The last time I went to Paris it took me three days to explore the long galleries of the Musée du Louvre. This time, experience under my belt, we nailed it in a day.

Walking the great halls of this immense fortress-turned-palace-turned-museum, I wonder at the nobles who served here in an age long ago, the kings and queens who ruled from here, the artists who lived in this epic building. Was it just as grand before Napoleon I renovated and restructured it? In any matter, the Louvre is a work of art itself, from it’s medieval foundations to it’s French Renaissance architecture… let alone the fortune lying within its belly. No wonder the monarchy was overthrown!

Instead of hiring the audioguide, we spin our own stories behind each artwork; tales of woe and the stuff of legends. We ourselves become critics; dozens of agonised Christ’s in identical positions are subject to our judgement, each pained portrait redundant in duplication. We pick out the subtle details in the giant masterpieces; rings of faeries, flames of hell, dancing nymphs.

We have fun with it, while the rest of the gallery-goers ignore their companions as they shuffle along in silence, headsets strapped on like horse blinkers.

Some of our highlights included the paintings;

Our friend Domo particularly loved Leonardo’s work;

Not to mention our two favourite sculptures; the only artwork in the Louvre that simultaneously moved me, and rendered me as motionless as the marble statues themselves…

She is captivating, standing proud and tall against all who would oppose her. I can imagine the North winds rippling through her marble robes as she perched on the bow of a ship. Her headlessness only enhances her triumph – the Greek Goddess Nike (Victory) has me enthralled.

…While my husband stood beside me with glistening eyes, marvelled by the skill and elegance in which Psyche and Cupid’s embrace was immortalised;

And of course, the extensive Egyptian collection;

We also found this cute little guy, and our token skull in the Decorative Arts of Africa, Asia, Oceania and the Americas;

So, my tips for a successful visit?

1) Instead of waiting hours in the long queues at the Pyramid entrance, use the Porte Des Lions staircase for admittance in minutes. The map below should help you find this secret entry.

View Musée du Louvre in a larger map

If you’re looking at the Louvre from the Jardins, walk through the archway and turn left. There should be a set of stairs hidden behind a statue. That will take you to a passageway which ends at the ticket booths.

And if you’ve got your heart set on being inside the pyramid, you can always exit through the glass dome at the end of your excursion.

2) Aim to arrive at opening time. You’ll have the famous monuments to yourself in the morning – believe me it is nigh impossible to get a photo without a random head or arm or tour group of peace-signing Asian tourists in shot at other times! The Venus de Milo, Winged Victory, and Psyche and Cupid are the worst offenders when it comes to being flash mobbed by flag-touting tour groups, while the mosh pit in front of the Mona Lisa is dangerous territory in peak hour.

3) Plan to stay the whole day. The museum’s collection spans a space of over 60,000 square meters – that’s five floors and three wings that you’ll need to navigate. Even if you’re not an art or history buff, it’s better to over-estimate your stay than under-estimate. Can you imagine telling everyone back home that you went all the way to Paris but didn’t get to see the Mona Lisa?

Here is a handy online map to help you plan your visit in advance.

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The early start meant that we had plenty of time to get back to the apartment and change for our evening out.

 
The inside of the infamous Moulin Rouge (literally, red windmill, hence the iconic windmill atop it’s roof) is quite pretty; not as gilded and ornate as Sydney’s State Theatre, but instead it glitters with circus charm. (Click here for a 360 panorama of the theatre.) Tiny lanterns illuminate the dark auditorium, bold red-and-white stripes decorate the ceiling, and everything else is alive with sparkles. My choice tonight of silver sequins was a wise decision – I don’t think I could have pulled off such a gaudy look anywhere else in this country, so elegant and muted French fashion is.

We had booked a dinner and show package months in advance – but a word of advice; you’d be better off enjoying a steak de Paris elsewhere, and taking the drinks package only.

We were ushered to our seats on a table of eight; our other companions were two older couples about our parent’s age, a single Russian girl, and an elderly gent. The table itself had a great view of the stage, but was unfortunately right in front of the serving cart. I spent the next hour being jostled by waiters, and straining to hear my husband over the clanging of dishes.

On top of that, the Belle Epoque dinner service was bitterly disappointing. The lady next to us eagerly reached for the salt after we relinquished it, having thoroughly coated our plates. My attempt to slice the slab of over-done meat on my plate is thwarted by the butter knife provided. This “cuisine” is RSL quality – at best.

I sip my champagne out of a wine glass (ok, I’m being picky now, but I was pretty jaded by this stage!), and hope the show blows us away.

The opening act had us dismayed. Lounge singers draped in crinkled and ill-fitting outfits (as if taken from a well-worn costume rack backstage) delivered tourist favourites; cringe-worthy renditions of “What a Wonderful World”, “Baker Street” and “Crazy Little Thing Called Love”. Pockets of the audience erupt in applause as a traditional Cantonese folk song is performed. An afro-bearing man with a voice to put Fran Drescher to shame continues the prologue as we pray for Feerie to begin.

But all this aside, when the curtains are finally drawn and the showgirls prance on-stage, I quickly forget the terrors of the last few hours and settle in to enjoy the show.

The girls are crowned in feathers and draped in strands of crystals – and not much else. They glamorously strut about the stage, shimmying and twirling like proud peacocks.

A change of costume leaves us marooned in a pirate haven;

A daredevil young lass charms us with her python act, diving deep underwater into a glass chamber;

Finally, the score to the Cancan trumpets loudly and upturned skirts hail red, white and blue in tribute to the French flag;

It’s not long, however, for the music to change again and we are whisked off on a journey through the 1900s, celebrating Parisian women through the decades.

In-between all this revelry, we are entertained by the side-acts; an amazing display of aerobic strength by Mykola Scherbak and Sergii Popov – a whimsical skit featuring two friends bumbling about in a Charlie Chaplin-esque comedy; funny man and mime Eric Boo – conducing his own movie, casting people from the audience and using their cultural stereotypes as light-hearted comedic genius; and Guiness World Record holder for faster juggler in the world Mario Berousek – just when you thought he was about to drop his seven balls, the music quickened and yet again they threw him another… To be honest, I enjoyed this part of the cabaret more than the dancers.

All-in-all, I think today rounded out quite well. A day steeped in history and culture, and a night in Paris’ red-light district (albeit home to van Gogh and Picasso!).

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