Ruminations on the Musical Instruments Museum

Brussels is known more for its waffles and beer (not necessariyly in that order) than for its arts and culture, but look closely and you'll see that the Capital of Europe is brimming with intellectual/creative/thought-provoking stimulation. Bruxellois and tourists alike have everything from a theater that specializes in Shakespeare to a comic strip museum at their disposal. If you're traveling to Brussels and you want to do something other than see what costume the Mannekin Pis is wearing, might I suggest a visit to the Musical Instruments Museum? Housed in a striking Art Nouveau building, and often refered to as the MIM, this interactive museum is the perfect first stop on your cultural tour of Brussels.

When I visited the MIM with my friend The Cupcake Avenger back in September, we didn't really know what to expect. So, we were pleasantly surprised to discover that for the relatively small price of 5 euros we would receive entrance to the museum and a set of headphones that would allow us to listen to the instruments. With the MIM to ourselves (it was early Saturday morning in Europe, after all) we wandered through three different galleries while dancing to the beats, rhythms and songs that automatically began each time we would step in front of a display. The gallery that is dedicated to traditional instruments from around the world was my favorite, and I happily tapped my toes to the old French accordians in particular. In addition to increasing our knowledge of musical history, visiting the MIM gave us an opportunity to enjoy some good old fashioned fun.

After listening to everything from bagpipes to a mariachi band we headed up to the MIM's rooftop café for a couple of lattés and a gorgeous panoramic view of the city. I thought about everything we had just seen and heard and was reminded of the universality of music. The audio guides of most museums ask you to select your language: French? English? Spanish? Japanese? But not the MIM. When you put on those clunky headphones you listen to the same sounds as everyone else, no translation needed. It was a nice realization; one that made me feel all warm and fuzzy about the world around us. And hungry for some waffles and beer.

Le Louvre Visits Minnesota

Dear Minnesota-based Parisian Spring readers, Did you know that for a few short months (and without having to lose money on the exchange rate), you have the chance to see some of the Louvre’s most celebrated works of art in an exhibition entitled, “The Louvre and the Masterpiece?” The exhibition is being held at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, and they’re calling it a once-in-a-lifetime event. Tout le monde au musée!

If I was living in DC instead of Brussels I would seriously consider flying home to see this little bit of Paris in the Twin Cities. The chance to contemplate Georges de La Tour’s captivating piece, “The Card-Sharp with Ace of Diamonds,” is not one that can easily be passed up. There’s also a Vermeer, which, I mean, it’s a Vermeer! But that’s not all: the exhibition features works from each of the museum’s collection areas, in an attempt to decode what makes some works masterpieces and others not. You can even see how science helped the staff at the Louvre spot a forgery. How cool is that?

The exhibition is runs from now until January 10, 2010. A full price ticket costs $14, but entrance is free if you’re a member of museum. So, you can’t make it to Paris this winter. So what? Put on your best when-in-Paris outfit, go and peruse the exhibition, then discuss over dinner (in French, if possible) while enjoying a fine Bordeaux. I only wish I could join you.

La Nuit Blanche

I am not a night owl. So when I heard Paris was going to have its Nuit Blanche on the Saturday I had planned to be in town, I wasn't sure what to think. To do a "nuit blanche" in French means to pull an all-nighter, and La Nuit Blanche is a once-a-year celebration where the entire city does just that. There are parties, dances, and artistic performances until the wee hours of the morning in neighborhoods across Paris. As someone who likes to keep reasonable bedtimes, and who would much prefer getting up early to sleeping in, I was doubful of my ability to partake in the festivities. Nevertheless, I decided to give it a try. I'd like to think I did myself proud.


There are a number of different ways to experience Paris' La Nuit Blanche. You could throw a late/early party chez toi, attend the outdoor dance under a gigantic disco ball at the Jardin du Luxembourg, dine at an unusual hour, or just wander the streets taking it all in. After dinner at a normal hour at my favorite Parisian bistro, I took the latter approach. Leaving the Marais, I crossed the Seine to the Ile Saint-Louis, made my way through a light display on a bridge, saw a street performance in front of Notre Dame, snaked through Saint-Michel, fought the crowds past the Jardin du Luxembourg, wandered around St. Germain de Prés, and hung out in front of the Louvre before catching the metro back to my hotel near the Arc de Triomphe. I didn't make it until dawn, but these days, anytime after midnight is something to be celebrated.

Simply wandering the streets was a perfectly enjoyable way to get a feel for La Nuit Blanche. In some areas there was revelry, and in others it was relatively quiet, but everywhere I went offered something different to see, hear and explore. And with a full moon on a cloudless (rainless!) night, every part of the city was marvelously aglow. Even an early bird can enjoy herself on a sleepless night, especially when she's in Paris.

Eiffel Tower Turns 120

It seems like only yesterday when I first laid eyes on the Eiffel Tower. I rounded the corner, it came into view, and I proceeded to do the most ridiculously embarrassing touristy thing one could possibly do upon seeing the Eiffel Tower: I screamed. A bit of an overreaction, maybe, but it really is a cool tower. And seeing something in real life that you think you know so well because you've seen it a million times in books, movies and magazines, but you really have no idea because 3D is so much better, can be a pretty intense experience.

Today marks the 120th birthday of Gustave Eiffel's world famous reaction-inducing creation. For more than a century, visitors to Paris have oohed and ahhed under, snapped photos, climbed the stairs and ridden the elevator of, picnicked under, dined on, (and screamed at) Paris' iconic iron tower. Some people think it's a cliché, but I love la Tour Eiffel. I may have moved past my days of freaking out at the sight of it, but rounding a corner only to be surprised by the soaring Eiffel Tower coming into view will never get old.

Au Cinéma

Movies are huge in France. There are important film festivals every year in Cannes and Deauville, French directors and movie stars are known all over the world, and theaters in France sell all-you-can-watch passes so that French audiences can see multiple showings every month. Films have long played an important role in French culture, and they still do today. But they're not just watching French movies in French cinémas Foreign films are popular too, with American films taking top billing. I've seen a lot of American movies in France, and one thing that always surprised me was the method (or lack thereof) for creating their titles. American movies in France don't necessarily retain their English names, and in some cases, they come out completely unrecognizable on the other side.

There seem to be three different fates for American movie titles in France. The first is that the original title is kept in English. For example, when I saw Sex and the City in Paris last spring, it was called Sex and the City. Nothing had been changed. The second option is that the original title is kept, but is translated into French. Lord of the Rings offers a good example of this; it becomes Le Seigneur des Anneaux. Chick flick 27 Dresses was showing while I was in Paris, and yep, they called it 27 Robes.

The third fate is the one that always catches me off guard. Occasionally, American movie titles are completely changed before being marketed to the French public. For example, the Steve Carell/Juliette Binoche film Dan in Real Life became Coup de Foudre à Rhode Island, which means Love at First Sight in Rhode Island in English. Quoi? That title has a totally different meaning than its original English version! I remember a few years back when Something's Gotta Give came out. I was in France, and it was called Tout Peut Arriver, which would be Anything Can Happen in English. So what's the deal? Why do some titles change and others don't? How do they decide which titles stay in English? And just who, exactly, is making all of these decisions?

Of course, this issue cuts both ways. Amélie - a French film that was hugely popular in the U.S. when it came out - isn't called Amélie in France. Its real title is Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulin, a nice little rhyme that, as you can probably guess, translates to The Fabulous Destiny of Amélie Poulin. Maybe that's the key: the French title has a sing-songy feel to it, but when it's changed to English it loses that meaning. As a result, there's no point in keeping the original title. It does seem like the American movie titles that are changed tend to be idiomatic or slang-ridden. And I suppose it doesn't really matter what the movie is called, as long as it's worth the good euros, or dollars, you paid to see it.


Photo credit: clasixart

Diplomatic Sightseeing

Did you know that the document that ended the American Revolutionary War was signed in France? I'm slightly ashamed to admit that I had forgotten this useful bit of information (which was surely taught to me in a 5th grade history class) until just a few days ago, when I had the opportunity to view an original version of the treaty. On September 3, 1783, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams and John Jay met with a British Delegation at Parisian hotel to officially put an end to the conflict between Great Britain and her rebellious colonies. Today, you can see their treaty and a whole host of American diplomatic art by taking a little known Washington, DC tour: The U.S. Department of State Diplomatic Reception Rooms Tour.


One possible reason for the obscurity of the Diplomatic Reception Rooms Tour could be its reliance on highly organized travelers. Reservations for the tour must be made no fewer than 90 days in advance, a requirement that disqualifies uninformed and last-minute visitors alike. If you do manage to get a reservation, you won't be disappointed, as the rooms are filled with magnificent pieces dating back to the early years of the Republic. You'll find china used by Paul Revere, French wine glasses that once belonged to Martha Washington's sister, and one of Thomas Jefferson's writing desks thought to have been used during the drafting of the Declaration of Independence. Paintings on the walls range from scenes of the Pilgrims' landing to portraits of famous Revolutionaries. All of the pieces in the collection were donated, and the tour itself is free.

Of course, the highlight of the tour is the Treaty of Paris. Seeing the real signatures of Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, and John Adams is a truly moving experience. They're some of our Founding Fathers! And while we usually only read about them in the history books, seeing a document they created and actually touched reminds you that they existed as men, not simply as stories. You'll also get to see the painting I included in this post, which is Benjamin West's depiction of the signing of the Treaty of Paris. Famously unfinished, West had to abandon the project when British signatory, David Hartley, refused to sit for him. I guess he was a sore loser.

Art to the Extreme

I haven't been very nice to the Musée du Louvre on this blog. I've labeled it "dark and cavernous," called some of its famous artwork "overrated," and even suggested that a visit to Leonardo da Vinci's grave was more enjoyable than a visit to the Louvre. Well, I'm here today to make up for all my museum bad-mouthing. Truth be told, The Louvre is impressive in many ways, including its scale, scope, and history. A Sunday visit to France's most famous museum has re-opened my eyes to just how amazing and worthy of our attention it truly is.

The Louvre was not built with the original intention of being used as a museum. At one time, the enormous structure served as a royal palace, housing many of France's kings and queens until Louis XIV decided to move to Versailles in 1672. The oldest parts of the structure date back to the 12th century, when a fortress was built to protect the city. Remnants of that original building are still visible and open to the public. When the palace officially opened its doors as a museum in 1973, admission was free and priority entrance was given to artists. Today, the Louvre is home to approximately 35,000 pieces and boasts 60,000 square meters of exhibition space. It would take a lifetime to see all that the Louvre has to offer, but even with one visit you can see some of its more famous works. Be sure to check out the Venus de Milo sculpture, Code of Hammurabi tablet, Eugene Delacroix's enormous painting, Liberty Leading the People, and if you can manage to squeeze through the crowds, da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

With 8.3 million visitors passing through its doors in 2007, I know that I am not the only one who would sing the Louvre's praises. And while the museum received a ridiculous amount of visitors on any given day, once you step out of the entrance area it does not feel crowded execpt, of course, by the Mona Lisa. The museum is so enormous, that even the busiest days (such as the first Sunday of the month, when admission is free) you cannot pack all of its rooms with people. Oh, and that whole "dark and cavernous" jab I took? I think this photo of the entrance hall shows how unfair that comment really was. Some of the galleries might be a bit closed in, but on the whole the museum is a bright and stunning piece of work. The Louvre is a must-see for those who are passing through Paris, and it would be a worthy addition to anyone's must-do travel list. There, I said it.

Take My Camera, Please

Has this ever happened to you while traveling? You find yourself in front of a monument, cathedral, or breathtaking natural sight and you freeze. Not because it's so beautiful, not because the magnificence of it all stops you in your tracks...you freeze simply because you can't possibly take another photo of a monument, cathedral, or breathtaking natural sight. Yes, you've got camera fatigue; when trying to capture every moment on film goes from fun and exciting to tedious and boring. Freeing yourself from this condition is not going to be easy.

Camera fatigue is where I find myself today, which might come a shock to those who know me best. After all, I'm usually the one who can't put the camera down and annoys all her friends by taking pictures of them and everything around them all the time (they'll thank me later). But after nearly six months in a foreign country, after countless weekend trips and casual walks around Paris, I'm kind of worn out. During a recent trip to the Musée Rodin sculpture garden, I couldn't even get excited about taking a picture of The Thinker. That's when I knew I had hit rock bottom.

So, how does one pull oneself out of a travel picture slump? I think it has something to do with how you go about your picture-taking in the first place. Try not to take the classic must-have shots of things that are best seen with the naked eye. I mean, seriously, are you going to look through your travel album 10 years from now and be really happy to see a picture you took of the Mona Lisa? You can see that in any old art book. And the memory of seeing it in person - the five or so minutes you took to really examine the art - is no doubt more magical than the flat look of a tiny little painting in a photo. Stick to the stuff that creates memories rather than hinders them; the stuff that tells a story. For example, I know I will always cherish my photos of the Eiffel Tower that I took on Bastille Day. They weren't just regular shots of a familiar monument. Instead, the changing looks tell a story of that day: what the weather was like, how the sky looked, where I was sitting, and the fireworks that capped the event.

After exiting the Musée Rodin, I noticed that a number of telephone poles, fence railings and street lights were covered in the multi-colored stickers you get when you buy your ticket at the museum. For some reason or another, thousands of visitors have decided to discard their adhesive passes on the surrounding urban landscape. Art creating art, in a way. Here was a moment I could get excited about! I quickly snapped a picture of a nearby stoplight covered in stickers. 10 years from now, this silly photo will make me think of that hot Paris day spent in the Rodin gardens, and I'll be really happy to have it.

Déjà Vu All Over Again

Back in March I did a story about an unusually friendly piece of graffitti that showed up in my neighborhood. Someone had painted the words "I love you" (substituting a heart for "love") on the little statue of Auguste Rodin located in the park across from my apartment. I thought it was cute; not my normal reaction to defacement, but who could resist such a sweet message?

Well, after months of searching, I finally found the French language equivalent. Right across for the Hôtel de Ville in Paris, written on a not-so-attractive protective barrier, some rogue artist wrote the same very attractive message. It made me wonder: Is there a band of spray-paint weilding do-gooders roaming the streets of Paris? Is someone trying to spread love all over the city? Or are these two occurances comletely unrelated? They are probably unrelated, but the idea of spray-paint weilding do-gooders is more fun to imagine.

Hommage

After spending a couple of months in France, you might start to get the feeling that Charles de Gaulle must have been the greatest Frenchman ever. It's not because you've been studying his rallying WWII speeches or his record as Président de la Republique. It's not because you know all about his personal life, his hobbies or his interests. It's not even because French people regularly tell you they admire him. No, it's simply because his name and likeness are everywhere, and I mean everywhere.

For starters, there is the Charles de Gaulle Airport; a busy and confusing 70s-era monstrosity on the outskirts of Paris. Once you find your way out of the airport and make it into the city you might come across Avenue de Charles de Gaulle or the Charles de Gaule - Etoile metro station. You will see his face on magazine covers and hear his contributions to France discussed on TV political shows. You will also start to notice the countless statues, busts, and plaques in Paris that are dedicated to the former general. Speaking of the military, France is one of the few countries to own an aircraft carrier, and yep, they named it the Charles de Gaulle.

After awhile, you sort of become immune to good ol' Charles. You might start to pass squares, buildings and bridges named after him without the slightest reaction. But even the most jaded of de Gaulle observers can't help admiring the Charles de Gaulle statue that stands near the entrance to the Grand Palais, right on the Champs-Elysées. High up on his pedestal, walking as if he is still on a mission to serve his beloved France, de Gaulle gives off an inspiring air of great importance. He's a man of action, a tireless crusader and a fearless leader. He looks as though any minute now he will step down from his perch, march up to the Assemblée Nationale, and start giving orders. Maybe he really is the greatest Frenchman ever. At the very least, he looks good in bronze.

Art...Finally

I've been determined to visit the Musée d'Orsay ever since I was unceremoniously informed last week that the majority of the galleries had been closed to due a museum personnel strike. As I stood in line yesterday afternoon to purchase my advance tickets for the evening, I made a silent appeal to the French bureaucratic gods that today would not be a day for making statements. My efforts must have worked. When I asked the lady at the ticket counter whether or not the employees were en grève, she replied with a rather disappointed sounding "non."

The Musée d'Orsay is not only worth visiting because of the amazing works of art within, but also because of the beauty of the building itself. The museum is actually an old train station that was fully remodeled to serve as an exhibition hall. Located across from the Seine on the rive gauche, its ivory exterior gleams while its spacious interior inspires awe. In fact, there are even lookout points within the museum that allow you to admire its wide open spaces, and windows in some of the galleries provide spectacular views of Paris. Known mostly for sculpture and its collection of Impressionist paintings, d'Orsay's halls also hold decorative art and photography. The Van Gogh salle is not to be missed.

D'Orsay might be less famous than its grand neighbor across the river, Le Louvre, but I think that in many ways it is the better museum. Because its smaller in size, the Musée d'Orsay feels less daunting; you don't need a lifetime to see everything within, a good day or two will suffice. The Louvre can feel dark and cavernous, while d'Orsay is filled with light and space. And while she might not contain the Mona Lisa, the Musée d'Orsay has countless un-overrated classics that you don't need to fight a sea of camera-snapping tourists to see. A visit to Paris should always include a visit to the Musée d'Orsay. Just be sure that on the day you show up, so do the people with the keys.

An Italian in France

One of the best things about traveling is that it affords you the opportunity to find amazing treasures you weren't even looking for. For example, while on this past weekend's trip to the Loire Valley, I expected to find breathtaking châteaux, green countryside, and large groups of Japanese tourists. What I didn't expect to find was the grave site of Leonardo da Vinci in the chapel of the Amboise castle.

Now, I consider myself to be your average Leonardo da Vinci fan. I've seen the Mona Lisa, read the da Vinci code, and can easily visualize his famous drawing, The Vitruvian Man. But I had absolutely no knowledge of his final resting place, nor, frankly, had I ever wondered where it was. He's such a large, mythical figure that imagining him in a regular burial plot the same as mere mortals doesn't exactly come naturally. Nevertheless, he was indeed buried, and visitors to the Loire Valley should not miss the opportunity to see his eternal home.

According to the castle's brochure, da Vinci spent the last years of his life living and working on the grounds of Amboise. After his death in 1519 he was buried in the chapel of Saint-Hubert - a small, unassuming house of worship that, despite its charm, seems almost ill-equipped for the task of housing the great man that lies within it. From the lack of visitors in the chapel, one can easily assume that his grave receives far fewer admirers than his most famous work, Mona Lisa. That smaller-than-you-think painting is nearly impossible to get close to as The Louvre is filled with tourists trying to catch a glimpse of it. I, however, found this somewhat macabre da Vinci sighting to be far more enjoyable. Maybe it was because of the idyllic setting, or the crowd-free chapel. Or maybe because it was just so unexpected.

Vandalism as Art

I usually don't condone defacing statues that represent the cultural heritage of France, or any kind of public property for that matter, but after seeing this bit of graffiti I was willing to make an exception. I mean, it's just plain cute!

There is a lot of graffiti in Paris, especially in the metro. Most of it is either offensive, childish, or completely nonsensical. It's an eyesore to be sure, but just as you do with the people who play musical instruments in the trains during the morning commute, you tend to tune it out after awhile. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but be struck by the writing on the little statue of Auguste Rodin that is located at the entrance of a park in Sèvres. Who could this message be for? Did one of Rodin's more devoted fans chose this way to pay homage to him? Did a man (or woman) decide to write a very public message to his beloved? Or was it simply intended to put a smile on the faces of passers-by? The possibilities are endless.

Whatever the reason, graffiti artists take note: if you must impose your work on the rest of us, could you at least be sure that your messages include gratuitous flattery?