Buddha`s Intestines in Paris

Since Max and I set our breakfast delivery time to 7 a.m. and then forgot to change it back, we were woken up at the crack of dawn (to us, at least) for the third day in a row, something not even delectable French chocolat chaud can make painless. The fact neither of us got to bed that early didn`t help, so today wound up being a pretty simple one. We climbed the Arc de Triomphe (this is what our cards are good for - I may not have done that normally, but it was on the list and this was our last day of using them) and got a view of the biggest roundabout in the world (apparently) and all its spokes stretching out through the city, then descended and walked up the Champs-Elysées toward the Centre Pompidou. On the way we`re pretty sure we saw President Bush`s convoy driving dramatically up the road - he`s doing some kind of European tour and flew in today according to a newspaper we found in a nearby café.

The Centre Pompidou is an anomoly in downtown Paris, sticking up defiantly among the stone structures and holding its own against the beautiful 19th century apartment buildings that surround it. Going up the escalators that run through the glass tunnels along the front of the museum gave us a great view of the city, all the way over to our beloved Sacre Coeur up on its hill. Once in the galleries, walking through room after room of contemporary art, I began to remember how so much of the work created between the 1960-70s to now leaves me a bit cold - until I rounded a corner and saw a flock of vultures tugging at a Buddha statue`s silk intestines. It was shocking and visually interesting and certainly prompted a response (as stuffed/mounted vultures eating Buddha`s entrails are wont to do), something a lot of the other stuff on that floor failed to do for me. When we discussed it tonight at dinner, we decided it might have been a statement about the way people in Western culture pick at Buddhism for the bits they want to use without understanding the actual meaning of the philosophy.

The second floor of gallery space had work from 1905 until the 40s or so, meaning Matisse, Picasso, Picabia, etc. I was happy to come across a Modigliani (I love the way he plays with human proportions, especially the neck and eyes), and a display of art magazines produced by various groups in the early 20th century appealed to my love of graphic design. There was also an interesting room based around a painting/manifesto by DeChirico, who, in 1919, called for a return to the methods of the old masters. The space was full of portraits, all recalling some sense of classical portraiture, but with modern tweaks. My personal favourite piece was by André Derain, a simple painting of a nude woman sitting in front of a vivid green background.

I left the museum before Max, and as I descended into the Métro station to head home for a nap, I heard the strains of Vivaldi floating up the stairs. `How could this be?` I thought - `this sounds like a whole ORCHESTRA!` Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, I realized I wasn`t far off - packed into a nondescript corner were nine violins, two double bass and a cello, playing beautiful music for a crowd of surprised commuters. It was amazing to see how many people stopped to just listen, taking a moment out of their day to marvel at the slightly surreal sight of so many instruments making a concert hall out of the station.

So my day was full of surrealism both in and out of galleries, something that apparently exhausted me because I proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon in my bed, napping happily. Tomorrow Max and I have planned a bit of a sleep-in, then who knows what`ll happen, as we`ve left the day open for adventure.