the road.  Doesn't matter, when you live in a city with virtually no grass or trees, block after block, your soul needs "fresh air" even if it is mingled with traffic fumes.  This makes a difference to city life and Parisians clearly embrace their cafés, though I read that several thousand closed in France the recent downturn as some folks had to give up little luxuries.  That was why the government lowered taxes on restaurant food--now that's Good Government.

Well, I must confess that I really do have enough shots of cafés, and of old buildings, narrow streets and the like, so I started thinking “I need something different”.

It was then that I heard a deep alto voice soaring over the city's noises, singing opera of all things, so I followed my ear, the one with the hearing aid still left in it. Paris, indeed France, at times gets its priorities right. They may not spend much on the military (Germans say that French tanks have five gears, four of which are for reverse) but they do know how to make city life fascinating and cultural. In my inimitable fashion, I had accidentally come across an unusual and fascinating cultural project—portable opera. The lead singer had a Baroque-style white wig and a dress that was so outlandish I first thought it was a guy in drag. The baby-C grand piano was mounted on car tires, along with the accompanist’s stool, so the piano/pianist could be pushed down the street while playing and suffer few bumps on the cobblestones. The pianist and pageturner were dressed for the caberet in the early 1900s.  A large set of four speakers was mounted on a pole attached to the piano, broadcasting the miced piano and singer.

After a crowd gathered, the singer called out most invitingly, and perhaps 80 grade school children came marching out to the music in pairs, left-right left-right, big grins, parents all lined up with cameras and cellphone cameras (no picture, I couldn't get close enough).  The next thing I knew, police had blocked off some of the very narrow streets in Le Marais and the opera procession was underway. We heard opera arias as the Pied Pipers wended their way down this street and that.

At a certain plaza, the procession stopped and we were treated to excerpts from Carmen, “Toreador” and a love aria or two, with children and people joining in at the right places because, after all, Carmen is one of France’s favourite operas (it's in French).

People in cafés were amused, or just ignored it all, but there was so much going on that I felt free to take pictures almost at will. 

Finally, I had something to write home about, and I'll surely never see this sort of thing again.  Amazing city, this Paris.  And to think that they actually get enjoyment from their tax dollars.  This is but the prelude to an entire weekend (next week) of arts, exhibitions, recitals, concerts--all free, all encouraging people to enjoy French art and culture, each other and life in the warm evenings as summer approaches.

With love from us both, Evan

May 27th

Dear Mother,

We will be at the Centre all day today. Steve (MBM) just arrived from Elkhart, and Jean-Victor and his wife Annie (French Canadians from Montréal) came by train because they are now on a new assignment, overseeing MCC Western Europe (based in Strasbourg, where they know Larry with Mennonite World Conference). Yves will arrive early afternoon by car with Linda Oyer, and others may also possibly come to attend the Annual General Meeting for the Centre Mennonite de Paris. They will do the usual things—look over the past and projected budgets and activities, and plan ahead. We were able to help this morning by organizing breakfast for people in the library, using ‘our’ kitchen to make coffee. Janice was at the bakery before it officially opened at 7:30, getting three baguettes. We served some good Swiss cheese, various yoguarts, muesli, fruit and my very strong black coffee.  Conversation flowed so easily that breakfast lasted a bit over two hours. Janie had covered the library tables with a colourful oil cloth.

Yesterday I finally had to admit that I had come down with an impressive cold. I have been hacking for days, but attributed it to unknown allergies because the symptoms would come and go rather than taking the customary course. I went downtown, but felt sufficiently tired to take Janice’s tiny camera instead of my bag; that was a sign I was coming down with something. I went to a number of bookstores but couldn’t find anything I really wanted to buy, and that was certainly another sign I wasn’t up to par. Then on the metro, I felt that my very bones were tired. I finally realized I should likely eat an early dinner and get some serious rest, so, with Janice’s loving help, food was soon on the table and I was in bed by 6:30. I read for perhaps an hour, learning more about the Camisard revolt in the very small mountain villages we had so enjoyed last spring in the south of France. I was then able to sleep and had a good night, getting 12 hours of rest.

I first went to St Michael's fountain, just on the Left Bank, across the river from Notre Dame.  This is a tourist hub of activity.

My first visits were to the Gibert Jeune book stores, a set of five all within two blocks, each featuring a different set of subjects.  These stores have obviously flourished off the university trade. 

In retrospect, I wish I had taken pictures in each of the bookstores, even though I would have to be somewhat stealthy about it all. I did take several shot in FNAC, one of the large chains in France which sometimes devotes considerable space to books. The out-of-focus photos are hardly helpful (I don't know Janice's camera as well as mine and had to be on automatic, no flash), but the aisles just keep spreading, on and on, subject after subject. In typical French fashion, some people practically use these stores like libraries, reading leisurely.

However, I think the types of books I want will be found in more specialized shops; I just don’t know which ones or where to look. I will try some shops around the Sorbonne University in a few days, and also ask Neal for suggestions.  One shot of Notre Dame Cathedral against the stormy sky:

I mentioned earlier that I lost one of my hearing aids. Today I really noticed the loss during breakfast. Without thinking, I sat at a place at the table which put my unaided ear toward that conversation, some people spoke softly, and I was struggling. Anyway, the story, as I know it.

Last Friday, I volunteered to cook for the Bloughs, knowing that Janice would contribute another of her fantastic salads. Janie made some suggestions about Parisian markets that might be open on a Friday, so we selected the one at Daguerre, perhaps 30 minutes from here (walking and métro). It was the right choice.  Unlike most older markets, this one is open daily, being essentially a block that is devoted to pedestrian traffic.  It has stores on both sides which open up totally and spill out onto the sidewalk/street.

Our plan was to walk about, see what looked interesting, buy it and cook it (sort of what We Five Brothers will be doing together in July at Paul’s home). As we strolled into the market street, my left hearing aid battery started beeping, signaling that it would soon cease operating. Unbelievably, I had neglected to bring spare batteries with me on the outing. Since I need all the audio information I can get when speaking with the merchants, I took the aid out of my ear and put it in one of my pockets. Which pocket, I shall never know, but quite possibly the one with my handkerchief or camera. My guess is that the hearing aid came out with the handkerchief, dropped to the pavement, and there would be no way I would have heard it fall.

Janice wanted me to be sure to 'get the cow' at the fromagerie (cheese store).

As we walked around, I decided that the rabbit looked really good, how could it not! The butcher was most helpful, cutting it up for me and asking whether I wanted the head, and then showed how he suggested he cut it (cleaved in two, yet hinged, but I’ll spare you the picture); this was obviously going to add flavor to the gravy. He was very concerned that I get it more properly wrapped in an hour or so, and that we store it correctly in a metal container, all of which I appreciated.

We then bought various veggies, even finding parsnips for the first time.

We also found a Moroccan shop which had interesting makings for a good salad.

The meal went beautifully. Janie showed me where to find a very old and extremely heavy cast iron Dutch oven which held everything—rabbit, small new white potatoes, parsnips, carrots, onions, garlic cloves, tiny turnips. It took a while to get the heavy pan warmed in the oven, but once it was at cooking temperature, it cooked superbly and uniformly. Those pans are very difficult to carry and manipulate but I would like to find one for myself in Canada. Paying shipping weight from here is out of the question.

Our meal started with some nibblies at perhaps 6:30, and by the time we were finished nibbling an assortment of cheese collected from our various fridges, three hours had pasted most pleasantly. We were able to eat outside, under the rose arbor just under the library window, without sweaters. Neighbours to the east of us were more true to real French customs and began their meal at 8:00. When we turned in at 11 p.m., they were still going strong, obviously enjoying the start of the long Pentecost weekend. I just find I need to eat before then if I am going to sleep well.

It is raining as I write, so I’m happy to be inside, sitting by the window, watching the greenery develop even deeper hues. The sky is a uniform gray, the type we so often see in Vancouver, but I know it will change shortly.

With love from us both, Evan