A Rive Gauche Birthday

Sometimes, a girl has to throw caution to the financial wind and sod off somewhere lovely for her birthday. Wanting to avoid any of the usual fuss, a plan was hatched to head over La Manche for a bit of culture and a spot of promenading. With Lady Doc in tow, an early Sunday start found us heading out of St. Pancras via Eurostar, ditching bags at a sweet little hotel on the Left Bank of the Seine, then off for a wander towards the newly revamped Musée d'Orsay (my main reason for the trip). Happened across these chaps round the corner - excellent jazzy start:

The Musée d'Orsay - it's beautiful. Sensory overload. I felt swamped by the wonderful art I saw, housed in the most stunning old railway station, a gorgeous Beaux Arts building (amazingly, it was nearly pulled down in 1970 - travesty narrowly averted):

Favourites (I now know I'm not really arsed for Manet and Cézanne - is this sacrilege?): Camille Pissaro, Alfred Sisley (the light is just dreamy in their landscapes), the wonderful decorative items (gimme anything by Hector Guimard - the most beautiful Art Nouveau creations). And a couple of pieces which actually made me feel...well, sort of...aroused. My lovely friend Howard, upon hearing of my jaunt to the Musée, insisted I looked for a painting by Gustave Caillebotte - Les Raboteurs de Parquet (The Floor Planers). He said he could happily look at it for ages - and, so it seems, can I. The light on the skin of the men as they work, the lines and muscles on their arms - god, I'm nearly off again:

Is it crass to think 'phwoar'?

And an image I can't seem to find anywhere - an 'odalisque' (female harem slave) by Benjamin-Constant - reclined on a sofa, naked, shadowy, with rich red hues, draped with velvet. I had to walk away, it must have been obvious to anyone near I was having a moment.

Later, we wandered along the banks of the Seine as twilight fell, and just as we crossed the bridge back to St Germain, the Eiffel Tower started twinkling like a huge Bonfire Night sparkler. Perfect.

Locks of l'amour on the Pont des Arts.

Altogether now - aaawww.

Crime passionnel, cherchez la femme ou cherchez le chat...

Wonder what scrapes M. Duluc gets involved in?

A very grand petit déjeuner.

The most perfect couple of days - I drank Kir Royale, bought Hemingway at Shakespeare & Co, had breakfast at Ladurée, sipped Cointreau, people-watched from pavement cafés. A happy, happy birthday to remember.

(Postscript: Back in that gorgeous city again this coming weekend. Photography at Paris Photo, music with lovely Pop Noire, and there's even been talk of dancing girls at Moulin Rouge. Sounds dull as fucking dishwater - might stay home and wash me hair...only kidding, Boss.)