Paris was the first place in Europe that I had ever visited, so long ago that air travel was an adventure rather than an ordeal. Despite my original and instant infatuation with the French capital, I had not been back in Paris for decades, not until HL and I emerged from the labyrinthine Charles De Gaulle airport early on that Wednesday morning.

         HL and I were not going to replicate my initial Paris itinerary.  I had made that first trip with my friend Miri, when both of us were among the callowest of youths despite our New York City background.  During that historic sojourn, Miri and I went to the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the many other attractions that continue to grace postcards.  HL and I were slated to be in Paris for only two days.  After that, we would depart with our tour group for Lyon, to begin a river cruise along The Rhône.

           Paris was preparing to host the Olympic Games.  As a result, bridges across the Seine, the river that bisects Paris, were being closed.  The influx of tourists, always numerous in Summer, had become so great that the tickets for admittance to famous venues had been sold out for months.  The local gendarmes were out in force, their ranks augmented by the national police.  This may be just my own peculiar perspective, but a gaggle of gendarmes is not exactly a welcoming prospect.

  
The police presence in Paris was inescapable during the days prior to the Olympics.
        

           Our hotel opened onto the Place de la Republique, scene of many political protests and street battles for liberation. It was in the Marais, the historic Jewish quarter.  Also in the Marais was the Museum of Art and History of Judaism, or mahJ, which was not at all crowded.  In 1998, the Jewish museum moved from its previous quarters into a renovated 17th Century chateau, the Hotel de Saint-Aignan.  Ever since, it has been expanding its collection.

HL at the entrance to the Museum of Art and History of Judaism

        Among the museum’s acquisitions was an antique painted sukkah from Austria.  Also worth noting were several Chagall paintings that I had never seen before, most from early in the artist’s career.  In particular, I liked Chagall's The Lovers in Grey, from 1917.

The sukkah from Austria, mid-19th Century

The Lovers in Grey, by Marc Chagall, from 1917

           HL and I ended our first day with a late stroll beside the Saint Martin canal.  The banks and pedestrian bridges of the old canal were maintained as a park.  Both Parisians and tourists took advantage of the cooling evening to sit and listen to the rush of the water.