He isn’t referring to the motley group of crooked line dancers hopping to an Irish reel that’s blasting from a portable loudspeaker. He’s referring instead to the fact that they, along with the hundreds of others in this clearing in the Vincennes Woods, are buck naked.

“Last day,” I tell him, indicating the sign near the path.

We’re standing on the edge of the zone that the City of Paris has designated as a space for nudism, or naturism, from September 1 until today, October 15.

“Shameful,” he says. “But that’s Paris.”

I don’t know if that last part softens his position on the fleshy scene before us or further condemns it. Either way, the fellow stands there for another minute, and so do I. I have a vision of a cotillion of terns gathering between shelf and sea.

The zone is surrounded by woods, but since the eye is drawn to the terns before the sign explaining what they’re doing here, surprised passersby are not uncommon. If the city renews the experience next year they ought to provide more advance warning.

The fellow standing next to me appears to have come upon this zone purely by accident. Unlike me. I’ve been riding my bike through the woods for the past half-hour looking for it. Eventually the fellow pushes his bike, slowly, along the path through the nudist zone. I follow behind. But whereas he exits out the opposite side of the zone, I look for an empty spot on the grass.

I see someone walking away with a towel slung over his shoulders and grab the space he’s just left. It’s the perfect spot: a beach-towel-size plot surrounded on three sides by foot-high tufts of grass. There’s a narrow path a few yards to one side. To another side there’s enough room to lay down my bike between me and the closest nudist.

While the woods that I’ve just biked through smelled of fallen leaves and autumn damp, the grass is warm this afternoon. It’s an exceptionally balmy day for October, peaking at 77°F.

I undress.

All I really wanted was a place to go barefoot on the grass. That’s the first thing I missed from suburban New Jersey when I settled in Paris.

True, there are a smattering of grassy areas to go barefoot in in various gardens and parks in Paris, more now than when I arrived in the late 1980s. In some of those spots, however, one is expected to be accompanied by a child under eight, or a girlfriend, or to have brought along some rat repellant. The further you go from the center the more likely you’ll find entire swaths of lawn that needn’t only be admired from the edge of a gravely path, and there are plenty more lawns in the Vincennes and Boulogne Woods, Paris’s eastern and western lungs.

This, however, is where I wanted to wiggle my toes. But in this designated zone in the Vincennes Woods I can only go barefoot if I also go bare-assed. That’s Socialism for you – it gives you exactly what you need, with strings attached.

Of course you don’t have to take all your clothes off in the nudist zone. But exposing only your feet to the free air in this clearing in the woods would be like going to Paris and contenting yourself with visiting nothing but the Eiffel Tower.

I take a selfie.

Practitioners of nudism in Paris

On its inauguration day, September 1, Catherine Baratti-Elbaz, the mayor of the 12th arrondissement, which covers the Vincennes Woods, said that this trial nudist zone was intended for a mixed crowd and could be enjoyed by “Parisians, tourists and textiles.” By textiles she meant those that cover more than their head with fabric. By mixed I assume that she meant men and women. If instead she was referring to a rainbow coalition that would include blacks, Arabs, Sri Lankans and Vietnamese, then this afternoon, at least, has clearly missed the mark. And whereas 50 percent of the population of Paris is under 40 years of age, I’d estimate that today less than 10 percent of this crowd is under 40. As to the male-female ratios, it appears to stand at an unbalanced 80-20, at best.

Textiles may be welcome but not one is in sight. Perhaps there would be something suspicious about stripping down to only a loincloth. Anyway, the bathingsuiters and other underpanters long ago designated an unofficial lawn space as their own just a few hundred yards away.

I’m guessing from news reports and photos over the previous six weeks that this sunny final weekend of outdoor nudism in Paris has drawn the largest crowds of the season. (Indoor possibilities remain, as noted below.) There may well have been more journalists than nudists on opening day.

The zone is relatively crowded this afternoon, with only a yard or two between strangers. It’s mostly men, alone or in pairs. Some, like me, have come by bike. Our bikes lie next to us on the grass like sleeping lovers with whom we don’t have to share the towel. There are few small groupings of friends or acquaintances. Upon entering the zone I spotted two families (not together), each with a child of five or six.

The Paris Naturist Association (Association des Naturistes de Paris) naturally has a strong contingency here since the association pushed for the designation of such a zone from the start.

The experienced and lifestyle naturists are easy enough to spot: they’re the ones standing up. They’ve brought coolers and chairs and true picnics. I have a bottle of water and an apple. The crooked line dancers I saw when I first arrived (their music thankfully shut off shortly thereafter) was part of that group. While the average age for men is probably 55ish today, the age of women skews higher, with few under 60, by my guess. The women are mostly within the large gathering of stand-up nudists who present the heart of the day’s, perhaps the season’s, community of naturists. I’m a tourist on the edge.

Tiens, Tiens

A man set up a 10-foot-wide net soon after I arrived and he then walked around inviting people to meet there for a volleyball game “in five minutes.” Two hours later no one has gathered by the net. In its trial season there may be a difference of aims between practitioners and organizers of naturism, with the former content to simply get naked in the sun and the latter more interested in forming a community of moving parts.

It’s altogether a good-natured afternoon as far as I can tell. A few duos and trios walk around. They occasionally see someone they know. “Tiens, tiens” (Well, well) appears to be a common greeting, followed by kisses all around. I don’t see anyone I know. I don’t even recognize anyone.

And then I do. He’s from my neighborhood. I’ve known him for nearly 20 years, though only by sight. You couldn’t miss him when he was in his 30s, a handsome man with muscles large enough to discourage anyone sensible from every going to a gym. Now in his 40s, he’s rounded out but still has gym membership written across his textiled torso. He has taken a towel-less seat on the grass about 10 yards away from me. He sits there without removing so much as his shoes, looking like a heavy, weary raptor on this beach of terns. Since he must still go to the gym he must not be unfamiliar with the contours of the human body. Or perhaps that’s the point: he’s interested in seeing what happens to the body after one turns 50 or 60 and now takes nudity for exercise.

Voyeurism is verboten, reads the sign at the entrance to the nudist zone, but that doesn’t mean that one has to sit blindly through this good day. I certainly can’t be the only one to notice that, this being October, tan lines, are mostly gone – though I suppose that some didn’t go in for tan lines in the first place. And presumably one can’t be arrested for noticing how out of fashion pubic hair has become. It appears that there would be no greater shame for a Parisian nudist than to have a bush down there. I stay low so as to not draw attention to myself.

All eyes turn upward when we hear a high-pitched whizz overhead. Though I can’t see the object making the noise I recognize the sound as that of a drone. Orwellian voyeurism. I wonder what the police would want with these images. And if not the police, then who? We’ve got nothing to hide here. How could we? But still. Something is amiss in this Garden of Eden.

I eat my apple.

As the shadows creep across the clearing in the late afternoon some nudists transition to textiles, some pick up their belongings and move to a sunny spot, while others get dressed and leave. I wait until the shadow reaches my feet before dressing.

There, I think as I pull on my shorts, I’ve done it. I’ve felt my bare feet in the grass, my bare everything else in the sun.

This isn’t so different from visiting the Eiffel Tower after all: I’ve joined the crowd. I’ve looked around. I’ve taken a selfie. Been there, done that. Moving on.

But I do like this city. Maybe I’ll move here some day.

Indoor venues for nudism in Paris

France is considered the world’s top destination for social nudism. In addition to its homegrown nudists, France offers a warmer climate for northern continental European naturist. Information about beaches, campgrounds, other sites, associations and more, throughout France, is available from the French Federation of Naturism (Fédération Française de Naturisme).

For Paris, the main group to consult is the Paris Naturist Association (Association des Naturistes de Paris). The association also has a Facebook page.

Naked swimming: The main venue for athletic nudism in Paris is the Roger Le Gall municipal swimming pool and gym in the 12th arrondissement, which allows nudism Monday and Wednesday evenings 9pm-11pm and Friday evening 9:30pm-11:30pm. Check the website of the Paris Naturist Association before going, however, since closing times may change during holiday periods. Members of the Paris Naturist Association also have access to the gym Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

As in all municipal pools, swim caps are required in order to keep hair from clogging the drain and so that you won’t run into each other’s floating hairballs as you swim. Let’s pause to think about that for a moment. On second thought, better not. Think chlorine.

Naked dining: The 12th arrondissement has become the leading district for Paris naturists. It’s only natural then that it is the district to welcome the nudist restaurant, O’naturel, 9 rue de Gravelle in the 12th arrondissement. Metro Daumesnil or Michel Bizot. Promising “bistronimic” cuisine, O’naturel is open evenings only, Tuesday-Saturday. Tel. 01 85 15 24 91. Clients must enter clothed.

© 2017, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Paris Parks & Gardens: Nudism in the Vincennes Woods appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Before the tracks of the RER suburban line were laid, Parisians commuted to and from the suburbs via steam trains. On the east edge of the city, Vincennes-bound travelers boarded at the Bastille where a grandiose station, inaugurated in 1869, handled 30,000,000 passengers per year in the 1920s. The rise of the automobile diminished its use and the last train pulled out of the Bastille in 1969. While the Gare de la Bastille had a brief stay-of-execution through its transformation into a concert venue, it was razed in 1984 to make way for the Opéra Bastille.

The Coulée Verte, loosely translated as the Green River, now follows the trace of the old rail tracks beginning behind the opera house. From there it snakes through the 12th arrondissement, a part of the city little explored by visitors, unless they might be visiting the Marché d’Aligre Beavau, one of the most vibrant food market areas (part indoor, part covered) of Paris, and its neighboring restaurants, cafés and wine bars.

Setting out from the Bastille, the path is elevated along the old viaduct, now called the Viaduc des Arts, whose arches are home to elegant craft stores and workshops. Beyond the viaduct, the path lowers into a neighborhood park before winding its way through the varied urban landscape toward the edge of the city, occasionally branching out into broad picnic areas and playgrounds.

This variety adds spice to the trail since almost every conceivable approach to urban landscaping is tried and tested somewhere along the route. There are bird sanctuaries, bike paths, formal rose gardens and several stretches where weeds go wild. There’s everything but the kitchen sink. No, you actually can see kitchen sinks as you amble past people’s 4th floor windows on the elevated sections.

The most extraordinary architectural highlight offered by the Coulée Verte’s elevation is a view of the chorus line of Michelangelo slaves that adorn the top two floors of the Police Commissariat at 80 avenue Daumesnil. The building screams 1930, but it was designed by Barcelona-based architects Manuel Nunez-Yankowsky and Mirian Teitelbaum in 1991. The balcony apartments shadowed by those mighty stone thighs are reserved for police personnel.

The Coulée Verte René-Dumont was originally called the Promenade Plantée, the Planted Promenade. In emphasizing its greenery it also took on the name of René Dumont, an agronomist and one of the fathers of France’s ecological political movement. Paris has a second Coulée Verte, the Coulée Verte du Sud Parisien, that’s especially worthwhile for leisure bikers. It begins toward the southern edge of the city, behind the Montparnasse Station, and extends nine miles to the suburb of Massy.

The Coulée Verte René-Dumont is partially bikable but only parts are truly bike-friendly. Walking shoes are the best bet here. This Coulée Verte is best approached via metro Bastille or Ledru Rollin. There are then a number of stair entrances up to the planted promenade on the viaduct. For an approach without stairs, the Coulée Verte is accessible via the entrance on rue Jacques Hillairet (near Metro Montgallet) and by the Surcouf elevator in the same general area.

If you plan to wander hors piste for sustenance, Le Viaduc Café (43 avenue Daumesnil) makes for a fine pause for coffee or lunch. The above-mentioned Aligre Beauvau Market is also well worth a detour, particularly if you’d like to picnic along the Coulée Verte. The market (closed Mon.) is in fact a notable place to begin or end an exploration of this area.

Train buffs may want to picnic in the newly renovated gardens of the Gare de Reuilly at 6 rue Dukas/181 avenue Daumesnil, a rare vestige of the old Vincennes line that has survived and that lives on as a neighborhood community center.

The Coulée Verte opens at 8am on weekdays, 9am on weekends and holidays. Closing times vary from 6pm to 9:30pm depending on the section and the season. See the City of Paris website for times.

Text and photos by Corinne LaBalme.

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In 1912, dance fanatics flocked to the Théâtre du Châtelet to watch Vaslav Nijinski and Tamar Karsavina of the Ballets Russes perform new-fangled ballets like Firebird and Spectre de la Rose. During intermission, bemused spectators would thumb through elaborate programs for Cocteau’s take on what it was about.

Parisian couturier Jean Doucet chose this historic venue to premiere an All-About-Avian Spring/Summer 2013 haute couture collection that didn’t need any footnotes.

With Irina Kolesnikova of the Saint Petersbourg Ballet making a star pirouette on the runway, fashionistas checked out a Very Vogue Version of Swan Lake.

In Doucet’s re-staging, good girl Odette snags the guy since Irina got to wear the feathered wedding dress in the finale—although, come to think of it, back-stabbing Odile was also invited to the party.

Far, far from the avenue Montaigne crowds, Jean Doucet’s salon adds a spark of glam to ever-so-slowly gentrifying Bercy district at 6 rue Jean Renoir in the 12th arrondissement.

© 2013, Corinne LaBalme

Corinne LaBalme, a Paris-based writer, journalist and editor, is currently working on development of a series life-style documentaries for Muses Productions.

The post Paris Haute Couture for the Birds appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

So it was with Fabien Nègre at Le Cotte-Roti, a year-old “bistronomic” restaurant near Marché d’Aligre in the 12th arrondissement. With his doctorate in philophy and post-graduate degree in economy, professional experience in radio and television, and expertise in gastronomy and cigars, Fabien Nègre is the kind of person whom you can ask how he got from there to here and then sit back and enjoy the ride.

Marché d’Aligre, the nearby food market, is notable for its own pairing of character and history. The neighborhood of a food market is traditionally prime territory for homey bistros and rustic wine bars. For the latter, Le Baron Rouge is now part of the city’s folklore, so if you’ve never been there you might push past the smokers outside and cozy up to a barrel for a glass of down-home red before going for the more refined stuff at Le Cotte-Roti two blocks away.

While traditional bistro and ethnic fare is found all around this market area, we’ve come to Le Cotte-Roti to examine a more contemporary development in Paris market (and non-market) neighborhoods, something that has in the past few years come to be called bistronomy.

Bistronomy is a combination of bistro and gastronomy. The term best applies to bistros where the chef continues to emphasize seasonal produce and nearly traditional recipes while displaying his knowledge and interest in more polished or sophisticated cuisine. These are indeed bistros since the additional elements required of a truly gastronomic restaurant—elegant services, fine tableware, more expensive produce, a section-by-section kitchen staff, a decorator—may be absent.

A number of famous (read: trademarked) mid-career and older chefs who have made their name in gastronomy now have an adjacent business of bistronomy, while opening such a restaurant is now also a way for chefs in their 30s to try to strut their stuff and take full control at an early stage in their career.

The term bistronomy is naturally a fad, a bit of a marketing ploy by which its owner or chef claims to be a cut above the ordinary bistro. Yet beyond the easy way the word rolls off the tongue lies the sensible notion that traditional French cuisine evolves and that gastronomy is just another of saying a good meal. Add to that the notion that a hungry traveler can have a relaxed, well-conceived meal in an unpretentious setting at an inviting price.

Le Cotte-Roti is a classic example. It is an open 30-seat space that’s pleasant enough without having any particular charm. Service is kind if direct. The chef sometimes gives a hand in the dining room. A three-course meal is currently an honest 30€ without supplements. One comes for the food.

Thus a tasty October lunch with Fabien of hare terrine containing bits of foie gras; braised veal tournedos with stewed mushrooms; a fruity-cum-earthy bottle of Faugères, a Syrah-Mouevèdre-and-then-some blend from the Languedoc region.

Re-thus a notable November dinner with Jean-François (who not only allowed me to share in the conversation but also in his meal) of oeuf mollet frit, a fried soft-boiled egg on a pesto-lined “dipping” bread; a mi-cuit foie gras terrine; a succulent scallop and potato purée dish; a sea bream (dorade/daurade) on a bed of salsify heightened with white truffle oil; poached quince with a triangle of French toast; poached pear on a creamy rice putting laced with caramel. Wine: Saint Joseph 2006, a Syrah from the northern portion of the Rhone Valley.

All these are good examples of bistronomy’s enhanced bistro fare and of someone giving it his best effort in the kitchen. Regarding those efforts, the foie gras lacked umph (and curiously of toast), an indication that one can’t expect the chef in a two-man kitchen to do everything well.

Nicolas Michel, 33, owner-chef of Le Cotte Roti, is in many ways the classic example of the type of culinary beginnings and ambition that have led to such praisable, acceptably-priced bistronomy. His C.V., punctuated by the names of notable restaurants, also serves as a language lesson for anyone looking to learn the terms for kitchen help in French: stagiaire (trainee/intern), divers extras en cuisine (various on-call jobs, i.e. Hey, Nick, I need someone to help out Saturday night, are you free?); 1er commis de cuisine (basically the cook helper); demi chef de partie (somewhere between a commis and a section head): chef de partie (section head);chef de cuisine (head chef); second de cuisine (sous chef); chef cuisinier (big boss, accompanied here by the title propiétare-gérant/owner-manager)

Cotte-Roti is a play on words involving the name of the street (rue de Cotte) and the Nicolas Michel’s reverence to Côte Rôtie, the Rhone Valley appellation that has made a name—and a price—for itself over the past decade. Mr. Michel, having lived in the Côte Rôtie area for two years, is a big fan of these wines. Sold here at 80-90€ per bottle, they can overwhelm the price of the meal. That’s not a judgment, just an observation. Indeed, despite the moderate price of bistronomic meals such as served here, bistronomy does assume a clientele capable of spending more and of aiming high when in the mood or at the appropriate occasion. Most wines here are priced in the 30-45€ range on a list that sits broadly in Côtes du Rhone, therefore mostly Syrah, territory, while occasionally spilling north to Beaujolais, Burgundy and the Loire, and west to Languedoc as during my lunch with Fabien Nègre.

As for what Fabien was telling me during this time, there’s no need for me to repeat it here. You’ll soon be able to sit back and enjoy his affable, wide-ranging conversation yourself by reading his series of portraits of some of Paris’s most celebrated chefs to appear on France Revisited beginning with his portrait of Guy Martin of Le Grand Véfour in February 2009.

Le Cotte-Roti, 1 rue de Cotte, 12^th arrondissement. Near Marché d’Aligre. Tel. 01 43 45 06 37. Metro Ledru Rollin. Closed Sun., Mon., Dec. 25-Jan. 1, three weeks in Aug.

Le Baron Rouge, 1 rue Théophile Roussel, 12^th arrondissement. Near Marché d’Aligre. Tel. 01 43 43 14 32. Metro Ledru Rollin. Closed Mon.

© 2008, Gary Lee Kraut

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