Summary

A local Parisian recounts a serendipitous Saturday morning visit to the Louvre, highlighting the ease of access with an annual pass, the joy of people-watching, and the museum's enduring allure.

Abstract

The author, a resident of Paris, unexpectedly decides to visit the Louvre on a Saturday morning during the tourist season, a time typically avoided by locals. With an annual "Amis du Louvre" pass, they bypass the long lines and enter the museum effortlessly. The narrative describes the museum's surrounding amenities, including new cafes and shops, and the author's dual interest in observing both the artwork and the visitors. Notable art pieces, such as the Winged Victory of Samothrace and the bust of Antinous, are mentioned as highlights of the visit. The author reflects on the personal significance of certain artworks and emphasizes the role of photography in engaging with and remembering the museum experience. The visit concludes with a return to the Tuileries and a contemplative walk home.

Opinions

The author enjoys the convenience of the "Amis du Louvre" annual pass, considering it a worthwhile investment for frequent museum-goers.
There is a sense of delight in defying expectations by visiting the Louvre during a peak time and finding it to be a pleasant experience.
The author values the Louvre not only for its art but also as a space for people-watching and observing human behavior.
Photography is seen as a meaningful activity that enhances the process of seeing, choosing, and remembering the museum's treasures.
The author expresses a personal connection to certain artworks, such as the bust of Antinous, which is deepened by historical literature like Marguerite Yourcenar's "Memoirs of Hadrian."
The new dining options in the museum are noted with interest, though the author does not partake during this visit.
The Louvre's ambiance, including its architecture and the atmosphere of its galleries and stairways, is portrayed as enchanting and majestic.

Saturday morning at the Louvre.

Not unthinkable after all.

The Tuileries, mid-September (author’s photo)

If you live in Paris, you know better than to go to the Louvre on a Saturday morning in September — a couple of weeks into la rentrée, but still very much tourist season.

However, sometimes I like to forget the things I know. (At my age I also like to pretend that forgetting is a choice.) Before eleven on a perfect September day, what better destination than the Louvre? At the very least, I’d get to stroll through the Tuileries before the heat of day. The worst that could happen is that the line under the inverted pyramid is an hour long and I’d have to get a cup of Starbucks and drown my sorrows.

Lounging in the Tuileries. Behind her, the Jeu de Paume — across the great expanse of park, under renovation, the Orangerie.

The Starbucks weeping session proved unnecessary. The other thing to do if you live in Paris is to buy annual passes to the major museums. These are truly ‘skip the line’ cards, and wildly affordable. As long as you drop into each museum more than four or five times in the calendar year, you’ve equalled the individual admission tariffs and saved hours of time.

This was one of those lucky mornings. I flashed my Amis du Louvre card and walked in.

Both before and beyond the security checkpoint, the concourse into the museum is a continuation of the shops in the Carrousel du Louvre, the underground shopping mall. There is the Librairie-Boutique and, across the hall, the museum’s souvenir shop. In other storefronts there is chocolate; there are macarons (well, bien sûr); there are fancy pens and credit card holders and portfolios. There is the Comédie Française, and two new and way overdue fancy cafes and bakeries.

The brand new Caffe Concerto. I didn’t go in, but I did spend a few minutes studying the pastries….

…along with this guy. (Author’s photos.)

OK, so I admit that most of my Louvre trips involve as much people-watching as art study. Though the security line was short, there were already thousands of people in the galleries and on the stairways. I’ve seen the Winged Victory several dozen times, and I am still gobsmacked by her majesty.

The Winged Victory of Samothrace, on the Daru staircase.

Besides people-watching, I like to look through the windows at the courtyards — mostly, of course, the central courtyard with its spectacular I. M. Pei pyramid.

People should take their own pictures. Photos make us pay attention. Yes, capturing them can sometimes make us behave like boorish big game hunters, but for me, photography is an exercise in seeing and choosing — and then editing and remembering.

This 18th-century Italian tripod reminded me — such irreverence — of the three-headed dog Fluffy in the Harry Potter saga.

I have adored this bust of the tragic Antinous since I first saw it, not least because of Marguerite Yourcenar’s lovely historical novel, Memoirs of Hadrian.

The Antinous Mondragone, circa 130 A.D. The hair, the hair. The eyes.

There are restaurants and affordable snack bars scattered through the museum. This is the view from the elegant but uncomfortable carved bench seats on the balcony overlooking the grand entrance hall.

A staff member taking a call on the spiral staircase.

Finally, back into the park and home to the 8th.