Paris

October in Paris and the Rhine still lingers in my mind.  Paris was beautiful and the Hotel Cujas Parthenon, in the Latin Quarter, was the perfect choice, in the Sorbonne area, next to the Pantheon and Luxembourg Gardens, five floors up to our small room, overlooking the street which had some activity all night. I have been through Paris numerous times before, staying on or near Rue St. Honore, the Champs Elysees, and Montmartre, but the Left Bank, Latin Quarter is by far the best, most French. I was reliving Hemingway, passages out of The Sun Also Rises and A Moveable Feast, sitting on the park bench in Luxembourg Gardens, having a flank steak lunch on Rue Souffot, (where Hemingway had a brioche before taking the Number 8 bus to the Madelaine), then taking the open air tour bus to Place Contrescarpe and Cloisserie de Lilas (where he wrote “Big Two Hearted River”), then a hairpin turn right to where Invalides Blvd. crosses Montparnasse and the Select, Dome and Rotonde restaurants, then turning right when we get near the Seine onto Rue St. Germain, and then passing Brasserie Lipp and Deux Magots, then later that night doing Boulevard des Cappucines and the beautiful baroque Garnier Paris Opera House, near Hemingway’s office in 1923, the Tribune.

On another day, walking down Rue St. Michel, from our hotel, to Place St. Michel, where there are many good cafes Hemingway wrote about, seeing Notre Dame across the Seine, and going into Shakespeare Books. It all meant a lot to me, reliving Hemingway, and reading passages from Sun at night in the room. It was particularly instructive, having just been to Ketchum Idaho, bookending Hemingway’s life, 1921 Paris and 1961 Idaho, the real beginning and end. I could see him young, then old. How he ended up after starting his writing career in Paris. But, mainly, I just fell for the Latin Quarter and the students, and small shops, the grocery store with black grapes, the bakery with North African proprietor, the sidewalk cafe, Brasserie du Luxembourg, across the street from the gardens on Rue Soufflot, where I had wonderful minced steak (ground beef) with egg on top, thick fries in a tin cup, and wonderful baguette, lettuce on the side, and coca cola. Cokes, like McDonalds, are always better, more exotic, almost elegant, in Paris.

I was mainly struck by the beauty of the city, the lit Seine at night, the bright oasis of the Champs Eleysees on dark nights, the grand city apartments set back from the street, Neuilly, the Opera, Notre Dame, Madelaine, Louvre, Eifel Tower, and Invalides, plus petit and grand palaces, now exhibit halls, glass domed palaces, the former with a wonderful statue of Thomas Jefferson, life-sized, a younger Jefferson in Paris, outside. I wanted to place some flowers there, honoring the greatest American and father of democracy worldwide. It was a city of majestic baroque and Renaissance buildings, lit at night, connected by bright avenues full of sidewalk cafes, full of the French and foreigners, a diverse city, all enjoying the casual life. I was stuck by the French joy of life and sense of style, the bicycles, the diversity, the youthfulness, the gaiety of the city, and the sense of humor and helpfulness from almost everyone. Seeing the youth in the cafe’s reminded me of my student years on DuPont Circle in Washington, and made me think of the cycle of life, how soon we transition to the older phase, it comes faster than these students on Rue Soufflot can imagine. How quickly we are on the other side, looking back. Saw a black and white cat, full grown, with a panhandler near the Luxembourg Metro. Seemed to be doing okay, with blanket spread next to the buildings and coin box filled with small coins. I added a few. He could tell I was a cat lover. All in all, no city could match Paris. Seeing it first colored the rest of the trip, which was pale by comparison. Even now, Paris lingers in my thoughts. It is special. I think it is the beautiful architecture of the centuries, the golden ages, plus the overall European prosperity, and modest sufficiency of all, not the great disparities of poor and rich you see in the U.S.

On day two, we went to the Musee d’Orsay, and saw the impressionists and post-impressionists, but the gallery was so crowded, it was difficult to focus for long on the paintings.  I was awed by some of the well known works, including Caillebotte’s “Men Scraping Floor,” and two Van Gogh self-portraits: “Portrait of the Artist,” 1887, in malachite green, dark tourquoise strokes, and a lighter green, all swirling together.  There was a light blue portait, “Remy, 1889.”  And, of course, there was the well known midnight blue, “Starry Night,” the most spectacular painting in the gallery.  The gallery also included a Pissarro street scene from above, always my favorites; a Sisley of Brittany harbor, with blue rippling water and lighter blue skies above; a Gauguin polynesian girls; and Bonnard’s garden scene with fancy dress; a Winslow Homer of two women dancing on a moonlit shore, a Renoir’s garden party at the Moulin de la Galette, 1876; a Monet’s portrait of Berte Morrisot, in black and white; and Whistler’s famous “Portrait of the Artist’s Mother,” 1871.  I am starting to like post-impressionism, the Fauvists, Blue Rider, and German Expressionism a lot, perhaps as much as Impressionism.  On the advice of Joseph, my sculptor friend back in Helena, I took the time to notice the architectural beauty of the gallery, itself, the former railroad station.

Amsterdam

What a change from Paris. Rain outside, canals outside for streets, I felt I was living in a different specific gravity, that of water. Hard to tell where water ends and air and land begins. People are serious and a bit dour, not much mirth. Very pretty city, lots of small shops and cafes on the corners, seating for a few couples next to the canals, bicycles flying by everywhere. A unique city, unlike any other I have seen. Charming in its way.

The Anne Frank Museum was powerful, showing haunting 16 mm Nazi videos.  First, of unknowing Dutch Jews being loaded on the trains in Amsterdam at the collection point, some chatting with German guards, asking directions, etc.  Then on arrival at Auschwitz, they still perhaps didn’t know what awaited them, the women arranging their headbands to improve their appearance, but looking haggard.  This goes directly into videos shot from above of women and children, after “selection,” moving quickly in loose column formation from the train platform to the Birkenau section of the camp.  Then, the final still photos of the women and children at Birkenau, stopped, and lined up for the last phase, the “showers,” were the most haunting.  We are looking close up at the front row, next in line.  They didn’t look at the camera, and had downturned mouths and eyes, and holding their children’s and grand chilldren’s hands, seemed resigned, knew what was coming.  They could sense it.  These 16 mm videos, which I had never seen before, brought home the Holocaust better than anything I have seen or read before.  I stood transfixed, ignoring the line of visitors trying to nudge me on.  The rest of the tour brought the Holocaust home via the micro experience of one victim, Anne Frank.

The Van Gogh museum on the following day was a great introduction to the artist, following the stages of his life and art, from Holland and his early Millet-like period, with “The Cottages,” 1883, and “Potato Eaters; to his Paris and Cluchy pen and ink and chalk sketches from 1887, similar to Japanese prints; to his middle period of more stylized brushwork at Arles hospital after his first fight with Gauguiin; to his final St. Remy asylum months, all showing the phases of his art.  I admired most his 1885 self-portraits, especially the famous “Self Portrait in Straw Hat,” in white and yellow.  Other favorites were: “Irises,” 1890; “Net Menders” 1882, of women on the hearth, like his “Potato Eaters;” and, “Undergrowth” and “Olive Grove,” both 1889, with their trademark thick brush strokes.  Then, there was “The Sower” 1888, with its dominant yellow moon and halo around it, somewhat in the style of Gauguin, with flat surfaces and black outlines.  “Wheat field with a Reaper,” 1889, was primarily yellows with dots, curves, and strokes, using a heavy brush, from his middle, Arles, period.  “Almond Blossom,” 1890, was light blue with white blooms, honoring the birth of his nephew, Theo’s son.  “Two Views of St. Paul’s Hospital,” the vestibule and gardens of an asylum that he didn’t like, highlighted the orange walls and green trim on door frames, etc.  Finally, there were three spectacular, large, horizontal rectangular canvasses, his last, just before his suicide at St. Remy in 1890. They are turbulent pieces, with turbulent skies and fields below, solitary, alone, sad.  One is “Wheatfield after Thunderclouds,” with a stormy blue sky over green fields, and a few white clouds. Then, “Wheatfield with Crows,” at Auvers, wet on wet method, and finally “Wheatfields at Twilight,” with its stormy yellow sky.  The museum also had some nice Gauguins, including his sketch of Van Gogh painting sunflowers, his “Wind Harvest in Auvers,” with ladies in Breton caps in the fields, and his own famous self portrait, “Les Miserables,” with mustached yellow face, angular, expressionistic.

The Rhine

A river cruise is a beautiful way to see Europe, focusing on the Rhine in this instance. The only problem is that they are a bit social, being on a small boat and, except for one day, plus, you are also traveling down the river at night, so there is no sitting on the deck watching Europe float by.  I would have liked to stay in Cologne or Heidelberg or Breisach or Regensburg or Strasbourg one more day.  I would still like to rent a room in a small town on the Rhine, perhaps Oberwesel, for a few days. However, I did manage a few moments each day alone on the top deck of the ship, looking at the wonderful embankments, parks, and at bridges over the Rhine lit in blue and green, etc.  It was almost all Americans on board, two great couples from Mississippi, a nice pharmatict and wife from Kansas, an interesting NYC/Florida couple, Tampa Bay Rays fans, a horse woman and her mother from Milwaukee and Chicago area, a few Texans, who were on their own, a Connecticut contingent also on their own with Red Sox caps, a couple of Minnesotans, one with Vikings cap, who reminded me of Montanans, big, hunter types, down to earth, nice, an environmentalist from Oregon, and a few Californians.  We were traveling with our Foreign Service friends Al and Donna from Washington.  One of the Mississipians, from Meridian, was a kindred spirit, a history buff.

I learned a lot on the trip, piecing together European history, starting with the Roman settlements or “limes” (Colognia Agrippina (Koln), Mongantum (Mainz), and Balisium (Basel) around 50 BC, defensive settlements stretching from Koblenz to the Danube. Then the Germanic tribes or confederations take over, first the Allemagne who overran Rome in 376 AD, then the Franks who were christianized (Catholic) and created a loose confederation, the Holy Roman Empire, by 800 under Charlemagne.  The center of this Germanic empire shifted to Austria as the Hapsburgs took control around 1200 under Charles V.  But, Germany had become a loose grouping of principates under electors and bishops, who were gradually pushed away already by the merchants and Town Halls, a revolution of sorts which culminated with the Reformation in 1618 and the rise of Protestantism.  The Reformation, itself, was a revolt against the Catholic Hapsburgs, a German thing which didn’t extend into southern Germany as much.  Around this time, the Bourbons took over in France and launched attacks into Germany.  In 1866, the Prussians took over Germany from Berlin, took control of Austria, and unified Germany.

I loved the Gothic cathedrals, including the beautiful rose sandstone walls of Heidelberg’s Holy Spirit Cathedral, the twin spires of Cologne, and the huge rose window in Strasbourg. What a beautiful innovation the Gothic was, with its tall and huge windows, so elegant and light compared to the Romanesque that came before.  Europe, despite its density, is charming and seems slower paced than the U.S., a bit more subdued and more collective, societal based, rather than individualistic. I did, however, miss the wide open spaces of the United States and the feeling of freedom.  But, strangely, after a week in Europe, I became absorbed into Europe, and started thinking of America as far away and provincial, like Australia, not really so relevant from the European perspective.  Europe is elegant, with people living with repose amid beautiful Hanseatic and Gothic and Romanesque, or classical settings.  There are nice peaceful cafes for everyone, small markets, apartments, and prosperity, and the Rhine is nicest of all, with the beautiful river and wonderful wine terraces and green hills and fields.  Heidelberg was my favorite: the college, old town, red roofs, river Neckar, wonderful schloss or castle, Gothic churches, steeples, slate gray buildings, red limestone and sandstone facades everywhere, and narrow streets. Mannheim, destroyed in the war, was interesting, a planned city of large apartments squares and tram lines linking the apartments to factories, a chessboard town, the Germans call it. Rudesheim was beautiful, walking back into the Middle Ages, wine casks and wine streets, and with 17th Century buildings everywhere as well, wonderful churches.

I also learned a lot about World War II in Europe while in Alsace. Tough battles, tougher than Anzio, Audie Murphy said, referring to the Colmar Pocket, where the 3rd Division, the Rock of the Marne, lost 8000 soldiers in two weeks fighting in minus 4 degree weather against SS units under a brutal, no surrender general, Himmler. Brutal fighting along the Vosges ridges, crossing the Ill River, going towards the main bridge at Breisach. Murphy called this “defenders country.” The Germans were very tough in retreat, good at camouflage, concealment use of artillery, etc., and used the Colmar Pocket to launch a smaller battle of the bulge, the last German offensive, on New Years Eve, 1945. Their weaponry was better, Sturmgefahr assault rifles, Panther tanks, burp guns. How our guys prevailed is a wonder. Highest losses of any Division in the war. Interesting story the tour guide relayed, that the allies underestimated how many replacements would be needed from Normandy to the Rhine, having to use non combatant and slightly wounded soldiers. The Texas Division was wiped out, replaced by the 3rd Division, whole companies disappeared in small Alsatian towns on the wine trail, like Sigolsheim. Murphy was perceptive, called the pocket an iron fist pointed into U.S. lines. Saw the area between Altheim and Holtzweher where Audi Murphy held off the Germans.  I picked some leaves from the trees near Altheim for a friend back in Helena whose father fought here.   The Colmar Pocket trip was very interesting. Riding the bus through the area, small towns leading to the Black Forest, was fascinating, and you had small villages, square layouts, surrounded by wine terraced fields. Roads run between the fields. Alsace is beautiful, more German than French in appearance.

Flying Icelandic back to Denver from Paris, looking down at Labrador Bay, I catalog my favorite parts of the trip, the open air bus ride around the Latin Quarter, Notre Dame at night, the Van Goghs, sitting atop the Viking longship alone in my coat,  the wine terraces of Alsace, the Renaissance facade at Heidelberg Castle, and, of course, the black and white cat on the blanket at Luxembourg Gardens and a young cat and its homeless owner at Strasbourg Cathedral.  Cats are always top of the list. (2014)