Bisous de Paris!
So, Paris. Where to begin?
I loved it, absolutely, wholeheartedly. It was amazing (I may run out of adjectives). It smelled so good, it tasted so good, it sounded so good, looked so good, felt so good. Every sense was richly rewarded just for being there. I so doleful when I left that the only thing I could do to cheer myself up was eat pain au chocolat in the aeroport (where they confiscated my ginormous gift of Nutella) and to speak French on the way home - even to the poor confused looking cashiers in the Abu Dhabi aeroport.
From the departure moment, when I discovered I wouldn't have travel-sickness on the flight, I really enjoyed the trip. Etihad Airways are actually fantastic, and even though the travel time from departure to destination was about 20 hours, it ended up being quite manageable. Nerves only rejoined the party in Paris when the person who was supposed to meet me was running late. Anyway, he looked quite flustered when he arrived so I forgave him instantly (and also he spoke to me in French, which makes everything forgiveable--as soon as shop assistants revert to English with the students, they became unpopular in our books).
So my first thoughts on Paris were the best, because once you came inwards from the Périphique (the road that encircles Paris) everything looks exactly as you expect it too--which was fantastic as I'd forgotten to lower my expectations to prevent disappointment. There were bistrots on every street and all of them frequented, nothing like the dregs of customers that barely keep the cafés in Hilton alive. The little bakeries--patisseries et boulangeries du coin--gave off such smells and served hot fresh croissants, pain au chocolat, macaroons, pain noir and baguettes every day but Sundays, and there were bookshops as common as tobacconists which thrilled me so much. When I first went in I nearly burst into appreciative tears for the little shop stuffed with stationery, postcards, Asterix, Tintin, and just about every French classic, translated English classic and many current bestsellers too, like Les Jeux de la Faim, Eragon and Temptation (French title for Twilight--can you believe it!) My luggage returned far heavier for carrying an unabridged Notre Dame de Paris, Harry Potter et l'école des Sorciers (whose names are sometimes changed :) Le Petit Prince and even Le Fantôme de l'Opéra (but that I bought at the Opéra Garnier itself). (Can't believe I just said that).
We stayed at this pretty little historic school called Eugène Napoléon III. The story goes that Napoleon was going to give his wife Eugene an extravagant diamond necklace as a gift, but she requested instead that the money be given to establish a school for poor girls, and so this school was built--in the shape of a diamond/a necklace. From this side, it seems an insane chance that I had to go over, but from there, you see a well-established institute whose dorms and teachers would otherwise lie dormant during the summer, so they've put together these courses for French students. For example, there was another group (mainly Germans) whose parents had sent them for another course running at the same time as ours. So I think the various French embassies just put out various competitions (some won for photography, or creative writing or even singing) and sponsored the winners on this course.
The itinery was straightforward: we have class from 9-12 everyday which was basically an art discussion. Quel rêve--discussing French artists and masterpieces in French in Paris. I felt absolutely giddy with the glee of it. Afterwards there was lunch and we went sightseeing. We had our guide, André, who was very knowledgeable and enthusiastic about everything. He also had a great sense of humour, and was willing to enhance our experience in any way we could. Actually we all grew quite attached to him. He told us we were one of the best groups he's ever had the pleasure of leading (and when I joked that he probably said that to everyone, he was adamant that it was true and told us of some other groups and their boredom) (how?!). There were actually a few tears when we had to say goodbye. And he seemed to share my lack of appreciation for modern art and we were both completely enchanted by the same places--l'Opéra Garnier, the Louvre and Versailles.
There is simply too much to be condensed into a reasonable e-mail (even my long ones) [yes, I have dared to post my newsletter as a blog, again!], so I will try to be brief, and only deal with my favourites. Having done Classical Art history, and being absolutely fascinated with the architecture and the history of the 18th century, and seeing all of it in real life, I must admit that the Modern art museums we visited (Maison Rouge, Palais Tokyo and Georges Pompidou) couldn't inspire my interest beyond a mere flicker, especially once we'd seen the former. From day one, in the Louvre (it seems bizarre now, but we couldn't believe that on that day one could simply take the metro to the Louvre--the mind reels), I developed a very superior disdain for tourists. As a French speaker and educated on the culture and art of Paris--even if only seeing it then for the first time--I could somehow find a reason to hold myself in higher esteem than the hordes of sweaty, T-shirted foreigners swinging their cameras, ipads and cellphones high above their heads to take a picture of the Mona Lisa. It felt so soulless. People only appreciated her, and the Eiffel Tower, for their being the emblematic souvenirs to say "I was there." It was so crowded that it was a relief to leave. And there were so many things to see that we just bypassed--I kept spotting things as we hurried after our museum tour-guide and exclaiming to myself in wonder, I studied that. The Nike of Samathrace, for instance, was one beauty that even herds of shouting bodies couldn't diminish. There was so little time. So many places I just wanted absolute silence so I could sit and drink in the atmosphere, imagine those tall stone halls emptied of bustling, and just imagine instead the soft swish of some courtier's dress. It was simply incredible.
At the Musée d'Orsay, I stared at Olympia, finally able to see the brushstrokes and smooth oil paint that made that porcelain tone of her skin, and the dust collecting in Van Gogh's generous globs of colour. I saw the lights of Paris twinkle as twilight faded from the 2nd floor of the Eiffel Tower and the bright lights that made it twinkle (clignotte) every hour after darkness had fallen. In the Opéra, I must confess I wandered around torn between a pensive awe, a furious hunger to open my mouth in the greatest music I could think of, and a passionate frenzy to see, absorb, hear and experience everything there was in the building, from the dollops of sandstone ballustrading on the grand staircase, to the filligree details of every ornate carving, every painted cupid on the ceiling, every chandelier of candles. Leaving would have been too soon, no matter how much time I had in there. We walked along the Seine, and found the famously fantastic bookshop Shakespeare and Company (which I now realize has featured in many, if not every one, of my favourite films) and artisan ice creams (Bertillone's) thanks to Noam, our friend from Israel. We saw the views of Paris from Les Galeries Lafayette, and walked the cobbles of Montmartre, between Moulin Rouge and Moulin de la Gallette, between crêpe-vendors, tourist shops, large paintings of Paris and windows surrounded by stones and ivy, or filled with small gold carousels.
In Sacre Coeur I must admit, I was actually upset by the commercialisation. At the door, there are marshals to insist on the taking off of hats, silence and the interdiction of photos, and yet inside, there are vending machines for souvenir coins and the candles are one sale for 2 or 10 euro. The paganism of the place disgusted and depressed me that I couldn't bear to stay inside at all. Praise God for that experience though, because by the time I got to Notre Dame, I was prepared for it. On Sunday night, we went to the cinéma en plein air, where they broadcasted on a huge screen in front of a grassy square (in front of Invalides) a 1960s French musical (Les Demoiselles de Roqueford), where I was most delighted with the surprise appearance of Gene Kelly. We lounged on the grass, sipping wine and eating raspberries and chocolate, until midnight, and wandered to the Champs Elysées to find the metro. We walked through scenes from the movie Amélie, like the St Martin canal (where she skipped stones), the café where she worked, and saw Edith Piaf, Antoine St-Exupéry and Oscar Wilde's grave in person (anyone remember that scene from Paris, Je T'Aime? There is now two barricades preventing film enthusiasts from kissing it).
Versailles was another place of magic for me. On a hot day, the tourists in the morning (by Saturday, our classes were ended so we spent entire days sight-seeing) were insufferable, especially as the crowds added to the heat. Much to my surprise, despite earlier declarations of disgust for the intricacy and opulence of the chambers, each room had its own awe-inspiring presence. And the statues! Planted like confetti in every alcove, every 10 metres, and in the gardens, each as marvelous as the next. Heavy fabrics, leather boots, curly hair, brocades, beards, papers and lace, all perfectly and deftly immortalised in stone--stone!
And then there were the gardens; great colossal oak avenues, neat, swirling, geometric shrubbery, a fountain of tiny white flowers and cascades of colour. Mazes, columnades, gold statues in musical fountains, there was no end to the wonders there. During the summer they do a program where they play chamber music in the gardens and on your map, you're given the names of the scores for each garden. In the more famous fountains the waters are programmed to dance to the operas and the waltzes. It was breathtaking. And it closed at 5:30. With at least 4 more daylight hours, it seemed pure selfishness. We wandered down avenues, past the boating in the Grand Canal and ice cream stalls sweetly hidden in the trees and mazes, and walked all the way to Grand Trianon and Petit Trianon "cottage palaces" if such a name could exist, for Marie Antionette when the terrific grandeur of Versailles was too much. And the we just had time to find the entrance to her Hamlet--where she used to play at being a milkmaid (!), and the prettiest, quaintest countryside life I've ever seen--and to discover we didn't have the time or the tickets to go in before we had to rejoin the rest of the group. That evening after supper, some friends and went to go and visit Notre Dame and sat watching it light up as the twilight came on, and then the firedancers came out and performed at its feet.
And then there was Notre Dame. Inspiring horror, mystery, awe, magic and romance in my child's imagination since the release of the Disney film, there is still something of magic that mingles in the air around the cathedral. Despite the disappointment I suffered when I was eight years old and saw it for the first time, and was bitterly surprised by its tinyness in comparison to the film, there is still room for wonder as you sit in the square and stare up to the majestic heights of its bell towers. A colossal Gothic structure almost 100 years in the building, it is said, rising from the dark ages of medieval history, she reigns over the other buildings, populated with hundreds upon thousands of saints, angels and gargoyles, siphoning aqueducts down the slopes of her roof, past the great rose windows, and ending in a fountain of stone and glass behind, in a garden of trees and flowers. Unfortunately, most of the great bells are no longer in existence, and the one great one left--the Emmanuel Bell--is only rung on special occasions. I found it on youtube once. By the measure of great, resonating, rich sound there was in the square that morning, imagine the strength needed to work them. Having read the original classic, I am still captured by the eternal question of who rang the bells. Reading Victor Hugo is like reading a story and a history, and when he comes to describe Notre Dame, it is with such poetry, such detail and such care, it is mesmerising. I was desperate to see every detail, every corner, every view he described.
Inside, there is a silence of reverence. There is the beatific sound of hushed movement whispering off the walls. Once during a mass service, the bishop sang the prayers, and the tones fell from deep inside the stone as his congregation sang it softly back to him. The great black and white flagstones, giant arches of stone, galleries, windows and vaulted ceilings were just exactly what the Disney film had taught me to love and remember (although on a far smaller scale), and its height gave, even the daylight, a sort of reverent shadow from any glaring light. It was a gentle, humble majesty, and the halls were submerged in mystery--I could have stayed there for hours and never known the difference.
Unfortunately though, there was no time to go up to the bell towers, something I really regret.
I must stop now, before I bore you, but hopefully that will satisfy (or drown) any curiousity you may have had about my trip. Needless to say it was utterly fantastic and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I met some fantastic people from Belgium, Venezuela, Russia, Bosnia, Cape Verde, Benin, Mexico, Montenegro, Thailand, Japan and Israel and do keep in touch with the close friends on facebook. I had a long conversation with Liesl the other night, in French, over skype, because we missed it so much. Another fantastic thing was my friend Teen, after I casually invited her to tea under the Eiffel Tower, actually came from Denmark and stayed in a youth hostel in Paris for a couple of the days I was there.
So now, the travel bug has not only bitten, it has CHOMPED, and sunk its teeth in properly.
We'll have to see what the Lord holds for next year. God willing, some more.
Love you all tons. Send news.
God bless,
Bisous!
