On my way to the Place des Vosges, I realized that I had thought that I was going to visit the house of Alexandre Dumas, the author of The Three Musket-awesomes. But no – this place is a memorial to Victor Hugo, writer of The Hunchback of Notre Lame. But my grumpiness was soon dissipated by the sheer enthusiasm shown by the French nation for their favorite literary lion – it’s like when a cute little kid insists on explaining how their Pokemon cards work (“and then, he moved to the Chanel Islands – bam! and then, Les Misérables was like level up! and then…”). The first floor is a temporary exhibition space, currently filled with what seemed like hundreds of photographs of Hugo from the 1850’s, all in literary beefcake poses: with hand clutching immense forehead; with a melancholy gaze off into the distance; sitting backwards in a chair…. Basically, he looks like a Jonas Brother in Teen Vogue. The second floor is where Hugo lived for… umm, I dunno – 10 years? It was confusing. The apartment was repeatedly renovated after he moved out, so only a couple rooms are reconstructions of his life there, while other rooms are done up as rooms in his other houses. The best is an incredibly elaborate, “Chinese”-style room coated with carved panels designed by Hugo on the walls and ceiling. This room was taken from the house of Hugo’s long time mistress – one of my favorite things about the French is how they generously glorify the mistresses of famous men, too.
Bourbon-Ginger Pecan Pie
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