Today
Valentin and I went out to the Parc de Saint-Cloud at the outer reaches of the Paris metro system in an effort to swap the constructed beauty of the city for something slightly more natural. The park's name, after that of the surrounding town, never ceases to raise the corner of my lip with images of what could only be the patron saint of daydreaming, though the extremely wealthy French locals, even if up for a laugh, would not immediately appreciate the humor in the town's name given that their word for cloud is nuage.
This park is named after Saint Clodoald, grandson of Clovis, who died in 560 and was buried a hamlet called Novigentum which, upon his cannonization, took on the name Sanctus Clodoaldus and, over time, became what we told call Saint-Cloud. The Parc de Saint-Cloud sits on the old grounds where once stood the Château Saint-Cloud. The site is ideally situated with an amazing view over the entire city of Paris, and I wasn't the only one to note the prime real estate: Several wealthy families inhabited it since the 1500s when some rich Florentine bankers by the name of Gondi moved to France and first built up the property. Various historically important events took place here, including the assassination of French King Henry III in the summer of 1589 and the proclamation of Napoleon I as emperor of France in May 1804. The château was destroyed in 1870 during the Franco-Prussian War, but an association formed in 2006 has been pushing for its reconstruction.
Valentin and I went out to the Parc de Saint-Cloud at the outer reaches of the Paris metro system in an effort to swap the constructed beauty of the city for something slightly more natural. The park's name, after that of the surrounding town, never ceases to raise the corner of my lip with images of what could only be the patron saint of daydreaming, though the extremely wealthy French locals, even if up for a laugh, would not immediately appreciate the humor in the town's name given that their word for cloud is nuage.
This park is named after Saint Clodoald, grandson of Clovis, who died in 560 and was buried a hamlet called Novigentum which, upon his cannonization, took on the name Sanctus Clodoaldus and, over time, became what we told call Saint-Cloud. The Parc de Saint-Cloud sits on the old grounds where once stood the Château Saint-Cloud. The site is ideally situated with an amazing view over the entire city of Paris, and I wasn't the only one to note the prime real estate: Several wealthy families inhabited it since the 1500s when some rich Florentine bankers by the name of Gondi moved to France and first built up the property. Various historically important events took place here, including the assassination of French King Henry III in the summer of 1589 and the proclamation of Napoleon I as emperor of France in May 1804. The château was destroyed in 1870 during the Franco-Prussian War, but an association formed in 2006 has been pushing for its reconstruction.
Inspired by the previous evening’s outing to see Alice in Wonderland in 3D with my English conversation group, Valentin and I were pretty sure when I noticed the poor maintenance on the fountains partially covered in mosses that we’d found ourselves in an enchanted park full
of all sorts of magic that emerged after sundown. I enjoyed exploring, stumbling across what I astutely identified as a cottage for dwarves as well as a tree that branched into several trunks from a sole root base: clearly the entrance to an underground home for talking animals, most likely including the dog who wandered past just as we were leaving. (I imagine he was disappointed that we were around, preventing him from discretely dropping by for an afternoon tea for which he was presumably running late.)
Leaving the park, I found a place I decided I might be able to tolerate as my future home. And if that plan doesn’t work out, I still thoroughly like the distinctive positioning of the turret and will probably have to steal the idea, another thought to be filed away in the one-day folder.
Leaving the park, I found a place I decided I might be able to tolerate as my future home. And if that plan doesn’t work out, I still thoroughly like the distinctive positioning of the turret and will probably have to steal the idea, another thought to be filed away in the one-day folder.
The evening was perfectly capped with the discovery of a café called Le Rélais whose first floor (second floor in American English) offers a great view and an excellent layout and lighting that creates a classic, distinctive feel both with or without the sunlight passing through its very large windows which take up the far wall. It is ideally located in the Latin Quarter right next to the metro stop Odéon, a locale which will always hold another sort of magic as the first part of Paris I ever got to know at a time when I’d never dreamed that I might one day call this place home.
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