Paris!

            I landed in Paris-Beauvais airport around 9:30 and looked around thinking, “So this is France.” Then I did a double take and thought, “Wait, where’s Paris?” It turned out that the ever-deceitful budget airline RyanAir would only fly to a remote airport in the French countryside, so I had to take a two hour bus trip to the city.  It wasn’t too bad though, because I caught some much-needed sleep on the bus. When I got there I decided not to take the subway and instead walk a few miles from the bus station on the southeast edge of the city to my hostel in the northern quarter. This was the start of a lot of walking I did throughout that day and night.

            And it’s a good thing I decided to walk, because within thirty minutes I happened upon

something interesting. It was a gigantic, ornate archway in the middle of the largest traffic rotary I’ve
ever seen. I later learned that this site was the famous Arc de Triumf. When I laid eyes on the Arc, my

Le Arc de Triumf!

immediate thought was, “I have to get there!” but, although there was a decent crowd of people under the Arc, I didn’t see any practical way to get there. So in true tourist fashion, I crossed the street. This was a bad idea. The street is about 100 feet across and, at midday, was pretty busy. Drivers all around me were honking and slamming on their brakes. It was reminiscent of the scene in Mulan where Grandma crosses the busy street holding the lucky cricket with one hand and covering her eyes with the other, while traffic veers and swerves around her. Thankfully, like Mulan's grandma, I made it across unharmed. There, I spent ten minutes observing the massive angel statues on each of the Arc’s four corners, and I took a pass on climbing the stairs to the top. As I was leaving, I found the tunnel that runs under the street (thank God!), which happened to lead in the direction I was headed.

            So I continued on my way, passing through a park where there were many children playing, a pond, and some interesting sculptures. The few parks I passed through were rather tranquil and attractive, like you’d imagine a Parisian park to be, minus perhaps the bouree-wearing artist composing an oil painting of his surroundings.

Jazz quartet on a Parisian street (video wouldn't upload)

            After another hour, I was within a couple blocks of my hostel. I couldn’t find it initially, but I was in no hurry, so I stopped for the most delicious cured ham sandwich of all time and then listened to a street band of four old timers play a few jazz standards. Delightful! I took a video of them playing “When It’s Sleepy Time Down South,” that features an elderly woman who must have been their backup dancer.

After a short search I found my hostel, where I met one of my two roommates, a man who looked like the Brazilian Ricky Gervais and spoke both English and Spanish rather slowly and softly. He soon left and I took a three-hour nap to restore my energy for the incredible amount of walking I was about to do. At dusk, I set off to conquer the big tourist attractions. First destination: the Louvre. 

Mesdames et Messieurs, Le Moulin Rouge!

On my way there (speaking of Mulan) I discovered that the infamous Moulin Rouge was only a few blocks from my hostel, but I didn’t venture inside. I had bigger fish to filet. After a downhill mile, I walked through the Louvre’s grand entranceway to the plaza that’s home to the museum’s iconic glass pyramids. When I arrived at the entrance to the Louvre’s interior, I was thrilled to find that, on a Wednesday at the end of November, there is virtually no crowd. Amazing! So I looked around the vast concourse where I was standing with no idea where to start. Eventually I figured I’d start at the top and work my way around, so I asked for directions to La Joconde, also known as The Mona Lisa.

Ancient Sculpture - The Louvre

            On my way to Mona’s quarters, I passed many ancient and medieval statues. After visiting the Prado in Madrid, the Uffizi in Florence, and the Louvre, these antique works of art begin to seem commonplace, impressive though they are. So many sculptors have made so many marble statues that to stop at each one and admire its ancient beauty is not worth it. However, some stand out among the rest. One such work caught my eye because it was the only black statue in a gallery full of white ones. I assume this guy felt pretty out of place, and he appeared

Angel Statue - The Louvre

frightened about something. Another captivating sculpture was of a huge headless seraph that appears to be taking flight from her perch at the top of one of the main staircases.
           Finally I made it to the Italian Renaissance paintings, where my mysterious mistress was waiting. I wasted no time, marching with purpose in the direction of the posted signs. And then there she was.

It was Louvre at first sight.

You’ve probably heard from anyone who’s been there that it’s impossible to get through the crowd around the Mona Lisa, but on this particular night, there was only one other guy in the room! And he was looking at the other paintings! Then he left! Amazing.

So for fifteen minutes, I was the only person in the world looking at the world's most famous work of art. It’s hard to describe, but there’s really something special about Mona. People comment on how plain the painting is, but few seem to contest its exalted reputation. On the surface it is a simple depiction of a woman posing in front of a dark landscape, but there is something deeper than that. It is in the slight smile, in her inviting yet penetrating eyes. She seems to know something that she’d be delighted to share with you – if only she wasn’t frozen on canvas. The way Di Vinci painted her, in soft light against that gloomy landscape, conveys such personality and curiosity. I could have stared at Mona for hours, simply because I wanted to know more.

The actual Mona Lisa! Wait, what's that face in the bottom right? Sweet Leonardo! That's me!

            But I had to see the rest of the museum, so I followed the signs once again, this time to find a different lovely lady, the Venus de Milo (don’t tell Mona!). At the time I didn’t know the history of this sculpture, which is thought to represent the Greek goddess Athena (Venus to the Romans), but apparently nobody knows its exact history. It was discovered on the Greek isle of Milo during the nineteenth century along with many other sculptures, all highly regarded. The sculptor is unknown, and the date is approximated to the first few centuries A.D. In any case, it’s a very lovely creation and I feel bad that she lost her arms (as does Blinkin, from Robin Hood, Men in Tights – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Be31ckmiF9A).

Venus de Milo - The Louvre

            No other work in the museum had the reputation of the Mona Lisa or the Venus de Milo, but there were many cool exhibits full of items from all over the ancient world. They say you can’t see the Louvre in one day, but after Venus de Milo, I didn’t stop moving other than to take pictures, and I traversed the entire building in two and a half hours. There was a collection of Egyptian artifacts, with angular sculptures of animals, gods, and people, carved mostly from red clay; a series of decorated coffins stacked like Russian nesting dolls; pieces of a once-whole fifty foot colossus; and hieroglyphics aplenty. One exhibit was dedicated to the ancient and medieval Middle East. There were many paintings and sculptures from the classic and renaissance artists. The bottom floor of the museum had been reconstructed to appear as part of the original Louvre palace. And alas there was one room for modern and contemporary art.

            The museum closed at nine o’clock, at which point I exited to the South. Walking down the courtyard, I looked out through a high arch and noticed a distant Ferris wheel designed in the shape of a snowflake. Then I looked left. And there she was – “she” this time referring to the Eiffel Tower – all lit up with a beacon of light beaming from the top, like a 'bat signal' for eager tourists. So I stopped to take a few pictures, then I thought to myself, “When’s the next time you’re gonna be in Paris?”

Start of my hike from the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower

            So I began walking, first in the direction of the giant snowflake, half a mile alongside a park that would have been quite beautiful in the daylight. When I got there, I considered going for a spin on the wheel but quickly thought otherwise. After a short rest, I fixated myself on the brilliant tower that was two miles away, and I continued my march. I went past a deserted outdoor market, over the River Seine on a very busy bridge, around a few Parisian neighborhoods, and finally found the plaza where the tower sits.

La Tour Eiffel

At night the thing is strung up from top to bottom with gold-colored lights.  About every ten minutes, these lights flash and crackle so brightly that epileptics should be warned before traveling to Paris. And apparently, at ten o’clock on a Wednesday night there is hardly a line to get in, much like the Louvre. Amazing! On the ascent, the elevator stopped halfway up before taking us to the top. The view of Paris at night was picturesque, and the wind was brutal. Surprisingly, there is no gift shop there, but there is a list of distances to major world cities, so I was able to see that I was approximately 5,849 kilometers (3743.36 miles) from home, judging by the distance to New York City. 

After ten minutes, I made my descent and started back for my hostel, initially in the wrong direction, but I realized my mistake before long and headed back in the right general direction. That was the start of a four- to five-mile hike back to my hostel.

At first, I was effectively lost, with only a vague sense of direction and a very empty stomach. I eventually stopped at the only place that was open, MacDonald’s, and in homage to Pulp Fiction ordered a “Royàl with cheese,” which I ate sitting on the curb outside. I then returned to my trek home and before long found a major road, matched my map with one of the city plans on the sidewalk, and charted the course to my hostel, which was still about two and a half miles away. It was already after midnight.

Along the way there, I passed a few drug dealers, who would yell to me “Cocaine!” and “Marijuana!” in their French accents, apparently able to identify me as an American tourist. One of them went as far as to follow me, saying “Come on, you wanna get high, right?” and even tried to put his hand on my shoulder. Instinctively, I threw my arm out to keep him at length, shot him a glare and said, “nope,” which thankfully stopped him. In any case, the guy didn’t look any more athletic than he was persuasive, so I could have outrun him if I needed to. I made it safely back to my hostel at 2:05am, according to the man working the desk.

As I drudged up three flights of stairs to my room, I thumped my tired, heavy feet on each creeky wooden step. I imagine that someone in my room could hear my approach growing louder and louder. When I made it to the fourth floor, my shoes tapped loudly and slowly across the hard wooden floor.   Tap.   Tap.   Tap.     Then I slid my key card in the door ­– Click – and turned the handle.

Click.

I opened the door, letting a sliver of light pour into the dark room, just wide enough to illuminate the face of the roommate I hadn’t met earlier. Instantly, he shot up and screeched, “AAAAAAHHH!!! AAAHH!!!” in a shrill tone befitting of a ghoul in a haunted house ride. It could have been a scene from a horror film.

But I was too tired to bat an eyelash. I simply said, “This is my room.” 

Hyperventilating, the man apologized, but with the terrifying way I approached the room, I couldn’t blame him for screeming.

The next morning, I found him downstairs and ate breakfast with him. He turned out to be a very nice British chap, and we joked about the startling way we’d made acquaintances the night before. He even gave me a plastic card with a map of Île de la Cité, the island in the River Seine where Notre Dame of Paris is found. Visiting the famous cathedral was my last objective before leaving Paris, thus completing the city’s trifecta of major attractions: the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame.

I took the subway this time instead of walking, but I had to walk several blocks to the station and passed underneath a construction ladder en route. Keep that in mind when you read my next post.

            I got out at a station across the river from Île de la Cité. Just before I crossed the bridge, I was approached by an activist of some sort who had apparently taken a vow of silence. I don’t know what she was protesting or advocating, but she chased after me with a pen and a clipboard, smiling. Though I refused to oblige her with my signature, I couldn’t help but laugh, and she kept smiling. It was the strangest, most positive encounter I’ve ever had with a solicitor on the street – much more pleasant than my run-in with the drug dealer – and a moment I’ll never forget.

            When I got to the island, I discovered much more than just the cathedral, including a small park with a dock for boats, and many stone buildings that together resemble an 18^th century town.

View of the Eiffel Tower from the top of Notre Dame de Paris

At Notre Dame, I found an group that had just started its tour in English. I don’t know if it was supposed to be a free tour, but I jumped on board and even participated in a human-body demonstration that simulated the structural architecture of the cathedral. After the tour, I climbed the tower, strongly resisting the urge to shout “SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!” in the vein of Quasi Modo. Outside on the balcony, I took a few pictures of the gargoyles with Paris as the backdrop.

I then went downstairs and observed the stained glass, the statues on the alter, and a miniature wooden model of the cathedral. I sat down in one of the pews and did something I don’t do often: prayed. As I breathed in, I thought about the world I was exploring and my life back in the US. As I breathed out, I thought about my self and the journey I was on, both geographically and personally.

When I left Notre Dame, it was drizzling, and I went across the street to order a spaghetti and chicken dish, with a banana-Nutella crepe for dessert. It was hands down the most satisfying crepe I’d ever taken.

At this point, it was nearing four o’clock and my train ride out of town was schedule for half past six, so I took the subway back to my hostel, got my things, and headed for the train station. I got there with time to spare, got my ticket, and waited for the train that would take me to Germany… so I thought.