Yesterday was an incredible experience walking through the Marais, which means swamp in French.

In the 14^th century it was an area built “outside” the walls of Paris and one of the few whose architecture has been left untouched since the 17^th century. It’s an example of so much of Paris and it’s depth of history --- originally built as a stone structure on the first floor, meant for commerce, and the upper floors from abobe and wood, it remains so today. Starting out as the poorest part of town, it’s obvious it always had character; the royalty chose to build their residences there, distinguished by their all stone structure and cobblestones that remain today; the beautiful church of St. Louis; the huge Plaza that remains an island of green. In recent years, until the 1970’s --- the area was known for its cheap housing, a large gay community (which until 1981 was actually illegal in Paris) and rather run down; a remnant of the revolution when the royalty was beheaded and their palaces turned into factories.

But, in what I am convinced gives a city its vitality and dynamism, it has now become re-gentrified as one of the most expensive areas to live in Paris, with beautiful upscale shops and restaurants in the original spots for commerce.

My favorite was a store called Izrael, the most beautiful spice and condiment store I’ve ever seen. I think we can be pretty sure that one thing urban dwellers of big cities will always love is the excitement of shopping and entertainment!

An interesting note: there was quite a large Jewish community from eastern Europe in the Marais before WWII. Many died in the Holocaust as one very poignant memorial told us. The Jewish street of shops of then, are now the sites of Jewish commerce of the Jews who emigrated from Algeria and Tunisia. As our guide told us, “the fish has now been replaced by falafel.”

Another interesting pattern has emerged here around public protest. We’ve seen three examples. One, at the site of the Paris Opera at the Bastille there was a large public protest of illegal workers, mostly from western Africa, demanding work permits; outside our window on weekend morning there was a group of Spaniards demanding from the Spanish embassy the right to vote in their country’s elections; and at the Marais, a group of students that had squatted in the vacant and very large residence of an elderly apartment owner, with the protest that 100,000 poor people can’t find housing in Paris, how dare she not rent her space to them!

I’ve gotten this sense that while people want their voices heard, it’s almost unheard of (until the riots of the immigrant populations that live in the outer districts of the city) that they become violent and destructive. I could be wrong, but I do sense that that the populous appreciates the culture and depth of this place and though they may be angry, respect it. Maury and I are going everywhere on the Metro. I haven’t for a moment felt uncomfortable or unsafe --- on the contrary, we’re surprised how quickly we’ve settled in and feel at home and how calm and quiet spoken people seem here.

Of course, going out to eat every evening at these unbelievable restaurants is something that would be “enough” on its own! I thought I was a decent cook until I came here! Even the “simplest” meal is Music, like Maury likes to say! Let’s put it this way ---I have saved and am scrapbooking every receipt from every restaurant we’re going to, which lists everything you just ate. When I feel like taking a break I look it over and start smiling from ear to ear. Of all of the French verb conjugations and words we are learning, these are my favorite so far: Saumon sir lit roquette (salmon with a red sauce) at the Risto Pizza Romano; couscous legumes et poulet (couscous with vegetables & chicken) at Chez Berbert, a Moroccan restaurant; the filet de hareng (herring filet) at the Allard; the gazpacho with sorbet of tomato-basil at Chez Georges; the Salade nicoise at Le Chaillot; the list goes on and on.

We also took our first day trip out of the city (about 18 miles) to Auvers-sur-Oise, a lovely city that looks the same as it did when Vincent van Gogh and other Impressionists artists such as Cezanne and Pissarro, developed this form of art. We literally walked the steps of Van Gogh’s last two months of life, when under the care of a Dr. Paul Gauchet, Van Gogh roamed the town during June and July of 1890, painting at a pace as if he was possessed, two paintings a day!

Only in his 30’s, he was sick guy with what is now considered bi-polar disease, as well as epilepsy. In any case his true genius seemed to be hyper focused at this period. The poor guy actually worked himself to death from exhaustion. He found a gun at the Ravous Inn that he was staying in, and one day snapped, trying to commit suicide in the wheat fields of one of his most famous pictures. So we walked and we talked the afternoon away, including a picnic lunch by the river, in a town unchanged since it was built. We ended our day at the wheat fields, just as they looked then. The sky was the most incredible color blue, as deep and rich as I’ve ever seen. I felt as if I could have stayed there for hours just looking and hearing the “silence.” No wonder this space has inspired so many famous artists.

That moment said so much to me about avante garde art and how important it is to support it, even if it seems strange and bizarre at the moment as may be the artist themselves. What greater expression of a person than when they create something so unique that it has never seen before? If not for the wife of his brother Theo, van Gogh’s art would never have survived; for years it was considered worthless. Now the Ravous Inn is trying to fundraise 35 million dollars (and that’s cheap --- a picture of Dr. Gauchet was sold for 85 million dollars!) to purchase just ONE picture to display in the room in the Inn where van Gogh lived and died.

That evening when Maury and I went out to dinner at around 10pm and were sitting outside at one of the countless small tables all over the sidewalks here, I looked up at the clouds and sky and there was the exact blue of Van Gogh’s pictures. There was a modern convention hall in one direction, an old stone building in another, the Seine River running by and all of these beautiful people drinking their wine, murmuring conversations in French. It feels like we've been here two months, not two weeks!