Sous le ciel de Paris

Just as the semester lull crept upon us this past November we escaped to Paris, the city of lights and love. So naturally upon our return to Sheffield the listless, draining, mid-semester lull returned and together with its evil twin, the large amounts of school work seemingly thrust upon us without warning, Kevin and I ignored our little blog project in favor of procrastination and all-nighters. How happy am I now that classes have ended and I can return to tell the tale of our whirlwind adventure in Paris.

As students strapped for cash we decided to take the ultra cheap (read: £3 per person) MegaBus and boy, was it a Mega experience. Actually it was not as bad as imagined. However arriving in London after four hours, we reminded ourselves that the trip is indeed half the fun. As self-proclaimed tube experts, we arrived at St. Pancras without worry and after a filling lunch at a salad counter (at which the salad-man flirted with Kevin) we proceeded to the EuroStar waiting lounge. Kevin was so enthralled by his first high-speed train ride that he slept most the time (waking only for the chance to drink French Coke), while I was less than enthused with the lengthy stop we made while in the Chunnel.

We arrived in Paris, changed our money, and excitedly made our way to the underground. Our fabulous hotel was in the Bastille area of Paris, more of a residential part of the city but far enough from the tourist goodies to merit the metro. After four days we happily brag of being Paris public transport savants. Dropping our effects we returned to our beloved metro which escorted us to the Île de la Cité. This was at this moment I totally accepted the stereotypical hype that Paris is a romantically beautiful city. The bridges, the Seine, and the Eiffel Tower lit like a jewel offered by the city to visitors from afar; these visions upheld the idyllic depiction of Paris that one may find in a perfume commercial.

Turning the corner we were unexpectedly struck by the sight of the Notre Dame. Stumbling upon a cultural icon is always a disorienting experience. It reminded me of a past trip to Rome, while rambling aimlessly down a street I suddenly came face to face with the Coliseum. It’s awe inspiring and somehow ordinary in the same moment. Like, yep, there it is. My first encounter with the Notre Dame was similar. A lone troubadour, complete with an artistic dirtiness and fantastic hair, filled the night air and softly played over the chattering of tourists. Everyone was facing the same direction and looking up. Gladly we arrived at night and there was no line to go inside the cathedral. Unfortunately every other time we returned the line was quite long and so we never did get a glance of the iconic stained glass in the sunlight.

Leaving the Notre Dame and in search of food, I mentioned I had heard of a side street in the area, the Rue Chanoinesse, which is one of the oldest streets in Paris. Minutes later Kevin, with his far superior eye sight, found said lane, around which we wandered for a spell until returning to modern civilization and discovering an amiable brasserie overlooking the river. I stress at this point that our French was passable but at many moments not understandable to actual French people. Regardless, we managed to communicate somewhat to our waiter and received wine, baguettes, and omelets in return. Hoping to find dessert back in Bastille, we chose what we believed to be a French café which in reality was a Lebanese restaurant. Understanding each other even less, our waiter returned with the owner, the owner returned with a free dessert in addition to the two menu items we had gone out on a limb and chosen. These included pastries similar to baklava and an orange blossom flavored gelatin. Our surprise treat was also a gelatin, but cinnamon flavored, or as we decided the menu should state, “oddly delicious liquefied, gelatinous gingerbread men.”

Feeling rather royal ourselves, Friday we ventured to Versailles. (See Kevin’s blog.) Returning from our adventures later that evening, we did as all must do at least once while in Paris and strolled down the Champs-Elysees. Although this large lane leading to the Arc de Triumph was still ripe with inspiration and filled us with awe, with plaques commemorating important historic events that happened right where we stood, the famous avenue has become the breeding ground for every brand name high street shop known in our modern world. This fact dulls the luster just a bit. After a quick visit to the Arc, we found ourselves a little crêperie. This restaurant became my favorite of our trip as it was decorated like a western salon, and after we tightly squeezed into our table we discovered there was no kitchen, but crepe pans on a stove in the center of the tiny dining room, over which large Parisian women in red and black labored creating delectable dishes. Finding ourselves even more lucky, we stumbled then upon a Christmas market where we toasted the end of a successful day with glasses of Glühwein.

After a quick visit to a local pastry shop Saturday morning, we headed towards Père Lachaise Cemetery, the largest in the city of Paris. Parisians and international ex-pats have gone to their final resting place in this “East Cemetery” for over 200 years. Some of the most visited graves include Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, both whom we visited, one of which I kissed. (Click here for a complete list of the dead elite buried there). We wandered the vast cemetery which houses avenues upon avenues of never ending striking stonework. Finding the prospect of searching out the dead using a tourist map slightly unappealing, we refused to be guided by such, and as a result found ourselves to be the only visitors to Père Lachaise without one. Therefore we coupled Kevin’s photographic memory of the entryway map with his natural sense of direction and threw in a little light stalking of some German tourists sporting maps.

Feeling particularly Parisian, we returned to the center of the city and patronized two small shops (selling wine and cheese) and a bakery. Foodstuffs in hand, we picnicked in the shadow of the Notre Dame, in a small park behind the apes. A visit to the Eiffel Tower in all its sparkling glory and dinner in the Latin Quarter rounded off out last evening in Paris.

Sunday morning we said farewell to the City of Lights in style, by gaining free entry to the Louvre, although I won’t detail here the mystical way we managed it. Having only a few hours to roam the vast wings of this massive museum, we made the acquaintance of a few choice objects and paintings. Of course we paid a visit to Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, although I found her entourage and paparazzi most interesting. Seeing the Venus de Milo made me appreciate ancient standards of beauty much more than that of the present. While some works we sought out, the Winged Victory of Samothrace (because of its artistic integrity, not at all due to its cameo in an Audrey Hepburn film), The Raft of the Medusa, Michelangelo’s Slave and The Code of Hammurabi, others we gratefully stumbled upon, such as The Wedding Feast at Cana, July 28. Liberty Leading the People, and Holbein’s 1539 Portrait of Anne of Cleves which got him, and others, in some serious hot water with Henry VIII. We left Paris full of cultural and artistic wonder, and with high hopes for an early return to what had become a beloved and familiar friend.