C'est Paris

Paris

I have a number of posts I am planning in my head and have actually been planning for some time. This is the first of those few, though not in succession. However, this is probably the most important of those words that must be written and places that must be revisited in my mind’s eye. These words will tell the stories of my adventure to and visit in the beautiful city of Paris, France.

This was my second time visiting Paris, as I had first been introduced to the romantic city last summer during my invigorating two week jaunt over the landscape of Europe. I was excited to return once more, hoping I would be able to find my way around the confusing city a bit more easily and test out my newly acquired, semester deep knowledge of the French language.

Little did I know the memorable adventure would begin before I even stepped foot out of the city of Saarbrücken. I am a Marx. With being a Marx comes the incredibly frustrating habit of frequently running late. The morning of Sunday, May 10^th was that of little exception. I have the tendency to think I have more time than I really do. Thus, I took my time making pancakes to share with friends in the short duration of our train trip. I even took time to make out the letters for Joy and Heidi’s names, thinking of the laughs and enjoyment they would get out of assembling their names and carefully choosing which letters to eat first. I took my time checking e-mails, looking at pictures I’d seen at least three times before on Facebook, drinking a cup of tea and figuring out what wardrobe ensembles would help me blend in with the Parisians. Before I knew it, it was 9:45 and I had exactly 45 minutes to put together everything I needed for my trip, wash the pile of dirty dishes from cooking, take a shower and grab extra food items. What a flurry I was in those minutes just short of an hour!

I arrived at the train station where Heidi and Joy awaited (of course) my arrival and their tickets (which were in my possession!). How thankful I was for their patience. I told them of my furious packing morning, taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself, sure that I could live without anything I may have forgotten. “Do you have your passport?” Heidi asked me. My face dropped, “Uhhh, no!” I had completely forgotten I was going to another country - it was only a two hour train ride! I offered up quick, fervent prayers to God… “PLEASE! Let me make it through the border, Lord!” Heidi and Joy attempted to calm me, assuring me that the conductor most likely would not ask for passports. I wasn’t so sure. I remembered my traveling last summer and all the times we were asked for our passports while crossing border after border. Only time would tell.

Joy and Heidi with their pancakes

We settled into our seats. I tried to remain calm, think of other things. I gave Heidi and Joy their pancakes, we commented on the lovely countryside, we took pictures and laughed together. I tried to formulate ideas of how to avoid showing my passport incase it was asked for. Run to the bathroom and hide until I was safe… what would I do if I got kicked off the train? “PASS (Passport)!” yelled the Polizei. The blood rushed out of my face, my heart skipped a few beats. What to do? What to do? I whipped out my student ID for Universität des Saarlandes and my Ohio driver’s license, hoping they would suffice. “Ich habe nur das (I only have this),” I told the officer after he had checked Joy and Heidi’s passports. “Nur das (Only this)?” he asked. I nodded, “Ich habe mein Pass vergessen (I forgot my passport).” He surveyed the IDs I offered, nodded and moved on. I couldn’t believe it! Had it really worked? Was he going to get a Polizei comrade to return and question me? The train stopped. The officers exited the train and the wagons jolted forward. YES! I was going to Paris, “Thank you Lord! Thank you Lord, thank you Lord!” “They must have been looking for someone.” Heidi said, “Plus, no person wearing pearl earrings could possibly be a threat…”

I was relieved. But don’t, dear readers, think this was the end of my train adventure. No, there is more. After some time had passed, I decided it was time to visit the facilities. We would be arriving in Paris shortly and I didn’t want to risk paying to use the toilettes. The toilette (in Europe it is toilette, not bathroom/restroom) was occupied, so I awaited my turn. I soon found myself in a high-tech, ICE (a fast moving, German train) toilette. I pressed the button to close the massive door and awaited its slow, seconds long closure. Once the door had closed I attempted to figure out how to lock the door. Finally I concluded it locked on its own, a bit nervous about the blinking red light and the accompanying sign I wasn’t completely able to understand. I continued about my business, thinking the train seemed fairly smooth as it sped along. Next thing I knew, I looked up to a door that was slowly opening on me. In fact, it was already half way open and there I stood, crouching over the porcelain king, pants down to my knees!!!!! I QUICKLY yanked my pants up, rushed to the button again, pushing it furiously. I was utterly horrified. Had anyone seen me? I know I had seen someone’s back reflected in the mirror. But what was there to do now? Nothing. This is Europe, I comforted myself. I have nothing that you couldn’t find on beaches all over Europe. I chuckled, laughed outright as I washed up… I just couldn’t believe it. Of course, I had missed the tiny print in English… “Please lock door after closure…”

The Hostel (from Heidi)

Upon our arrival in Paris, we found that none of us knew exactly where our hostel was, or how to get there. Minor details, right? Nope, this is Paris and I should have known better. In the end, our trek to the hostel only took about an hour, much better than the record 2.5 hours last summer (with 20-30 lb. packs). After stashing our luggage in the hostel locker room, we headed out to the streets of Paris. The weather was mild with the sun peaking through here and there; other times, rain clouds threatening to drop their tiny packages of wetness. We ventured to Sacré Cœur, just a block from our hostel. The building was beautiful and we chose a patch of green where we sat to enjoy our sandwiches. After a leisurely lunch, we headed to find city bikes to rent. We eventually learned American credit cards would not work in the bicycle rental machines on the streets. Oh well, what was more walking?

Sacré Cœur

We ambled among the streets, with no plan other than seeing a few famous sights as we happened upon them. First we came to Trinité-d’Estien. d’Orves, then St. Augustin, finally making our way down BD Haussmann Rue to the Arc de Triomphe. From there we headed down Avenue des Champs Elysees, toward the Louvre. We took a small detour, turning down Avenue Winston Churchill. We are Hillsdale College students, after all! A picture with the Winston Churchill statue was a must. After stopping by the Louvre to find out open hours for the next day’s visit, the three of us headed back in the direction of our hostel. We found a little restaurant to satisfy our hungry bellies. We split a bottle of wine, chuckling at our waiter, a funny, old French man. The food was not too great, I suppose you get what you pay for sometimes – who would have thought!? Once we made it back to the hostel, two more friends welcomed our arrival. Joy’s friend Thomas, who studied with her in Oxford and his friend, Glynis. We shared stories, checked into our rooms and tucked in for a little shut eye before our big Louvre adventure that awaited us in the morning.

Arc de Triomphe

Excellent French croissants and strong, smooth coffee sweetened with warm milk and sugar. What a fine breakfast it was! Thomas shared his knowledge of what “real” croissants should be like – they shouldn’t stretch when you pull them apart. I’d say these croissants past the test. Yummy! After we had filled our stomachs with the light, delicious breakfast, we jumped onto the metro to the Louvre. Musee du Louvre: It was massive. It was impressive. It was overwhelming. It was confusing. It was delightful. It was free. It was historical. It was cultural. It was fantastic.

The Louvre

I saw the Mona Lisa. She was crowded around by at least 50 people. People shoved, pushed and elbowed to get closer. I slipped in between shoulders and waited behind a person in the front – patiently awaiting my turn to take a picture. I stepped to the front and found myself barred from really appreciating the painting. A wood “fence” stood in my way and 10 feet later, another barrier and then three more feet, a large glass case. This is a much prized, revered and sought after painting. I think it’s sad no one can really, truly appreciate it. As things often happen in life – a beautiful, extraordinary work has become so worshipped, so widely-known that no one really appreciates it simply for what it is. Instead, people rush to the gallery, shove their way in to snap picture after picture and then leave without stopping to contemplate the workmanship, the talent. It is as if the name has become greater than the work.

Mona Lisa

I also saw Psyche and Cupid by Canova, The Dying Slave by Michelangelo, The Winged Victory of Samothrace, The Wedding Feast at Cana by Véronése, Self-Portrait by Dürer, Pierrot by J.-A. Watteau and paintings by one of my personal favourites – Caspar David Friedrich. The works of art everywhere were incredible. I found myself wishing I knew art and artists better. Which pieces were vital to see? Which pieces should I take extra time observing? What histories were behind each piece? In truth, there were so many excellent pieces it was almost too much. I don’t know that I actually appreciated all that I saw because everything came at once, everything right in front of me. By the time 5 o’clock had rolled around, I was ready for a change in scenery, I was ready to stop looking at art. My feet were tired from standing all morning and afternoon, I could no longer appreciate the artwork. What people say is true, you could easily take a few days to see the Louvre. If I really wanted to take the time to appreciate the art, I would need days.

The Winged Victory of Samothrace

From the Louvre we headed to the Eiffel tower. We climbed the stairs to the second viewing deck, looking out over the cloud covered city. It was windy and chilly, but the view was thrilling. We had fun looking from point to point over the ground we had covered in our walks throughout the city. It is as if the city goes for miles and miles and miles. I was happy to see the city in daylight, as I had seen it lit up from the tower last summer. However, I would still suggest night over day. There is just something so romantically beautiful about the city at night.

View of Paris from the Eiffel Tower

Once we descended the tower, we crossed the street over to Palais de Chaillot. It was delightful to stand and listen to a band of sailor clad, bagpipe players. The show was wonderful. There were horns and pipes and wonderful blue, white and red outfits. The men looked dashing in their old-fashioned sailor garb. Why were there bagpipes in Paris, France? I have no idea. But I loved it. Once the others succeeded in dragging me away from the performance, we found a little crêpe joint. I ordered first, testing my French to order a crêpe avec jambon, œuf et fromage (crêpe with ham, egg and cheese). It was warm and delicious and my tummy was happy. Especially when followed up with a crêpe with Nutella… yum!

We returned once more to the Arc de Triomphe – Glynis and Thomas hadn’t seen it yet. The arc was absolutely lovely all lit up at night. Once it was sufficiently dark, we returned to the Eiffel Tower, seeing it lit up at night is a must. We stood in awe, taking pictures and enjoying one another’s company. The others were shocked when the tower started glittering on the hour. Their astonishment made it magical for me all over again. The things that light can make one feel.

The Eiffel Tower glittering

After some time at the tower, we returned to our hostel, wiped out from our day of standing, walking, tasting new things, smelling new smells, seeing masterpieces and trying to communicate. I arose early Tuesday morning for my trip back to Saarbrücken – it’s important to not miss class when you only have it two days a week. I’m happy I returned to Paris. I’m happy I saw new things. I wonder if and when I will return for a third round of Parisian adventure.