Dali or bust

Right bank, windy day, Paris

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The Rodin museum is on the other side of the river and west, close to Les Invalides with its big golden dome which is not far from the Eiffel Tower. Can’t miss it.

I headed inland to make a shortcut, and after a goodly number of quaint twists and turns, began to worry. Using my outdoorsy skills, I remembered that moss always grows on the south side of trees. Or, is it north? Or is that in Australia? And where are trees when you need them...and where is the blasted moss? Geraniums grow on any old side of buildings so they were next to no help. Well, judging by the sun, I was going either north, or south, east, or west.

I tried downhill. That would surely bring me to the River Seine which I could follow to Rodin. Hotel Seine...sounds promising,...lots of galleries...looks promising...and there’s the river, ...and I’m nowhere near Rodin. Never mind...I like walking...

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“Madam...” I turn to see, out of the corner of my eye, a hand reaching down to pick something up. A ring...Hang on...I know that hand...it’s my lady ring scam friend from the other day!! I’m genuinely happy to see her again and cheerfully remind her that we’ve met, ask if her husband is working the Louvre and her sad face appears...her husband is in Romania. Of course he is. Silly me...Why do I have trouble believing her? We part smiling, wishing each other “Bon journee”.

For some reason, the floors inside the Rodin Museum make shoes squeak. There is a hushed reverence, and all that squeaking.

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I decided to visit the Eiffel Tower again before heading over to the Pompidou Centre for some Modern Art.
Now the Eiffel Tower may be drawn as the biggest thing on your map, but not only is your map fibbing because once you get amongst the winding narrow streets the buildings all around you are also pretty big, but the tower itself has quite a sense of humour and likes to pop up, now on your left, now over your right shoulder, sometimes crouching down so you can’t see it at all. Never mind. Just be determined, head in its direction, whichever silly one it chooses, and eventually you’ll catch it.



Purple clouds were scudding across the sky and I while knew there could be some dramatic photos of the sunlit Tower against the bruised background, the scudding might also mean dramatic drenching so I hot-footed it towards my next stop.

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“Madam,..” Out of the corner of my eye I see a hand pick something up...yes...a ring!!! A teenage girl this time. I cheerfully tell her that she’s the fourth to find a dropped wedding band. I head for the footbridge.
“Madam,...”Almost across the bridge, slightly older teenager.
“Madam...” In her 20’s...
A fourth girl, in pink, on the other side tries halfheartedly with another couple but doesn’t approach me.

That’s seven times. I’ve been here less than a week.

OK. I decided that the next time, I would say, “Yes. Thanks, that is my ring”. And after I’d enjoyed watching their reaction, and they’d regrouped and still asked for money, I would say that my husband is a real jerk and I don’t really want the ring and it’s pure gold so if they sell it they’ll get heaps, and go ahead, keep it.

OK, I’d probably give them a couple of euros in the end, but I’d love to see their reaction.

Nobody else approached me.


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Incidentally, I’ve been immensely surprised at the vivid colours in the more classical artworks, and the unexpected dullness of the paints in “Modern Art”.


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A LOT of early modern artists were Jeans, I discovered today. I suppose that having a common name, they needed to do something radical to stand out. They would have then discovered they were in an even more concentrated sphere of Jeans so had to become even more radical.
I believe that’s where modern art comes from.




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