A concert of music by Pierre de la Rue in Paris

Dear Mother,

Friday was our crashing day (when jetlag hit the hardest) but we made it.  Janice worked in the library all day, except for a little gardening in the late afternoon.  I went downtown to visit a church, but was rather discouraged because the church was neither all that interesting nor did they let me use my tripod.  The official lady asked whether I had permission from City Hall, and of course I did not.  I will have to look into this, but hear that other photo amateurs have only needed to show that their tripod's feet were made of rubber.  I suspect she was either super strict or having a bad day.  But I used the "opportunity" to learn how to use the bean bag as a tripod.  Janice helped me sew a little bean bag for my camera about 40 years ago and I have used it only occasionally, resting the camera on it so that it is less likely to move during time exposures.  It works, though not without fail and it is not handy.  I have to find a chair, railing, wall or pillar for resting the bean bag.  I also shot, hand-held, as I have done for years, but one always get far superior results by using a tripod and slower ISO and shutter speeds.

Anyway, I eventually wended my way back to St Maurice and made supper (pork chops).  This shot shows a typical evening meal for us in the kitchen.

The table is next to the west wall and right below a lovely double window which looks out on a tall tree.  There is a yellow oilcloth on the table, which is useful considering how many guests come and go.  We lug our ancient (1988) portable shortwave radio to Paris annually to listen to Radio Classic FM for music and news.  The creative table mats show the métro system for all of Paris.  I study this at every meal when thinking about what to visit next.  The little cutting board of long standing is useful for cheeses.  We are enjoying two goat cheeses brought to us by Yves from the Touraine.  The one shaped originally as a pyramid was more dry and flavourful, and the smaller darker log was very mild, almost sweet (within that category of goat cheeses).  The Bonne Maman jam jar is present every meal; we also get this in Vancouver but at four times the cost.  The little dish of apricots is lasting nicely, but I forget if they were from southern Spain or northern Africa.  We drink ordinary tap water with no ill effects.  Our plates have lovely pork chops which were completely trimmed of fat by the butcher and they had beautiful colour.  The long flat green beans are my favourite bean.  I can enjoy them without any butter, oil or salt, they are so favourful if done just right.  The lettuce is utterly crisp and fresh, this is an excellent time of the year for a wide variety of lettuces grown outside.  Not pictured to my left would be the special cutting board for the omnipresent baguette.  By the time we finish one of these loaves, I have to dunk the bread in my morning tea.  I find they become tough within about three hours.  Janice, having low blood pressure, can add salt to my saltless cooking.

 I then headed off for a concert at the Eglise Notre-Dame des Blancs Manteaux in the 4th district.  The concert was to begin at 8:30 p.m., which is unusually late for Canadian cities, but there was no intermission so we were out by 9:45, which was perfect.  This former Augustinian ("white robes") church is tucked away on the right bank in the old district, so tucked away that it is difficult to get a decent photo of the Baroque facade.  If you click on the photo, you just might be able to see the lutenist waiting to get in the door on the right. 

I was the first auditor to arrive, so I got to hear the male quartet warm up and go over some of the more difficult transitions in the music.  The singers were well-trained and their voices nicely filled the resonant sanctuary.  The conductor is an avid fan of the music of Pierre de la Rue (my hero) and has formed the Association Pierre de la Rue to perform and record his music.  The Mass they sang was one edited by Nigel Davison (I helped Nigel with some of the critical notes and recension of the sources).  It reminded me that Nigel passed away a little over a year ago, a wonderful man in Bristol, UK.  I met the conductor, Michel Sanvoisin just before the concert and arranged to get together with him the next day (but something came up, so he wasn't there).

Since I was early, I had a little time to take a few shots inside the sanctuary with my pocket camera from where I decided to sit.  It was fun watching the windows change hues as the sun slowly set during the concert.  I sat just ahead of the elevated pulpit.  There were eventually about 40 people at the concert, so it was an intimate affair, competing with many other concerts that evening, including Mozart's Requiem with 300 instrumentalists and singers.

After the concert, I slowly wandered back towards a métro stop, not much caring which one.  Night was falling and the city was clearly springing to life in ways unknown to quiet little St Maurice.  Cafés were filled, including many tables outdoors as people were enjoying the warm evening temperatures.  Small wine shops were offering patrons various vintages, even the tiny bars were bustling as locals settled in to celebrate Friday Evening, the end of the workweek for some.  Many locals living in the old part of Paris use old bikes to get around because finding parking spaces is a serious challenge, day or night.

I like the names of some of the cafés, including "The Philosophers".  You can see the metal posts which prevent cars from parking on the sidewalk (people will park anywhere possible), the awning which will protects outside tables a bit (you are allowed to smoke outside but not inside).

Some tables on smaller side streets encroach on the sidewalks so much that a couple has to walk carefully when strolling between the tables and parked cars.  I am still not comfortable having total strangers walk that close to my food, examining what I have ordered, or overhearing bits of our conversation, but it is the Parisian way of life.  Traditionally, the city's apartments were small and not adequate for entertaining, so cafés and bars were where you could meet friends casually, with far less fuss about shopping, food preparation or tidying up.  It's not cheap, but it's fun and it's Paris.

I also enjoyed some shop windows near the Marais.  One small shop had a fascinating collection of antique music instruments and music stands, and the superimposed reflections of the city caught my attention.  I held the camera against the glass, using the window as a tripod for the longer exposure.

I then tried a few more night shoots, steadying the little camera against light posts, walls--whatever I thought might work.  I got some strange looks but one simply has to keep a camera steady at all times when shooting less than 1/50 second. 

Here you can just about see that some of the poles and awnings have been erected in the open plaza in preparation for the marché (market) Saturday morning.  At about 6:00 a.m., vendors will start to arrive, setting up tables under their rented shelter, setting out all their wares.  Then they will remove their vans, and get ready for an intense morning of selling.  By 12.45 p.m. they will start to pack up, and by 1:00 they will be gone and the street crews will be sweeping and hosing everything.  By 3:00 the sidewalks will be dry and the market but a memory.  In some locations, this ancient practice has been continuous since the middle ages.

More wealthy Parisians also eat outside but in sections more isolated from pedestrians, separated by low wooden walls and flower boxes.  That would feel more like being inside while eating outside. 

I'm finishing this entry Sunday morning before we head off to the 13th district.  Apparently there are some gardens calling Janice's name.

With love from us both,
Evan