Across from the Musée d’Orsay sits the Louvre and its Jardins des Tuileries, Paris’ royal palace before the days of opulence at Versailles, and today, the light beautifully illuminates the façade and statues and bridges as a storm threatens in the distance, casting a dark background against which the sandy stone warms.
The Louvre’s art collection requires a camp out session of its own, so over flowing with cultural wonders the world over it is, barely contained by the palatial walls themselves. To gorge oneself is to do massive disservice to such a splendid collection, for burn out is guaranteed, Nike molding into Mona Lisa, finishing as Medusa, snake-headed myth come true.
Today, we content ourselves with a saunter around the grounds, peering through the triangle entrance to the Marisol’s statues to the carousel to the Place Vendôme and back again.
Not too shabby.