Zen and the art of discovering Paris

"As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris." - Friedrich Nietzsche.

Right on, Mr. Nietzsche - in fact, I’d extend that statement to embrace all things culinary and architectural. Paris, to me, is a rich, exciting soup of culture, grandeur and pride. And like any exciting character, it has an edgy and mysterious underbelly – but it always has style.

Here’s my top 10 from the City of Light, and it’s sure to be controversial:

1. Musee d’Orsay; a monument to the masters of Impressionism and pilgrimage site for aspiring hopefuls the world over.
2. Ile de la Cite; from Julius Caesar to Gothic wonders, this is where it all began.
3. Walking; almost anywhere, anytime, grab a bus or the Metro to a new destination and explore on foot.
4. Marmottan; a beautiful residential green belt and a Mecca for Monet devotees.
5. Eiffel Tower; impossibly romantic at night, mesmerising during the day.
6. Boats; whether it’s Canal Saint Martin or the Seine, a snuggle and cuddle through this watery wonderland is a must-do.
7. Musee du Louvre; big but not brash, a beautifully organised treasure trove of antiquities, art and sculpture.
8. Montmartre; a charming village of contrasts and tradition, from narrow cobbled streets to lively squares in the shadow of the Sacre Coeur.
9. Cafes; what’s Paris without an alfresco brioche, café crème, conversation and the passing parade?
10. Musee de Cluny; the only museum I’ve ever not been remotely interested in and didn’t want to leave.

This two-part salute to Paris explores well known and some not so well known corners of this European epicentre of relentless humanity and history through a series of walks and excursions navigating many of the city’s central arrondisements, then ventures further into the suburbs and, ultimately, to the dreamy impressionist expanse of Monet’s Garden in Giverny.

And as with all Ozzy-Dave’s journals, it’s done on a budget. Not one that sacrifices comfort, but one that amplifies the experience.

Our week in Paris (seven nights) cost us a grand total of 860€. That included everything – accommodation, food, transport, museum passes – everything. Even a little shopping!

In part one we hit the streets armed with transport and museum passes for three fascinating walks and settle in at home base in the heart of the energetic Bastille district in a Buddhist Zen meditation centre!

Quick Tips:

WHEN TO GO: March to May and October/November are best. Paris can be cold and dark in winter; hot and crowded in summer. Spring and autumn provide colour, festivals and vitality away from the tourist hordes.

ACCOMMODATION: If you’re staying a while then rent a small apartment. You’ll be self sufficient, mix it with the locals, and often be able to find a decent studio for around 500€ a week. Parisnet has some good ideas. For shorter stays there are excellent budget hotels in wonderful locations where you’ll get ensuite doubles for under 70€ a night -- check these out.

LANGUAGE: French is spoken widely around the world and Parisians know it. You’ll fare much better if you know a little. A few simple phrases will do so you can introduce yourself, get service and ask directions. As anywhere, it shows respect, is a good icebreaker and enriches your experience. And as for those rumours about rude and arrogant Parisians? Well, we found quite the opposite – plenty of rude tourists.

SIGHTSEEING: If you’re planning to sightsee, buy a Museum Pass, it’s the best money you’ll spend. No expiry date and no queuing – your passport to cultural gluttony!

Best Way To Get Around:

Some visitors find it difficult to negotiate the Paris public transport maze. The options are many, so these tips are designed to cut through the fog of confusion and provide the simplest, most cost-effective path around Paris. For more complete information, check out the excellent website.

Three forms of transport will serve you best; trains, buses and boats:

Trains and buses are covered by the Paris Visite travel card. We used a three-zone card to travel anywhere on the Metro, regional trains, bus, tram and funiculaire, except Versailles, the airport and Disneyland. No queuing, no fumbling for change, no hassle, and they’re good for 1 to 5 days. You can buy them at most stations and a 5-day pass represents the best value at 27€.

The next best option is carnets of 10 tickets for 10€ -- good for more flexibility over broken or extended periods. Regular buses and trains link both airports for around 8 to 10€.

Boats are a beautiful way to combine the romance of the Seine and sightseeing. Visiting eight major destinations, a Batobus two-day pass is great value at 13€ (11€ for one day). Buy one from any tourist office or boat stop.

Leave your shoes at the door
400 metres from Gare de Lyon, a narrow passage led off Rue de Lyon to the towering green gates of the Maison Zen, our Parisian sanctuary for the next week. Two cats – one tabby, one grey – fled the courtyard, an oasis dominated by deciduous trees and creeper-clad walls. Morning sun lit a corner where a table, chairs and umbrella invited guests to linger.

"You must be Dave and Karen. Welcome," said Grazyna Perl, her smile melting some of the strain of 32 hours of travel from Australia.

Grazyna and her husband Jacob owned and lived in the six apartment house and meditation centre.

"I’m sure you’re weary. Take off your shoes, leave them here, and we’ll get you settled."

Grazyna pointed to a cupboard by the door littered with foot clobber. We shed our shoes, relieved and embarrassed, hurrying to the stairs before the toxic odour spread.

The world outside
Two large windows overlooked the courtyard from our spacious upstairs apartment, flooding the room with light. I collapsed on the bed, declaring the mattress to be as good as ours at home while Karen surveyed the small kitchen and attached bathroom.

Cooking facilities meant we could be self sufficient and central heating would keep us toasty on those cool, romantic Paris evenings.

Neutral, warm tones dominated a room furnished with modern, functional pieces. Decorated by Grazyna herself, the apartments reflected taste and style, many of them showcasing examples of her artwork – a hobby with a genesis 20 years previous when she was a designer in the fashion industry.

Over the next week the Maison Zen became our relaxation zone, a welcoming sanctuary after a busy day’s sightseeing. Shielded from the noise and pace of the city, the walled courtyard provided all the peace, comfort and familiarity of home to its residents.

The story within
One morning I shared a herbal tea with Grazyna and Jacob in the courtyard, and we chatted about the history of the meditation centre and their life together.

"We met in Poland many years ago," said Grazyna. "Jacob was a visiting teacher with the Kwan Um School of Zen representing the Chogye Order of Korean Buddhism and protesting with the anti-war movement. We instantly fell in love." Grazyna smiled at Jacob, the twinkle in her eye confirming their deep commitment.

Jacob, a long time Zen Master, has been a teacher since 1984 and in 1993 achieved transmission, allowing him to establish his own school. In 1995 they moved to Paris from America with the plan of establishing a centre where students could live onsite while practicing. And so the Paris Zen Centre was born. Apartments are rented to travellers when not being used by live-in students.

"We support ourselves and we support the centre. It’s like two families," said Jacob.

And it’s that feeling of harmony that defined our experience at the Maison Zen. It was like coming home every day – a rare experience indeed when you’re a traveller in a new city.

In Brief
Southern Marais is Paris’s revamped cultural centre, now a bustling jumble of historical architecture and fashionable enclaves. It’s a treat to wander but across nearby bridges the mood changes to the ordered splendour of Ile St Louis and a showcase of exclusive shops, mansions and well-heeled residents.

By The Numbers
Karen and I gasped aloud as we exited the St-Paul Metro to the architecture of Rue Francois-Miron.(1) "Will a week be enough?" we thought. First impressions can inspire and this was one of those moments.

Half-timbered 15th century houses jostled with 17th century mansions, once home to ambassadors, barons and composers before a cholera epidemic laid the area to waste in less than three months in 1832.

Walking east along Rue Chalemagne we stopped to watch a soccer match in the schoolground of Lycee Charlemagne while three women carrying crusty baguettes chatted about their dogs. Each canine wore a bonnet matching its owner’s outfit. Each owner held a plastic bag and matching scoop. "Who owns whom?" I wondered.

Past a section of the old neighbourhood’s 13th century wall, we entered the Village St-Paul(2), a haphazard collection of courtyards selling antiques and artworks. Karen discussed trade secrets with some art students while I explored the adjacent flea market and its eclectic selection of bric-a-brac.

Nearby rue de l’Ave Maria(3) provided a timely fuel stop, giving us the opportunity to indulge in one of the city’s popular pastimes at a busy cafe; hers a doughy brioche and chocolat, mine a pain au chocolat and café crème. Our view over the street was a window into Parisian life that seemed to revolve around shopping for food and flowers, and drinking coffee with friends and their dogs.

Crossing the Ponte Marie a panorama of mansions on the Ile St Louis complimented our first view of the Siene, Notre Dame's towering spires lit by the midday sun. To the west a succession of elegant bridges dominated the horizon.

Quai de Bourbon led to the northwest corner of Ile St Louis(4) and we’re greeted with a memorable scene. Amidst a sunny grove of shedding trees, a community of artists and buskers amplified the autumn colours with exciting visions, riffs and melodies. It’s an indelible image of Paris and we savoured the atmosphere and views as the Right Bank and Ile de la Cite unfolded before us.

Along Quai d’Orleans we paused at the Pont St Louis(5), a social epicentre for wanna-bes and well-to-dos. The cafes and ice cream stands beckoned but our Holy Grail was in the centre of the island at Berthillon(6) on rue St-Louis-en-l’Ile.

Reputed to be the finest glacier in Europe, we tested its mettle with a selection of Grand Marnier, blood orange and lemon sorbet. I proclaimed it to rival Florence’s Vivoli as Karen wiped a stream of orange dribble from my chin on our way to the Metro station.

"Look at you," she laughed. "We just arrived, don’t get us thrown out yet!"

In Brief
One of Paris’s richest areas, St Germain is home to many exquisite 18th century mansions now used as government buildings. There are no bargains here but the gourmet shops, boutiques, florists and galleries provide an interesting backdrop to some of the city’s best museums.

By The Numbers
Although the sun struggled against a veil of clouds on a cool morning, a walk through the Neo-Classical Jardin des Tuileries(1) soon brightened our day. Autumn displays of colour competed with eclectic and humorous sculptures while families indulged and locals of all ages congregated to banter, read and challenge each other with games of chess as the day unfolded.

The sun cooperated as if in response to the commotion, and our backs were warmed as we crossed pont de la Concorde to the Left Bank district of St Germain and the magnificent square of Place du Palais-Bourbon(2).

An amphitheatre of 18th century mansions surrounded a deserted square. A florist on one corner hosted a pair of young lovers and the animated conversation from a lone café echoed as a woman cycled past, warning us with an obligatory ring-ring on her bell. It was a scene straight from a period French flick and my camera worked overtime.

Although a commercial thoroughfare, narrow rue de Bourgogne was quiet today and at its southern end we detoured into Musee Rodin(3) in the manicured grounds of the Hotel Biron. The wonderful 18th century mansion was alive with light and conversation as a steady stream of visitors admired a comprehensive collection of works from France’s finest sculptor.

There were several other pieces scattered around the leafy garden, including The Thinker and The Gates of Hell. Wanting to savour the experience, we dined at the garden’s small café, sharing a picnic of baguettes and crisp salad.

Fuelled by café cremes, we explored the exquisite architecture and handsome shops of rue de Grenelle(4) before heading for an afternoon’s indulgence of impressionist magic in the Musee d’Orsay(5). The spacious converted turn-of-the-century railway station was opened as a museum in 1986 and now houses the world’s finest collection of impressionist art. This was a special time for Karen and she swooned, stared and gasped for the next four hours, awe-inspired by a relentless procession of her heroes.

I found her exhausted near closing time, sitting with an American woman outside a room of Degas sculptures. Both of them wore beaming smiles like badges of honour.
"My God, David, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. You must bring me back here before we go."

She proclaimed Degas, Monet, Bonnard and Pisarro all to be utterly brilliant, in the end admitting that it was too much to take in for one afternoon. Karen had fulfilled a dream that day in the city of light and our walk past the 18th century mansions lining rue de Lille was a romantic one as the glow of dusk fuelled our passion.

Two days and Paris had already stolen our hearts.

In Brief
Intellectuals migrated here in droves when word spread around Europe that the teachers had set up shop. Latin was the language and the city teemed with free spirits. Today it’s a tourist haven, but many memories and artefacts linger.

By The Numbers
In the early morning I left in search of adventure, leaving Karen to write her own story in the local Bastille food markets. An overcast sky cast muted light over the pedestrianised streets south of place St-Michel. The narrow alleys date back to Roman times(1) but I was content to explore the elegant ironwork of retired 17th and 18th century grandeur.

These houses have hosted authors, politicians and scholars – even Napoleon lived here in 1795 for the exorbitant rent of 3F a week. On St-Severin I was awestruck by a collection of 13th century facades now almost absorbed by encroaching 21st century progress.

A small fluffy dog with a red coat trotted past with its proud looking owner, then stopped, and a dark-haired man in white overalls emerged from a boulangerie, both apparently curious about this guy with pink glasses taking pictures of walls.

Half-timber facades added an air of prestige to nearby rue Galande and several tiny shops showcased unique decorative homewares, art and antiques, their extraordinary designs screaming exclusivity and overdraft. I thanked myself for leaving Karen to explore the local food markets. My arrival at square Rene-Viviani(2) was rewarded with views across the Seine to Notre Dame and a lovely shady park containing Paris’s oldest tree, an acacia planted in 1601.

Adjacent the park at 39 rue de la Bucherie is Paris’s smallest house. Built in the 16th century, it looked right at home next to the Shakespeare and Company bookstore now run by Walt Whitman’s grandson. An impatient looking black cat waited outside the closed store. I offered it a pastry morsel leftover from breakfast but it spat at me and skulked away.

At place Maubert(3) the small square overflowed with the smells, colour and cacophony of one of Paris’s finest local outdoor food markets. A reconnaissance revealed disgusting pastries, fat flavourful olives and delicate luminescent roses. I bought samples of all three, a café amercano, and relaxed for a while before journeying down arcaded avenues to the neo-classical Pantheon(4).

Inside the magnificent former church are entombed many of France’s great men but outside there was more commotion as a wedding ceremony concluded and the participants spilled into the square.

The bride was beautiful but appeared depressed, a fashionable look I was told by one of her friends. I managed to talk them both into a picture so I’d at least have some evidence that I’d experienced high culture in Europe’s sophisticated capital. I gave them both a red rose, but the bride’s scowl endured.

The Musee de Cluny(5) was my last stop, offering an unparalleled collection of medieval art on a site more than 1700 years old -- an amazing shrine to culture, wealth and prestige in a city that oozes the 21st century equivalent.