Expat in Paris (I)
A slight embellishment, but I almost had no photographs from my recent visit to Paris (October 4 to October 14). While seated on a bench overlooking the Seine on a beautiful day in late October, a Dickensian scamp approached me after breaking away from a pack of three other teenage boys. As he approached, he asked me about taking a picture. The kid was charismatic, so why wouldn’t I take his picture? When I asked him to pose, he exclaimed, “No, no, I want to take a picture of you and your sister with your camera so you will have a memory.” My response, “How stupid do you think I am? Get the fuck out of here.” Evelyn, then rubbed it in a bit, “You can still run, but you couldn’t outrun that kid.” Thanks.
I described the story as a “slight embellishment,” because I had three other cameras with me (two in my backpack and one back at the hotel). By time of this encounter, I had already snagged at least 4,000 photographs—all of which were backed up to a SSD drive safely in the hotel safe. But as a photographer, I love the story.
[Click on an Image to Enlarge It. The Images Are Not Necessarily in Exact Chronological Order]
Enjoying the Afternoon Along the Banks of the Seine
Racing on the Right Bank Above the Seine
Soaking in the Sun's Warmth
Back to the Beginning. I’ve stayed in a variety of locations when visiting Paris. On this trip, I opted for the Latin Quarter on the Left Bank. My hotel—Hôtel Grand Coeur Latin—was near the Sorbonne and Pantheon, so the streets were filled with students, used bookstores, and cheap restaurants. Mouffetard Saigon’s is a particularly notable Vietnamese restaurant near the Fontaine Place de la Contrescarpe. Not dirt cheap, but a dinner for two can be had for $60 or $70. I returned for another meal two or three days after the first one. Just three people working—a cook, a greeter, and a waiter.
After unpacking, I took a late afternoon swing past Notre-Dame de Paris to scout the logistics. How long were the lines? Did I need a ticket? Thanks to Victor Hugo, this gothic cathedral is high on the list of must-sees, with the fire on April 15, 2019, elevating its position on that list since reopening late last year.
Much to my surprise, the admission line was relatively short. After just eight minutes, I was inside. The makeover was startling. Once soot-encrusted columns were now pristine white. The wall coverings in the side chapels most likely underwent extensive restoration. The colors were now vibrant, free of dirt. In a little over five years, the architects, craftspeople, and construction crews had eliminated all evidence of the fire that caused the roof to collapse into the sanctuary—at least in the church’s interior. Scaffolding and cranes were still present on the outside, with restoration still underway on the rear portions of the building.
When I first visited Notre Dame 30 years ago, music echoed through the cathedral as the congregants celebrated Christmas Day vespers. During this visit, several priests were celebrating mass, producing the necessary ambience to fully appreciate the structure and its ornamentation. Experience has taught me it is best to experience architectural wonders as living structures as opposed to empty relics. Rather than taking a 90-minute tour of the Palais Garnier, buy a ticket to an evening performance.
As for my assessment, I was thrilled to be in the cathedral again, but the restoration stripped away its atmospherics. I missed the grunge. Thumbs down, but still worth a visit, particularly during a service. Light a candle and say a prayer for a friend, as I always do when I am in one of the great gothic cathedrals.
To truly appreciate the restoration, pick up a copy of photographer Patrick Zachmann’s book, Restoring Notre-Dame de Paris. His photographs are on display outside the cathedral, but the setting sun didn’t yield the best viewing conditions.
A Quick Sketch
Afternoon Mass at Notre Dame
Rod Serling Gets His Man
Moncocrhomatic Stained Glass
Offering His Blessing
The Rose Window in All Its Glory
Hidden, But Not Before His Lord
Defending Christ
In Prayer
"May My Blood be the Last Shed" Says Demus Auguste Affre Who was Mortally Wounded in the Riots of 1848
Iconic
Carvings Portraying Familar Scenes from the New Testament
Chirst Blessing Thomas Despite Thomas' Doubts
The Smoke Rising from the Censer
A Colorful Christ Figure in a Side Chapel
Leaving Afternoon Mass
Saint Denis Almost Lost His Head
In All It’s Restored Glory
Donald J. Trump vs. Robert Badinter. If you are sick of Donald J. Trump, I highly recommend a trip to Paris. During my ten-day stay, not a single person made an unsolicited comment about our juvenile delinquent. Nor did I see any graffiti or street art referencing Trump.
Trump, himself, would hate Paris. Far too many elites for his taste. More importantly, not a can of Diet Coke could be had; just Coke Zero.
Parisians were fixated on Robert Badinter, a lawyer and the former French Minister of Justice under President François Mitterrand. Badinter is the antithesis of Trump. In 1981, he led the fight to eliminate capital punishment. He was also a strong advocate for LGBQT rights, being the first French politician to call for the abolition of laws punishing homosexuals. Addressing the French Parliament in 1982, Badinter said, “It’s high time we realized just how much France owes to homosexuals.” He was also at the forefront of prison reform, calling for improved conditions.
The streets were filled with signs honoring Badinter and bookstores featuring his many books in their windows. I was fortunate. During my stay in Paris, Badinter was interned in the Pantheon. Although I was not admitted into the Pantheon during the televised internment, I joined thousands of people who lined the Rue d’Ulim as an honor guard carried Badinter’s flag-draped coffin to its final resting place in the Pantheon’s crypt. Maybe in 2026, the Nobel Peace Prize Committee will award the coveted prize to Badinter instead of to Trump.
I subsequently visited the Pantheon to view Badinter’s final resting place. I couldn’t help but do an inventory. The crypt has plenty of space for other national heroes. I also paid my respects to Victor Hugo, Emile Zola, Voltaire, and Rousseau. After my enlightened visit, I headed to a nearby cafe for lunch.
Robert Badinter, the Former French Justice Minister, is the Latest Person to be Entombed in the Pantheon
Interior Stairwell Inside the Pantheon
The Pantheon’s Domes and Columns Towering Over Mere Mortals Paying Homage to the Nation’s Heroes
One of the Fathers of the Enlightenment Resting Soundly
Former French Justice Minister Robert Badlinter Was Quite the Humanitarian
Voltaire Casting a Long Shadow Over Time
The Martyrdom of Saint Denis
Standing Guard in the Pantheon
Folcault's Pendulum Continuing to Demonstrate the Earth's Rotation
Looking Straight Up at the Ornate Ceiling
"La Convention Nationale"
Former French Justice Minister Robert Baninter About to Fulfill His Destiny
Former French Justice Minister Robert Badinter's Final Resting Spot in the Pantheon
A Bookstore Near the Pantheon Honors Robert Badinter
Lunch Time in the Latin Quarter
Inside Looking Out
Demonstration I. What’s a vacation without attending at least one demonstration. Following lunch after visiting the Pantheon, I stumbled upon a demonstration. Surprisingly, not in opposition to Trump or Macron, who also has his fair share of detractors as several kids who struck up a conversation made clear as they accused Macron of catering to the infamous “One Percent.”
Today, the demonstrators had assembled in the Place de la Sorbonne, which sits between Boulevard Saint-Michel and the Chapelle Saint-Ursule de la Sorbonne. After the speeches, I asked a woman standing behind the lead banner what brought the demonstrators together. According to her, hey were demanding that the government provide the lower classes with greater accessibility to technical training for blue collar jobs. Noticeably embarrassed with her choice of words, the woman spoke of the “lower classes.” The demonstrators were clearly educated elites, many most likely being professors and college students.
Unlike their American counterparts, French demonstrators are largely passive. I didn’t hear chants, nor did they march. When the speeches came to an end, everyone stood around, just talking.
Speaking Out for Trade School Accessibilty
Demanding Resources for Students
"No Path for Generation Z"
"Education Action"
Discussion Following the Speeches
Making Her Point
"Touche Pas a Mon Lycee Pro!"
All Smiles
Walking the Canal Saint-Martin. Paris is a great city for just walking. When I attended the Paris Jazz Festival a decade ago, I discovered the Canal Saint-Martin, which runs northward, curving toward the east. The festival was held at La Villette, a park that once was the sight to the city’s slaughterhouses. It now is the site of several theaters and performance halls, as well as a small child-centric carnival.
When I went to the jazz festival, I spent the afternoon walking along the canal. I’ve returned several times since. The canal no longer appears to be a working canal—although I have only visited it on weekends, so maybe there is some industrial traffic. Barges and small canal boats line the canal, now functioning as homes and bars. The buildings abutting the canal’s capacious walkways house bars and restaurants where those dangling their feet over the water return when their coffee cups and drink glasses run dry as they idle the afternoon away chatting, smoking, finishing puzzles, or nuzzling.
Normally, I enter the canal’s walkways two blocks west of Place de la République. At that point, the canal transitions from being a covered waterway to an open one. On this visit, I first headed to Gare de l’Est, which opened in 1849. I love its ornate and soaring architecture.
Before arriving at the train station, I walked leisurely along the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Martin, which is wig central, aptly illustrating the game theory principle that shops selling the same items should locate in proximity to each other as opposed to distancing themselves from each other.
Once I had started my walk along the canal, I briefly deviated, climbing a steep hill leading to the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont for a spectacular view of Basilique du Sacré-Coeur, with a vineyard in the foreground immediately beneath me. Unfortunately, the park was closed, so I returned to the waterway for a drink and a needed bathroom break.
Eventually, I arrived at La Villette. After a quick dinner (margherita pizza) at one of the restaurants lining the park, I headed back to the park, where I attended a performance by the Paris Philharmonic Orchestra of Dmitri Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 10. The draw was William Kentridge’s visual interpretation, which was embodied by a film projected above the orchestra.
Afterwards, it was back to my hotel via the Metro. I always enjoy the posters in the Metro. On this trip, Orson Welles took center stage.
"This is Not Graffiti"
Any Color Under the Sun
Does Color Even Matter?
Four Feet and Rising
A Place for Ringo Along the Canal Saint-Martin
Tic Tac Toe Near Gare de l'Est, But Without the 'O's
Curves Overcoming Hard Lines
Waiting for Equilibrium
"Lazy Day, Row Boats, Bird Notes, People Smiling"
Carrying Precious Cargo
Gazing Into Each Other’s Eyes on a Sunday Afternoon
Smoking and Drinking
From the Overlook Into the Sun
Contemplating the Day
Hanging Out on a Sunday Afternoon Along the Canal Saint Martin
Another Side of Beggar's Banquet
Strolling and Fishing
Relaxing Along Side the Canal Staint-Martin
Headed Toward La Villette
Long Shadows in the Afternoon Sun
Doing a Puzzle on a Lazy Sunday Afternoon
Popeye Overlooking the Canal Saint-Martin
Glued to Her Screen Despite the Beauthiful Weather
Hiding in Plain Sight on a Railroad Trestle Above the Canal Saint-Martin (Back)
“We Block Everything”
Hiding in Plain Sight on a Railroad Trestle (Front)
Approaching La Villette
"I Am a Director"
"Macron Cleared!"
The Overseer
A Note About My Methodology. All of these images were captured using one of three prime lenses—a 21mm ultra wide; a 28mm wide angle; and a 75mm mid-range telephoto. No zooms lenses were used. No automatic focus or exposure. The close-ups of people were palmed, meaning I hold the camera at waist-level in my right hand. I pre-focused based on distance. As I walked by the people pictured, I released the shutter. Truly candid shots unless the people are watching my right hand.
Copyright 2025, Jack B. Siegel. All Rights Reserved. Do Not Alter, Copy, Display, Distribute, Download, Duplicate, or Reproduce Without the Prior Written Consent of the Copyright Holder.
