Mon Carnet de Voyage

Each one of the 1,789 steps represents one hour of my time living in Paris. Each is an hour I have spent wisely, grasping at every waking moment, living on the cusp of a cultural wave that has carried me through new streets, near and far arrondissments and metro stations. Gateways to each new destination I choose to explore. An endless list of things to see and do, until I realise that every moment, wherever I am in the world, is just as important as the last. This is Paris’ gift to me. I got my moment back.

I take the stairs slowly. I stop. Take it in.

She is strong on her four iron feet, like a proud lion watching over Paris. For 120 years she has quietly observed the back and forth ebb of this city – a mute witness.

Before me a majestic grid of white, green and pink lights, twinkling with the smile of an ancient soul, young at heart. Paris is a theatre for comedies, tragedies and dramas, and I have a balcony view. Never before have I stood here and known what exactly I am looking at. Before it had just been a mass of six storey buildings, chimneys and geraniums, but now I have the geography in my head. It’s been slowly imprinted on the back of my hand so I can wander her streets again in my mind, sometime in the future when Paris is one of the dearest memories I covet. From here I can see those other postcard pretties – the Sacre Coeur, the Arc de Triomphe, and if I strain my eyes in the dark, I can just make out those four towers seven kilometres to the south-east, designed to look like upended books - the Bibliothèque nationale de France, within whose pages I have wandered these past three months.

I could descend this iron sentinel and walk home without a map. Weaved in to this landscape are my memories, like every other tourist or visitor or resident:

Riding on the back of a motorbike in Paris traffic, with the sun on my face. Trusting my friend enough to close my eyes.

My first street crepe.

Tasting champagne and knowing what it means.

Children in the playground behind my apartment, finding me observing in the window three stories above, and blowing kisses to me.

Smaller and smaller dogs.

Watching the lochs open and close on the Canal St Martin.

Two-up in Villers-Bretonneux.

Children sailing their boats on the water at Jardin de Luxembourg.

Sharing some of those moments with new friends, and old.

…and more than I’ll ever remember.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this blog. It has been wonderful to write it for you, and for me.

Thank you to the State Library of Victoria, the Bibliothèque nationale de France, and to the French Minister for Culture, for this remarkable opportunity to work professionally in Paris.

Thank you to my childhood French teacher Madame Kotai-Ewers for instilling in me a deep passion for French culture and language at such an early age, that it has managed to become one of the greatest joys in my life for 25 years. The greatest thing you can give a child is a second language. They can then connect with twice as many people on our beautiful planet.

Thank you to the friends I have made in France – Anne-Sophie, Martine and Manny, Marianna, Sam, Ben, Henri, and Mick, and to my French work colleagues who have taught me so much – Anne, Jacques, Dahlia, Christiane, Lorène, Cecile, Stephane, Marine, Catherine, Nadine, Caroline, Remi, Isabelle….thank you also to the staff at other cultural institutions in Paris who gave me their time to talk about Education Programs.

Thank you for all your messages, emails and phone calls to tell me that you are impatiently waiting on the next installment of my blog. I hope that I can start another one sometime down the track, and if you are interested in reading more of my writing, just check in with my website www.samanthatidy.com from time to time, to hear of new writing on the horizon. Like my next novel for example - see my website for details.

Until then,

À bientôt…

I am nearing the end of my stay, and as such in my last two weeks at the BnF, I am trying to cram in as much as possible in regards to my professional experiences here – visits to Education Managers in other museums, cultural services staff in other library settings, and the final presentation of my research paper – a study in the services for youth on offer at both the BnF and the SLV.

Musée du Quai Branly

Last week I had the opportunity to visit the Musée du Quai Branly and talk to the Education staff there in. A purpose built museum and only two years old (and already attracting 1.6 million visitors per year), it was the brainchild of Jacques Chirac. President Georges Pompidou had the Pompidou Centre, and President Miterrand had the new incarnation of the Bibliothèque nationale de France – the François Mitterand site. President Chirac, though well known for some not so popular events in the southern hemisphere, did create a marvelous institution when he opened the Musée du Quai Branly (I can’t wait to see what Sarkozy leaves behind in the way of cultural institutions…).

This museum is actually an ethnographic museum – of culture and arts from non-European backgrounds – so this translates as Africa, Oceanic, the Americas and Asia. The collection comprises artifacts, and artistic works from both prolific and rare indigenous cultures (North America, Mexico, Nigeria, Oceania, New Guinea, Australia, India, Patagonia, Peru…), that were once part of the Museum of Man, and the Porte d’Or – or Golden Gate Museum of African and Asian Art. Brought together in one space, the museum is located right near the Eiffel Tower.

The scenographie of the museum is purpose built around the collection and as such, is the most impressive interpretation space that I have seen as yet in Paris. The museum is arranged geographically into continents, and rising upward through the whole museum, is a giant chamber of musical instruments. I was not allowed to take any photos (and being just that little bit superstitious when surrounded by ceremonial masks, funeral sticks, totem poles and Aboriginal paintings, I didn’t really want to snap any shots).

Either way, should you be in Paris, the museum is well worth a visit. This is their website, which you can also peruse in English.

Anzac Day in Villers-Bretonneux

My trip to the Somme this weekend has been long anticipated – a very special experience that I was lucky enough to have, given that I happened to be in France for the 90th anniversary of the Battle at Villers-Bretonneux – 25th April 1918.

Villers-Bretonneux is a small French town in the north of France, about 20 kilometres from the town of Amiens that I will admit I didn’t know anything about until 6 weeks ago. A little bit of research later, and I was stunned to realise that as a nation we have neglected to fully remember collectively, the events that took place here in 1918.

The emblem of the town of Villers-Bretonneux is a kangaroo. The local school is also the venue for a permanent museum recounting the Australian war effort in WW1 (and the sign below sits above the door as you enter - it means, Never Forget Australia). The town is filled with Australian references – street names, flags, and business names.

3 kilometres from the town, is the very large and impressive Australian Memorial (below). It is perched on a hill in the same place, where Australian troops pushed back the German offensive during the night of 24th April 1918. In a war when 68,000 Australian men were lost (from a national Australian population of 4.5 million in 1918), 48,000 were lost in the Somme, defending France. Many were lost in the battle in this very place, which saved the small town and its occupants (and towns further behind it, such as Amiens). Each year for 90 years now, Villers-Bretonneux has remembered Australia – with a memorial service on the Saturday closest to Anzac Day, always attended by local dignitaries and the town’s entire population.

This year brought two services, the regular Saturday service, and a very special, first time ever Dawn Service for Friday 25th April to mark the 90th anniversary. I was fortunate enough to take part in both.

The local tourism office runs a very slick affair – free shuttle buses everywhere – in particular the vital 4.15am departure of several free buses from Amiens to the Australian Memorial, signs posted everywhere telling the Australians which direction to go in…free breakfast of coffee and croissants after the service (for 7,000 people, this is no small affair).

The whole experience is one that I will cherish for all my life. The service was actually very uplifting for me. Afterwards, many people including myself chose to spend the day in Villers-Bretonneux to celebrate – an impromptu two-up game in the town square gave everyone a sense of shared Australian spirit, and a parade through the streets followed.

I will recount four moments in particular, that will stay with me –

Sitting next to an elderly man on the free shuttle bus from VB to the memorial on the Saturday, I asked him if he was French or Australia – French he replied, from the town. He was holding a rather modern video camera. He told me that he has been to the Anzac Day service every year, and now he films it every year, with his new camera.

Being a small world, I of course, bumped into several people I knew from Australia – one friend whom I saw in VB told me why she was visiting - her grandfather died in WW1, spending exactly three years to the day serving in the Australian Imperial Force. The first battle he saw was at Gallipoli, and his last, the day he died, was at Villers-Bretonneux. His was the ultimate sacrifice.

Whilst standing on that hill, I thought about the feeling that the men would have had, the morning of the 25th April 1918, when they themselves realised that on the third anniversary of Anzac Day, they had achieved such great success – what an amazing moment - and, in history’s page, this was the start of the retreat of the German troops. A very successful battle indeed.

One elderly Australian man of 82 had brought his son, and grandson with him, to remember his uncle who had fallen here. He told me with sadness that he was invited to this service when he was 30, but he had been too busy to think about why he should come. Now the three of them were remembering him together. He was a lovely chap, and he told me with a twinkle in his eye, that had I have been around in 1918, I would have brought a smile to the face of many diggers back then. I thanked him, for what I think is a most wonderful of compliments.

Of late I have been trying to explain to interested French people in Paris, about what Anzac Day actually is. I explain a little about Gallipoli, and then, to astonished (and possibly disbelieving) faces, I let them know how many Australian men died in WW1 (some didn’t even realise we were in it). They actually think I get the figure wrong, and they can’t believe it. Then I explain that 7,000 Australians descended on Villers-Bretonneux for the weekend, to remember them. They ask me why.

My answer is one that I have only just come to fully understand myself, after trying to verbalise it in another language - and that is, that Australia was born in the war. Before 1915, we still considered ourselves an English colony – Australia was just a teenager, still reliant on the mother land, for all things cultural. In the trenches of WW1, and on the beach at Gallipoli, we found out that we had qualities we could recognise in one another - comraderie, mateship and pride in our nation. We found out that our men could fight hard to defend the lifestyle we had come to create in Australia. Returning to Australia, the surviving soldiers, with the ghosts of those left behind, forged our identity. We suddenly found out, who and what we were.

Travelling alone, I found that I was ‘taken under the wing’ by several Australian strangers – an Adelaide family in Amiens invited me to have dinner with them. I stood at the Dawn Service with a lovely Perth family whom I met on the 4.15am bus. I caught lifts with other Australians, who were happy to offer me a spot in their car to the next event, or town that I needed to get to. All the while I felt at home, spending this very special weekend making new friends. I guess you call that mateship, and for that, I am grateful for the opportunity to experience it.

(The town of Amboise, as seen from the chapel in which Leonardo da Vinci is buried).

My weekend was spent on the banks of France’s longest and most royal river, the Loire, exploring the architecture of fairytales, and the extravagant riches that belong in the dreams of queens and princesses.

Recognised by Unesco as a World Heritage Site in 2000, the Châteaux of the Loire appear to me, to be one of France’s most endearing features – it is here that you will find many classic storybook castles, reminding you of the glorious life lived by aristocrats and royals from the 15th to the 18th century. It so impressed me that I would include two nights in the Loire on anyone’s itinerary if you only had a week in Paris.

My first castle on the agenda was Azay-Le-Rideau (above). The smallest of all five that I saw, this was actually my favourite, as it was the least extravagant, and it occupied its own island. Surrounded completely by a moat, it originally had a classic drawbridge style crossing (the first man that lived here held a monopoly on river trade). The 16th century Renaissance castle originally belonged to Gilles Berthelot, a Tax Collector (for François 1), but when he was accused of corruption, he was imprisoned in the Bastille and executed.

Next was Villandry (above), a castle that only recently was opened to the public (and until then, the family who stills owns it, were living here). The castle, whilst very lavish, does not compare to the surrounding gardens. Four large ornamental gardens, a kitchen garden, a medicinal herb garden, a labyrinth maze, a playground for the young’uns, and a moat system keep 17 gardeners working full time per year. The ornamental garden is designed in four quarters to represent the four kinds of love – tender love, passionate love, fickle love and tragic love.

Amboise was the next town on the list – a picture perfect French village dating back to 503 AD. With its castle overlooking the town and the Loire River, Amboise was the home of Leonardo da Vinci in the last three years of his life. As such, the town boasts the last house that he lived in and the gothic Château Amboise where he was buried. The castle has been home to some of the most important royals in French history from the mid 15th to the mid 16th century, including Charles VIII, who died when he bumped his head on a door frame, on his way out to watch a game of tennis.
(This is the chapel of chateau Amboise, where Leo is buried).

Just down the road from the castle, was Château du Clos Lucé, which, as the last home of Leonardo da Vinci, is now a museum to commemorate the inventor’s life and his achievements. The manor house is set amongst gardens designed to demonstrate Leonardo’s perception of nature, and is dotted with life-size models of Leonardo’s inventions.
(The last home of Leonardo da Vinci, above).

The last castle on the list was in fact, the most impressive, and, the reason for my trip to the Loire in the first place – the Château of Chenonceau. It is the most classic of fairytale castles, built across the Cher River. During WWII, the north side was in occupied France, and the south end was in the free zone, so many people used it as a thoroughfare to enter each territory.
(The very palatial, Chenonceau, above).

Handed down amongst women, it has some sordid history. Originally built by Katherine Briconnet in 1513, it was handed to her son, but lost in a will and given to Francois I. As a royal residence from then on, Henri II first gave this castle to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers.

When he died in battle in 1552, Henri’s wife, Catherine de Medici demanded the castle from Diane, but never the ungrateful and cheated wife, she offered Chaumont-Sur-Loire in exchange, which Diane accepted.

Catherine de Medici actually ruled France from this castle after her husband died and was mother to King Henry III, Francois II and Charles IX. She held many festivities here, building a lavish ballroom over Diane’s original bridge. The mammoth kitchens (about five interconnecting chambers which take up the whole basement level) certainly fill your imagination with the many banquets that would have taken place there.

The chateau was later owned by Madame Dupin in the 18th century, who was host to Voltaire, Rousseau, and Diderot. It was saved during the French revolution as the people so admired her - a patron of the Arts.

After five castles, I certainly hadn’t seen everything that the Loire has to offer, but it was enough to make me feel like my weekend in the town of Tours was well spent. Tours itself is a lovely little town, with quaint winding pedestrian streets, a thriving old quarter full of bars and restaurants, a Cathedrale, and a Musée des Beaux Arts. Right through the heart of it, the Loire River runs at full pelt at this time of year. The area is also known for its Vouvray wine and troglodyte caves – subterranean homes built into the sides of stone cliffs.

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(Entry to the office on Monday morning).

I awoke to snow yesterday morning. With only six weeks until summer, the Parisians tell me this is not normal. However, I should think our default for normal weather has moved somewhat on the ‘what to expect’ meter, in these days of climate change. I don’t think it’s a case of ‘it is going to happen’, it is happening…

Sunday, I embarked on a long walk across the city. I strolled to the Marché Bastille, the largest and truest of all Parisian markets, and it certainly lived up to expectation. Letting my nose guide me, I weaved my way though mountains of fresh bread, fruit, legumes, flowers…and lots of perfectly Parisian dishes and delicacies for the lazy cook.


Onward and north towards the Pompidou Centre (my museum of choice for this month’s free Sunday for national museums). However I was stopped in my tracks by about 35,000 people running in the Paris Marathon. Clearly, by the looks of the results, not something particularly easy for a Parisian to win:

Top 5, Paris Marathon 2008, men
1. Tsegaye Kebede, Ethiopia, 2:06:40
2. Moses Arusei, Kenya, 2:06:50
3. Hosea Rotich, Kenya, 2:07:24
4. Gudisa Shentema, Ethiopia, 2:07:34
5. David Kemboi, Kenya, 2:08:34

Top 5, Paris Marahton 2008, women
1. Martha Komu, Kenya, 2:25:33
2. Worknech Tola, Ethiopia, 2:25:37
3. Lenah Cheruiyot, Kenya, 2:26:00
4. Shitaye Gemeshu, Ethiopia, 2:26:10
5. Alice Timbilili, Kenya, 2:26:45

One entertaining part of watching the marathon was trying to cross the road (after all, I was trying to get to the Pompidou Centre as early as possible to avoid the queue) which I eventually did by joining in to the marathon for fifty metres, much to the hilarity of the runners around me who laughed and called after me “allez allez allez” (the equivalent of 'aussie aussie aussie!'). More entertaining though, was watching the handing out of bananas as sustenance to the runners. No comic scene ensued, given that 35,000 people then had to run through 35,000 banana skins (except for the Kenyans), but it was fun to watch in anticipation.


Centre National d'Art et de Culture Georges Pompidou Centre

The Centre National d’Art et de Culture Georges Pompidou (which contains the National Museum of Modern Art on it's upper two levels) is considered the most successful cultural centre in the world, and is the second most visited museum in the world, attracting 5.3 million visitors per year. Housing works by Kandinsky, Picasso, Matisse, Pollock, and more, it showcases the most important movements in art of the twentieth century.


The works that did actually make me think were the multimedia artworks, including a room where an artist (at death’s door) had tried to capture the story of his life, through polaroids, notes, maps, postcards and items that reflected back to him, his self-perceived life story. Another, was a photograph of a giant apartment building in an undisclosed third world country, with the names of every tenant listed below.

The view of Paris, though, was probably the best bit, when standing on the top floor of the Pompidou Centre.

Musée national de la Marine

On Saturday, I visited the Musée national de la Marine (National Maritime Museum). Always a geek for maritime history (and French maritime history at that), I sought to visit the Lapérouse exhibition (Le mystère Lapérouse: enquête dans le Pacifique sud).

Lapérouse was a French explorer who set off from France in 1785 seeking to undertake all of Cook’s three voyages in just one. It was intended to be the largest scientific expedition of all time for France, and was ordered by Louis XVI (see previous blog titled: Millefeuille of History).

Lapérouse, and both of his ships, the Boussole, and the Astrolabe, went missing in 1788, shortly after leaving the English settlement at Botany Bay, Australia. This caused some conflict between the French and the English, as the French always suspected foul play. Bruni D’Entrecasteaux was sent out in 1791 to find the ships, and at the same time, to conduct another scientific voyage in Australia.
The mystery was not solved for 39 years, until Irishman, Peter Dillon, found the shipwreck of the Boussole in 1826, near Vanikoro, in the Santa Cruz Islands. It was the same place where D’Entrecasteaux had seen smoke signals in 1793, but had been unable to approach due to dangerous reefs (he himself then died two months later). Had Lapérouse and his men been the ones who made the smoke signals, five years after their shipwreck?

According to local natives, there had been survivors. They had resurrected a two-masted boat from the wreckage of the Astrolabe, and sailed west 9 months after their shipwreck, and were never seen since. Two men apparently remained behind and survived until 1823 (that’s 35 years), just three years before Dillon arrived. It’s a William Buckley / Burke and Wills tale on the high seas…

I learned that Lapérouse was chosen for his humane qualities as it was the King’s intention to treat natives well in Australia (as was the French ambition on all of their scientific voyages), and that both ships were made to be as identical as possible, so that one would not sail faster than the other. The highlight of the exhibition however, was seeing all of the rescued objects from the Boussole, perfectly preserved plates and canons, and an almost complete skeleton…
(Canons rescued from the Boussole).

On a similar note this month, it was interesting to see the pictures of the HMAS Sydney (found last year off the coast of Geraldton, WA), come to light. Another of our maritime mysteries solved…

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Yesterday, I had the wonderful opportunity to go back to the Manuscripts Department at the Richelieu site at the BnF, to look once again, as some very old books. Books that are 6 times older than my country’s modern settlement history. Five Carolingian treasures…

The Carolingian Dynasty refers to the period of monarchic rule in Europe by a noble family from the 7th century until the end of the 10th – a family who managed to usurp the power of the Merovingians, who ruled Europe from the mid 5th century, though to 751, until Pippin thwarted the throne. And to think that being a mere “chorus player” in the Midnite Theatre Company’s 1989 production of Pippin was never going to learn my anything…

The most well known character from this period of history is Charlemagne (son of Pippin), who was crowned Emperor by the Pope in 800. His empire is referred to as the Carolingian Empire (perceived as being a continuation of the Roman Empire), and this is the era from which the illuminated manuscripts on the table were from.

The reason for the opportunity, is that a group of disadvantaged school students were having a special treat – by way of their local public library, and the fact that some of the treasures on the table refereed to their local history, given that they were from St Denis (in the northern banlieue of Paris). Pippin was buried at the entrance to the St Denis Basilica – as he had requested.


The students (aged about ten years - I think about year 6 by Australian standards) were pretty lucky, to say the least to get this close (I was having kittens they were that close…) to the BnF prized collection of manuscripts. Jeanne-Pierre the Librarian gave much of her time and energy, explaining to the hyperactive students, the history, calligraphy, and the finer points of these 1200 year old Carolingian manuscripts.

These texts, whilst priceless (you couldn’t even attempt to dictate a monetary value) are pretty beautiful, and even that word doesn’t quite achieve how they make you feel – adorned with ivory tablets on the front, jewels and gold, they are works of art. Intended as books of study, they were also deigned to represent the glory of God.

Some pages were blood red, the parchment dyed to represent the blood of Christ. To achieve this colour, the pages were soaked in dyes, typically with the sap from sunflowers or mulloscs (a process called murex).

One bible, has the purest looking parchment I’d ever seen – a perfectly white page in a 1200 year old book, is hard to come by (I don’t want to know the age of the poor lamb or goat who donated his skin to this page).


In 2007, BnF had an exhibition of its Carolingian Treasures. A virtual exhibition is now available here.

Meanwhile, back in Melbourne…SLV opened the door yesterday to the largest exhibition of illuminated manuscripts ever in the Southern Hemisphere – The Medieval Imagination - Illuminated manuscripts from Cambridge, Australia and New Zealand is on display until 15th June 2008. If you live on the east coast, missing this would be the equivalent of forgetting your fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Pop in and take a look while you can…for more information click here.
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Musée de Cluny

The Musée national du Moyen Age (The Museum of the Middle Ages, commonly referred to as the Musée de Cluny), is situated in the Latin Quarter, in the centre of Paris. It’s the one somewhat lesser known museum that I always insert on every friend’s itinerary when asked to prepare one, for a three day trip to Paris.

You might line up for the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, but why not skip down the list to one of the many museums that Paris has, on just one theme or one epoch in history. The fact that artist Eugène Delacroix has his own museum, is indicative of the place that art, history and its appreciation, represents in French culture. In Paris, the Post Office has its own museum, and apparently, it is pretty impressive!

The reason for a visit to the Musée de Cluny, is the six panel tapestry, known as La Dame et La Licorne, or, The Lady and the Unicorn. After winding your way through medieval chests, swords, suits of mesh, jousting helmets (jousting sticks...what do you want with jousting sticks, darl?) statues, epitaphs, plates, paintings (first image above), stained-glass windows (above lower)...you arrive in a round and silent room where people immediately become quiet on entry.

Until Tracey Chevalier wrote a fiction novel with the same title, this tapestry wasn’t too well known. The first time I found this museum, I remember having that speechless feeling, when faced with a work of art that really speaks to you.

The best bit about this work of art, is that no-one really know what it all means. It remains an unsolved work of art. Much like that over-coveted half-smiling lady in the Louvre, except that to view this artwork, you don’t have to peer over the heads of hundreds of tourists. You can simply sit in front of it, surrounded by all six tapestries in a very dark room, and think about what it all means.

Each of the five ‘sense’ tapestries depict the same woman as appreciating the five senses:

Sight: the lady looks upon a mirror, reflecting to her the unicorn by her side, whilst a lion looks on.
Hearing: the lady plays a type of organ, assisted by a maidservant
Smell: the lady weaves a garland of flowers
Taste: the lady reaches to a basket of confectionery offered by her maidservant
Touch: whilst holding a flag with a coat of arms, she touches the unicorn

One separate tapestry titled “A Mon Sevl Desir” (above) is the conclusion of the six panel artwork, and in this, she is offered riches and jewels by the same maidservant, yet she is in the act of returning her own jewelry to the basket, perhaps to signify, that she could not want anything more. Throughout the six tapestries, are detailed images of nature, such as monkeys, foxes, lambs, dogs, leopards, rabbits, trees and flowers.

So to explain what it all means? Here are a few theories, based on Latin translations of those four words, “A Mon Sevl Desir”/ “My Only Desire”:

Some people believe that the secret to love is the hidden meaning of the tapestry. It is a celebration of desire.

Some believe that there are six ways for a man (do they mean humankind or men?) to recognise beauty - through the five senses, and the intellect, being the sixth sense.

Or, perhaps as some believe, it depicts the only thing that love desires - beauty of the soul.

…or of course, that old religious chestnut, the renunciation of desire to free the soul.

Either way, it’s nice to look at, and leaves you feeling like you are not alone in the world. That love, is the one thing that ties us all together.

BnF

This week, I thought to take a few photos of the Library, seeing as the trees in the forest are starting to blossom with Spring (even though it hailed buckets of ice on the children in the playground this afternoon and it is blustery cold…they kept playing mind you)…so I’ll leave you with these…next blog will be this weekend’s trip to Reims to visit the Champagne caves of Mumm, and Moët et Chandon. A la Santé! Or rather, Bottoms up!

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(This is the night-time view from the Recollets Convent. In the background to the right you can see the Sacre Coeur above the Gare de L'Est, about a 2.5 kilometre walk from here).

Sometimes I find our senior citizens, just the nicest people. Some of my best friends have been in their eighties…in fact, my good friend Elizabeth is 94 and still going strong.

So who could say that the French dislike foreigners, after this experience I just had?

Tonight, having been away for the weekend in Bretagne, I needed to pay a visit to the basement of the convent, to do my washing. Entertaining stuff for a Monday night.

I arrived in the Rez-de-Chaussez to find that the one and only washing machine had 20 minutes of someone’s else’s washing to whip into a front loading frenzy, so after signing with impatience, I settled in for making a queue for the machine, albeit alone.

In what is normally the freakish silence of the convent basement, I overheard voices in the next room. Lots of voices. Rather unusual for the basement of the convent, at 8pm on a Monday night.

When I turned one of the dark corners of the mouldy and quite frankly, scary basement, I found a darkened room, candlelit with tables and chairs covered in red chequered table cloths. A few people were standing around talking, obviously a social gathering of some sort about to start up. People were arriving as I stood there, mouth agape. A temporary sign on the door read “Liger Club,” and inside, fraternizing over wine, were some of the nicest French septuagenarians I have ever met. On this very cold and windy night whilst a three day storm batters the coast and inland regions of France, you couldn’t even try to accuse them of leading a tame life.

Dressed "a la maison" (hey…it’s washing night), I suddenly felt a little underdressed to have popped into what appears to be the equivalent of Rotary. The Liger Club exists to celebrate, discuss, and learn more about, the culture of the region known as the Loire. Essentially, these clubs (several of which exist in France) meet once a month to chat about all things Loire. It’s the French answer to Rotary, Probus, or your Nana’s bridge club.

In the basement of a convent at 8pm, I had thought I had stumbled into a rare cult (which is still a possibility…). An elderly lady saw me at the doorway, and looked up. A smile a mile wide.

Slightly embarrassed by my attire, all I could muster was “C’est quoi, Le Club Liger?”

Thus began my entertaining conversation in French with Liliane, who at about 80 years of age (I am guessing, though she is one of those ladies whose souls shines in their eyes) was the happiest and most open minded dame I’ve come across. What I love about her is that she speaks at a calm and moderate pace, and I can understand everything she says. We talked about the 14th century manuscripts in the BnF that her husband has loved to peruse, and the controversial architecture of the Francois Mitterrand site (not everyone likes it, you see…).

She just loves foreigners, especially Americans, but she was very excited to meet an Australian. She thinks that Heath Ledger was wonderful in Brokeback Mountain (“that film about the two men in the mountains” she says) and she just loved Priscilla (“the film about the men that were dancing together”).

She tells me that she lives in a lovely quarter of Paris - the left bank, and would love to show me around. I said, great, we’ll do coffee and we swapped mobile numbers.

And she is really excited about the L’Enfer exhibition at the BnF. She had thought that she had missed it.


My Weekend in Bretagne

This weekend I took the TGV out of the city and stepped into the real France, the countryside, where accents are fort, and I was the only blonde.

Benodet, Bretagne. Or rather, that was the closest town… I was actually staying in a 300 year old house about 16 kilometres from the village, down a long dirt road.

My friend Henri put me up in his house as I am researching his family history. I ate real home cooked French food and enjoyed warmed Winter Pimms in front of the fire. I held up the bar at a few local establishments, and enjoyed the good sea air.

Benodet is a small fishing village on the south coast of Bretagne. The tide is long, so you often find boats on their sides in the river, when the water has gone out to sea, and then when the tide is higher, sailboats glide past the house in the light breeze.

Bretagne is famous for its crepes. Not just your sweet crepes, that you see on every street corner in Paris, but savoury crepes.

All in all, two days to remember.

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Today, being the one day of the month when Paris museums offer free entry (1st Sunday of the month) I thought I’d throw my hat in the ring with the 10,000 other people with the same idea, and go to the Louvre.

I survived, but I might say, I had to put my iPod up really loud.

The sheer size of the Louvre rules out any possibility of ever appreciating its entire contents – it has 35,000 works of art, and over 60,000 square meters of exhibition space. I think that to visit the Louvre, I would recommend choosing the five items that you desperately want to see, and then wind your way patiently around the three wings of the building looking for them. Along the way you’ll see some nice art.

For me, each time that I visit the Louvre (I am lucky to say that this was my fourth visit), one artwork in particular speaks to me. It’s like I walk away having only been able to actually see one painting or sculpture, and everything else is forgotten. So it was with the aim of revisiting each one of them, that I tread a cautious path amongst the many visitors this afternoon.

At the young age of sixteen, it was Eugene Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People that stopped me in my tracks, on my first time around the Louvre (you might ask, what can stop any sixteen year old in their tracks in a gallery or museum?). It brought to life for me the fight within the people, as they surged forward into the French Revolution.
My favourite French teacher Madame Kotai-Ewers had, in my early years of high school, stirred in me an inkling of that passion that is the edifice of French culture. Rebellion perhaps, was most likely the appetizer at this age.

When I was twenty-one years of age, travelling alone for the first time in my life, it was of course the Winged Victory of Samothrace (below) that caught my eye.

A greek statue commemorating victory … she towers over the stairwell of the Denon wing, free to fly off into the rooftops, albeit blind and naive of the trouble she could possibly bump into.

At twenty-six years of age, it was The Raft of the Medusa (below) that spoke to me. I suppose shipwrecks have always interested me, and this painting portraying the only survivors of 149 men of the Medusa, a ship that truly did perish in 1816.

Théodore Géricault has captured the tension of the men waving at a far off ship in the distance. It conveys for me, utter human desperation. Perhaps at a time in my life, when I found that the true path to happiness was to start paddling.

And so today, a new painting stopped me. It was this, The Young Martyr, by Paul Delaroche:

A Christian virgin martyred in the Tiber River floats in the water. Her hands are tied, and yet her soul, depicted by the striking golden ring of aura above her head, is certain to go to heaven. In the darkness behind her, she is observed by a man, perhaps her lover.

Although not a Christian virgin (!)nor a martyr, for the past three years I have been studying the concept of heaven, whilst doing my masters degree in creative writing. And for the past five years, I have been working on a novel about a girl trying to find her way to heaven. Perhaps though, it was simply the serenity and spiritual contentment that the woman seems to convey, that triggered a response in me.

So, should you reading this and be thinking of the artwork that spoke to you in the Louvre, feel free to add your two cents worth below…

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On Sunday, I had a stroll through the Latin Quarter (so called, as one theory goes, because the students and professors from the nearby University of Paris spoke only in Latin during the middle ages).

My main ambition was to pay a visit to my favourite bookshop, Shakespeare and Company. A bookshop, right on the seine, with shelves filled with classics from the English speaking world, old and new. The original bookshop was started by American Sylvia Beach in 1962, nearby in Odeon, and today, in a new location, the is store owned by 94 year old George Whitman, and run by his daughter, Sylvia Whitman...strangely the same first name.

One of the reasons that until now it has been my favourite (...yes, I did say 'until now', but I’ll get to why it is no longer in just a second), is that at nighttime, the owner (George) allows fledgling writers to sleep in between the bookshelves in exchange for 2 hours volunteer work in the bookshop (note the bed in the image below).
Now, I like to think that I was once a fledging writer (allow me to use past tense here, please!), and this temple of the written word might one day be my pillow, in some romantic dream where I find myself living in Paris, unassisted by any government scholarship or means of subsistence, except perhaps the odd, sad little royalty check. So it was with a sad and shocked chagrin, that I overheard the following conversation:

Tourist: I hear I can sleep here for a night?
Bookshop assistant: Actually it has to be a week minimum.
Tourist: Oh, but I am only here for one night. But I might come back next year for a week, could I stay here then?
Bookshop assistant: Yeah, sure I suppose so. I mean, we are often full, but you can try your luck. Are you a writer?
Tourist: No, I...well, no...I wrote a poem once, but...no, I am studying medicine. Oh...Do you have to be a writer to stay here?
Bookshop assistant: Yeah...but, it’s ok. You can stay here even in you aren’t a writer...just as long as you do two hours work in the bookshop every day.

There it is. A veritable form of slavery, the floors above were probably full of backpackers, ignorant of the many great writers and beat poets who had sleep therein before them, and no longer the spirit it once had. Having read up on Sylvia Whitman, and her endorsement of her father’s plan to offer lodging to penniless writers, I would hope that this conversation shocks her, but if it doesn't, then I have to find a new favourite bookshop. I think Sylvia should grab the American backpacker who was volunteering in the shop on Sunday (above) and shake him until his centimes fall into the wishing well, there placed to feed the writers lodging upstairs above.

Alas, the ephemeral nature of our petit cultures...

This week in Library Land

On Tuesday, I spent the day, at La Joie par les livres, or 'Joy through books', the library that was established in 1965, as a centre for children’s books. Today, tucked away down a lane, in a four story building in the 10th arrondissement of Paris, it exists to promote literature for young people, and just 7 weeks ago, it joined the BNF as the 7th site of the library. In 2009, it will relocate to the BNF François Mitterrand site, but for now, I was able to talk with the director, about its many courses for teachers and librarians, its resources and its publications. Touring through the collection, I found immense stacks of French children’s books, each sent to La Joie par les livres (LJPLL) under their own form of legal deposit.

In essence, when I heard about LJPLL, I felt that it must be like our own Centre for Youth Literature (CYL), housed at The State Library of Victoria. The mission is the same, in that it exists to promote reading for young people and is an advisory body to teachers and librarians on the particulars of young adult literature. The books, though in a different language on the shelf, were the same types of books that CYL would review and promote. But with 30 staff as opposed to CYL’s 3.5 staff, the centre in Paris offers programs for adults only, and not for young people themselves. Here in France, the 4000 teachers and librarians that subscribe to the services of La Joie par les livres are considered the conduits for promoting literature to the young people.

LJPLL is a very successful model and one that offers a large and dynamic program, however I did find myself once again questioning, the distance placed between library and young person, which I think, is something all libraries need to consider – hence, the topic of my dissertation. I did find many new ideas in the programs however, that might work at home, should my busy 3.5 colleagues need new ideas in their already incredibly busy schedule of activities!

LJPLL publishes a complete review of all newly released young adult books every two months (something that in Melbourne, is done by other publications and organisations), an annual bulletin, maintains a resource centre of all the books for teachers to peruse, offers professional advice, as well as a variety of conferences.

A complete list of the work done at La Joie par les livres can be found at: www.lajoieparleslivres.com

CYL in Melbourne on the other hand, offers face to face programs to both young people and theirs teachers/librarians (including the website www.insideadog.com.au Click here for more information on CYL: www.slv.vic.gov.au/youthlit

Video-essay on The BNF

This week, a great program aired on France2, on the BNF. It's a great snapshot of life at the BNF, the treasures held in the collection, and also, the problems of conservation.

To view, click on "A Livres Ouvert", the first program listed in the menu below the main screen on this page: http://jt.france2.fr/13h/

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Today I had two truly wonderful experiences – in the morning, I visited a new colleague at the Richelieu campus (the very old library site which contains the true wonders kept in secret and dark corners)...and had a fantastic discussion on the many wonderful activities happening both at BNF, and at other cultural institutions.

My colleague Lorène, works across the institutions, and has a real handle of the innovative things that are happening, all the while organising a string of fabulous events to celebrate La Patrimoine (this is a word that I have yet to find a direct translation – it is an expression a little higher than, celebrating one’s country’s heritage. We don't really use the word 'patrimony' in Australia all that much)...in the next 14 weeks with her assistance and network of colleagues, I hope to (try and) visit 14 memory keeping institutions, to meet with the Education staff at each of them. Well, I’ll give it a red hot go!

This afternoon, I watched a Library tour, for a group of 12 year olds. It was possibly one of the most innovative (and easiest to emulate) ways of introducing students to a Library/cultural setting.

Stephané and Marine, each talented with theatrical voices and gestures, entertained the 30 students for 90 minutes, combining a bit of theatre with a library tour. Together, they put on a little act for the students, pretending to be detectives (Benjamin Lupin and Agatha Burma), on the search for a Manuscript Librarian - Madame Scripto, who has gone missing in the library. The children were agog, and really enthralled in the action...

The premise is that Benjamin and Agatha need to solve a mystery, and they would like the students to help them. Madame Scripto was last seen by a man called Théodore-Antoine Durand, who read a letter that had fallen from her bag, which she hadn’t yet had time to read. During the session, we meet and discuss the possibilities of guilt, of several suspects, each who get ruled out for various historical reasons. The whole session ends with the discovery of a book in the cloakroom, containing the original letter (which Marine cloaked there before the class). The whole thing reminded me of the Da Vinci Code, but in 90 minutes, we got to see the underground transport system of the library (transdoc), an analysis of the architecture, the permanent exhibition of treasures of the Library (which changes every 3 months) and a timeline of the life of the Library. Impromptu approaches to random members of the public by Detective Lupin, asking "Are you Madame Scripto? Non? Pardon, madame..." made it funny, and the kids giggled a lot.

You can imagine, visiting one of the largest libraries in the world (which from within just looks like a big building that someone told you contains books)...would be daunting, or possibly a little boring for a 12 year old, who probably also knows that he/she won’t be allowed in alone, until they are 16 years old. Today I saw faces enthralled, and something that I would love to try at home.

I can right now picture Redmond Barry and Ned Kelly having a duel in the information centre...or perhaps Bertha Booksnap, Librarian extraordinaire, leading kids through the basement on the hunt for a missing book.

Food for thought, anyway...

Ratatouille

Below is a picture of a shop window...it's best described as a pest management shop. Anyone who has seen the film "Ratatouille" will recognise this as an animated scene in that film... these rats are what is left of the Rat Plague, that infested Paris in 1925.

It does compare somewhat (my SLV colleagues will surmise) to the photo in our own collection, of four nights of mice (500,000 mice - who would count them I ask you?) killed during the plague that hit Victoria and South Australia in 1917 (currently on display in the Changing Face of Victoria exhibition at SLV).
(Photo courtesy of Pictures Collection, State Library of Victoria)

Anyway, I might start a photo album of "Wierd stuff I've seen in Paris", as this stopped me on the Rue Rivoli for at least a photograph.

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I have now spent two days at the Bibliothèque, swimming in Library speak, in another language. Overwhelming to say the least!

My first day was spent getting the all important library card, to access all areas of the Library, and a quick lesson on how to use the catalogue. The Francois Mitterrand site is…to say the least, a massive campus that covers four points of the compass – it consists of four towers - east, south, west and north surrounding a live pine forest. Moving between the towers requires allowing a five minute walk in either direction, which takes in to consideration, the escalators placed in the open air, that get you between the two public levels.

It reminds me of my favourite quote by Marcus Tullius Cicero: "If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need."

Today, I visited the Richelieu campus, and sat in on a Public Programs meeting. Given that everyone spoke incredibly fast, I think I understood about 20% of the whole discussion that went for 3 hours. All the while, I am sitting in a 400 year old room (with 400 year old heating) hoping that the chair I am sitting on is not 400 years old, and trying very hard not to make it squeak.

My State Library of Victoria colleagues would appreciate the conversation no doubt, which was (after a brief reminder about performance management) to discuss a three year exhibition schedule, the reduced budget that must be adhered to, and how to produce a great deal of programs, on little money. I felt for a moment, that I was back home in the boardroom in my own library, when the manager at the head of the table explained:

"Well, they have given you the car, now you must find the key."

Another staff member then asked, "But who has the petrol?"

A few point of interest about the BNF...

The laws of legal deposit in France came in to effect in 1537, when Francois the 1st, King of France ordered that every book published thereafter be put in the library. If you could possibly imagine that just 30 years after the incunabula period, the library was given a copy of every book, stamp and map ever printed in France, you might be able to hold the wealth of it in your imagination, for about a second….

To put this in an Australian context, the copyright protection act came into effect in 1869 (followed by legal deposit in 1968), which means that whilst the State Library of Victoria is very lucky to have an excellent collection of rare and valuable books printed prior to its inception in 1854 (due to the vision of Redmond Barry and subsequent librarians), our collection of 2 million books, and about 5 million items, is considered incredibly impressive (www.slv.vic.gov.au to peruse at your leisure).

The National Library of France has 2000 staff, 13 million books, 250,000 manuscripts, 350,000 periodicals, 12 million stamps, photographs and posters, plus 800,000 maps, 2 million pieces of music, 530,000 coins and medals...and so on...

There are 7 campuses (Site Francois Mitterrand and Site Richelieu being the main ones) but the network also includes Bibliotèque de L’Arsenal, Bibliotèque -Musee de l’Opera, Maison Jean Vilar à Avignon, and two conservation sites.

Just last month, another site (bringing the total to 8) joined the National Library in an administrative capacity - "La Joie Par Les Livres" –The National Centre of Books for Children, and in 2009, the staff and collections will move location. This fares well, for my current research topic, which is "Library Services for Youth".


Sorry Day

On a more personal note, tonight, I and about 100 other Australians living in Paris were invited to attend a soiree at the Australian Embassy, to listen to Prime Minister Rudd’s Apology, to the members of the Stolen Generation, and to have a cuppa and an anzac biscuit.

I would say that Rudd’s speech was one of the best orations I have heard for some time, and I felt very proud to be Australian. It was very moving, to watch the two leaders of our country, put down their partisan viewpoints for the good of the nation, for the future of our country, and for reconciliation of the past.

And then I thought, wouldn’t it be lovely if they did that every day?

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A Carnet de Voyage, is the original travel diary - it dates back to the 13th century, to Villard de Honnecourt, who left behind 250 acrhitectual drawings of cathedrals and in later years, explorations to the New World detailed the age of discovery in Carnets de Voyage.

It combines two essential ingredients - they always contain descriptive text and they have illustrations. That said, I will be taking photos in lieu of drawing, as all I can really muster is a bad stick figure, or something that you might not realise is "upside down Miss Jane".

Whilst this might just sound like a blog, or a travel diary...the essence of a true Carnet de Voyage allows you to see the journey taking place within the author themselves, and I pretty much envisage that going to work as a fellow at the Biblioteque Nationale de France for three months might herald a significant journey within myself - given that I love libraries (this is my long-term career choice), I love Paris and have always wanted to live there, I have spoken French since I was 11, and I am also a writer, currently working on a novel exploring the shared explorative history of France and Australia.

So here goes...