So this is the true beauty of studying in Europe. I finished my final nineteenth century novel tutorial last Wednesday at one in the afternoon, and was in Paris by eight that night. Where else can you have that ease of travel and location? I snagged a quick train out of Oxford to Paddington, and then had two hours to get from Paddington to St. Pancras, the international train station. Out of cheapness and my adventurous spirit, I declined to take the easy tube ride between the two, and opted to walk the two and a half miles. What I didn't take into account was that I had my backpack carrying all of my belongings for the five day excursion with me. I was a little more tired than I planned when I eventually got to the station, but the sights were entirely worth it. I just walked along Marylebone Road, checking out all the fantastic buildings and people along the way, and stopping for a little break in Regent's Park to read the newspaper. It was a beautiful day, and perfect for the walk. I even had to take off my jacket while plodding along! Actually, for the most part, we had beautiful weather the entire trip, and I can assure you that's not a common occurrence in these parts.
The train trip itself was a tad disappointing. St. Pancras was beautiful, more like an airport terminal than a train station. I had to put my bag through x-ray screening, pass through a metal detetctor, show my passport, the works. But after that, I got to sit on these plush chairs while waiting for them to open the platform for boarding. It was a boring ride, which one could argue is a pretty comforting thing for a train trip. There were few passengers, it was quiet, and I just sat down with my book (Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, an apt choice considering my destination). We went through the chunnel, which I had built into a big deal in my head, but really isn't. Not quite sure what I had imagined, but whatever it was, this ride definitely did not meet it. We left the station and traveled through a couple small tunnels, to the extent that once we were finally in the chunnel, I didn't realize it until we were out and in France! Even after that, we still had about an hour to travel through the French countryside until we pulled into the Gare du Nord (North Station) in Paris. I hopped on the Metro from there and took it out to the Anatole France station on the northwest side of town. We were staying at the Courtyard Marriot out there. They had provided a map from the Metro to the hotel, but it wasn't exactly specific, so I turned the wrong way out of the Metro station and didn't realize my mistake until I'd walked about ten or fifteen minutes. After retracing my steps, and setting off in the correct direction, I was at least a half hour late in getting to the hotel.
I promised Mom that I'd try to write a blog about this trip without once mentioning my family (having successfully done so thus far), but I find I'm not up for the challenge (we'll ignore the potential implications for my hopeful future writing career). It's true, I was meeting my family at the hotel. Well, it was a slightly smaller and less angsty family as it were, Tanner being at a sectional swim meet in Washington (he actually chose that over Paris!). Now, those who know my parents might posit that my being more than fifteen minutes late to finding them in a foreign country could lead to some elevated heart rates and rampant paranoia. This was indeed the case. As I was walking down the quiet, residential street toward the hotel, I saw a man walk out and look up and down the street. I waved at him, and he waved back. Thus I greeted my dad in Paris, just this hesitant acknowledgment from a hundred meters away. I gave him a big hug when I finally got there. We went upstairs to say hi to Mom, who had just walked out of the room, prepared to scour all Paris for me. Yes, some things never change. We called Spencer down (he and I had a room a few floors up), and we had our little family reunion there in the small hotel room. Two months had elapsed since I'd seen them, but it felt like it had only been a week. A perfect way to see them again. We called it an early night, since they were all suffering from some pretty severe jet lag, having arrived in Europe earlier that morning, and I needed some rest after finishing the worst of my studies. I just happened to catch a glimpse out the window before I fell asleep, and saw the illuminated Eiffel Tower shining out on the dazzling Paris cityscape. Welcome to Paris!
In typical Roe fashion, we awoke early and set out on the town, hopping on the Metro into town, and coming out just beyond the Arc di Triomphe, the triumphal arch Napoleon erected to usher heroes and armies properly back into the city. It's almost like the heart of the city, as it sits in the center of a roundabout, with eight roads leading straight to it. We grabbed a quick breakfast at a patisserie right there. I had a pain au chocoloat, a croissant-like pastry with a chocolate center. Wonderful way to start off the morning. We went out to the enormous roundabout of the Arc, and tried to find a way to the center. It seemed to require a mad dash across five indescriminate lanes of traffic, cars weaving in and out of the mob in an unceasing flow. Not exactly optimal conditions for dodging traffic. Thankfully, before I tried the death run, Spencer wisely pointed out that there were stairwells going underground that led to the center. He was definitely the voice of reason here. We walked through the tunnel beneath the road and came up under the Arc. At the ticket office, we purchased two day museum passes, which get you into just about anything. Highly recommended if you make a trip there anytime soon. We climbed up the fifty odd meters to the top of the Arc, passing through the various galleries and such within. The view from the top was excellent. We were able to look down each of the eight roads leading to it, and could see all sorts of spires and domes rising up over the common Parisian buildings. Naturally, the Eiffel Tower was a prominent draw for the eye.
After making the much easier hike down the Arc steps, we walked down the famed Champs-Elysees. I couldn't possibly give you a phonetic spelling of that, but be assured, it's not said like it's spelled. This is the fashionable street of Paris, something like Fifth Avenue in New York. Fashionable clothing stores all along the way, movie theaters, auto shops, contrasted with the numerous homeless people and foreigners asking for money. We walked all the way down there, admiring grandiose structures such as the Grand Palais and the Hotel des Invalides along the way. Eventually, we arrived at the Place de la Concorde, the site of several beheadings of the Revolution, including that of Marie Antoinette, commemorated by a giant obelisk. Directly beyond that was the entrance to Jardin des Tuilleries, the gardens right outside the Louvre. We stopped there at a little outdoor eatery for some lunch in preparation for an epic tour of the Louvre. Okay, it wasn't that epic, seeing as how it would allegedly take weeks to read through every caption in the gigantic museum. We managed to accomplish a tour in three hours. Insufficient? Possibly. We went in with a game plan though, intending to focus on 16th, 17th, and 18th century European art, as well as some sculptures. That at least narrowed things a bit. By the way, if you've seen M. Night Shyamalan's The Happening, the final scene was shot there, just outside one of the wings of the Louvre. Spence and I were straining our ears for any suspicious screams. We walked up to the entrance to the museum, a piece of art in and of itself. It's an enormous glass pyramid, with escalators leading down to the expansive lobby. We saw paintings from all over the broad European Renaissance spectrum, including artists from Flanders, the Netherlands, France, Spain, and Italy. Naturally, we saw La Gioconda, or the Mona Lisa. It had an entire wall all to itself, was covered with several layers of undoubtedly bullet-proof glass, and was mobbed by tourists. We all saw the famed sculptures Venus de Milo and Winged Victory of Samothrace. I think my favorite artists were Rubens and David. Another highlight was seeing a fashion show going on in a pavillion set up in one of the courtyards. After our brief view of the Louvre's treasures, we emerged on one side and walked along the Seine. We took that over to the island in the center of Paris, purportedly the site of the origins of the city, over two thousand years ago. On the island is the famed Notre Dame cathedral, as well as several other fantastic buildings, including the Palace of Justice, the Saint Chapelle chapel, and the Conciergerie, the last two of which we toured. Saint Chapelle has one of the most incredible displays of stained glass I've ever seen. The walls are almost entirely glass, and the west wall shone brilliantly in the fading sunlight. The conciergerie was used as a prison during the Revolution. We grabbed a light dinner at a nearby deli, as well as some cookies, before heading over to Notre Dame, which was everything I'd hoped it to be, although I was expecting bigger gargoyles. I attribute the misunderstanding to Disney. We were just in time to appreciate their evensong service, which, despite being sung in French, and being commercialized in a way, what with all the tourists, was beautiful. We hopped on the Metro from there and took it over to the Eiffel Tower, which was again lit up for the evening. We just walked around the base of it and explored a little of the Champs de Mars nearby before heading over to a restaurant for some late night chips (French fries or frites) and drinks. It was the first time we've all had drinks together. Spencer, Dad, and I all had a beer. It's a new era.
The next day, we started it all over again. This day was a little easier in terms of battling fatigue when we found a complimentary coffee/tea table in the hotel lobby. They even had the English breakfast tea that I've come to crave so much! We started the morning at the Place de la Bastille. We emerged from the Metro station to see a tall monument crowned with a statue of Mercury, but no prison. Apparently we weren't entirely informed on French history. We'd been hoping for at least some remnant of the famous prison, the storming of which sparked the French Revolution, but the prison was torn down two days after the great event. Only the monument exists on the plaza in the middle of another roundabout. We walked from there through some less touristy residential areas to the Pantheon, the memorial to France's fallen heroes. The structure was imposing, modeled by its architect Soufflot after St. Peter's in Rome. It's walls were decorated with vast murals commemorating France's history a giant pendulum, attributed to Foucault, hung from the central dome, and statues around the wide space captured the spirit of the Revolution. The crypt beneath the building was staggering. Its length spanned the length of the building above, and the tombs held the bodies of many of France's most acclaimed citizens. Notables for me were the graves of Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo (remember, I'm currently reading Hugo - so cool!), the Curies (famous chemists), and Jean Jacques Rousseau, the famed philosopher whom we read in my political science class last spring. Directly next to the Pantheon was Paris's renowned university, the Sorbonne. Just down the road was one of Paris's notable gardens, the Jardin du Luxembourg. Prior to arriving at the garden, Mom and Dad realized that they were hungry for what they termed "real food." Spence and I are still unsure to what they referred, since we'd been enjoying French cuisine all this time. We soon found out when they discovered a McDonald's right on that street corner. Yes, we went to Paris, and we had McDonald's. Sigh. Spencer refused to order anything on principle, but I may have given into some frites. We carried our "meal" into the nearby garden and sat down on a bench to soak in the beautiful springy day, and the ready-to-bloom surroundings. Spencer discovered a crepe stand nearby, and he and I further appreciated the tastes of France. I got a nutella and cannelle crepe (nutella - a chocolate/hazelnut European product - and cinnamon), which was a delicious snack.
We walked farther through the gardens, and emerged on one side, following some narrow streets to the chapel of Saint Sulpice. Sound familiar? If so, that's because it's from Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code. It's the chaple that contains the "Rose Line." It is a beautiful gothic structure, and was actually never entirely finished. One bell tower was never completed. The interior was dim and gloomy, and an organist (perched in an organ on one side of the chapel, probably about thirty feet about the floor, almost like a nest) was playing dark, minor music. Creepy. But off the nave, in one of the transepts, sat a giant obelisk, from the base of which ran the so-called "Rose Line." There was a note directly next to it that refuted all of Dan Brown's creative fictionalization of the line. Apparently, the meridian line was church-sanctioned, and used for scientific inquiry in the sixteen hundreds. This is the same church that has the letters P and S engraved in the back, which Dan Brown took to mean "Priory of Sion," but which really stand for Peter and Sulpice, the two saints to which the church was dedicated. It was an incredible clash of pop culture and history.
From there, we plodded along the streets of Paris back to the Seine, and walked from there down to the Musee d'Orsay to visit the Louvre rejects: the Impressionists. It was an interesting building, constructed something like an old train station, yet housing priceless works of art from artists such as van Gogh and Monet. We ranged around there for a couple hours, but the Roe family seemed to be museumed-out by this point. We traded in the sights of the beautiful paintings for the more vibrant, living sights of the crowds in line for the Eiffel Tower. I was gung-ho for climbing all the way to the top, but I think we were all feeling a little fatigued, so we opted to take the lift to the top, which required waiting in line for nearly an hour. It was entirely worth it. You can see all of Paris from the top of the famous tower. Lifts and stairs run up each of the legs of the towers, meeting at the first stop about halfway up. From there, we hopped on another lift that took us straight to the top. We were lucky that it wasn't a very windy day! The sun was just beginning its descent when we got up there, so we got to watch the sun setting over the Seine, which was beautiful. When we got down, it was dinner time. I had received some restaurant recommendations from friends who'd visited before, and we decided to try one of those, which happened to be within a stone's throw of the Pantheon. We saw the outside, which more closely resembled a ghost town tavern than a thriving restaurant, and immediately retreated down the street. So much for that. It couldn't have worked out more perfectly though. In our hasty street, we happened to literally stumble upon another restaurant (this one actually had people and lights, a good start) that was magnifique. It was one of those mom-and-pop places that are so highly recommended, where we were served by the matron of the house herself. She barely spoke English, and so made her recommendations to us by pointing vehemently at menu items and kissing her fingers with exclamation. I ordered this chicken pasta that was one of her grandmother's recipes! And, embracing the true French meal, we got a bottle of wine to go with it. When in Paris, right?
The next day, we journeyed outside the Parisian city limits. We hopped on a train out to Chartres, a little town about an hour to the southwest of Paris. This was probably my favorite part of the trip. I loved small-town France. The streets were cobbled, the tourists were at a minimum, and the buildings had this very uncommercial aspect that was difficult to find in Paris. The best part was the cathedral. You literally walk out of the dinky little station, and there is the cathedral up on a hill, overlooking the city, dominating the landscape, and commanding your attention. It was begun in the 1190s, so I guess it's kinda old. However, they had to stop construction because they ran out of money (that seems to have been a common problem with these projects), so the second spire wasn't completed until 400 years after the first! They were made in completely different styles, and one is several meters taller than the other. The stained glass in the cathedral has been preserved since the 1300s, which is incredible considering France's history. Apparently, they removed the stained glass during both world wars, just in case. Also fascinating was the labyrinth on the floor of the cathedral. It's a maze literally drawn out on the floor of the nave, a practice apparently employed in many cathedrals around Europe at one point. However, for some reason, the practice was stopped and nearly all labyrinths were erased from cathedral floors. Somehow, this one has survived. I can't pretend to know the significance of it. However, I did find it interesting that, when intially etched into the floor, a plaque was placed in its centre that depicted Theseus defeating the Minotaur. Nothing like a little mixing of religion and mythology. I was told that the cathedral was so exactly constructed, that if you were to fold down the front wall of the cathedral so that it rested on the floor, the rose window would line up with the lines of the labyrinth to within two centimeters. All this with tools of the middle ages! Man can accomplish some staggering things. Said rose window, by the way, is said to be one of the most famous in the world, Notre Dame's being another contender.
After visiting the cathedral, we toured around the town for awhile, stopping in at shops along the way, munching on a baguette, and soaking up the provincial French feel.
We eventually made our way back to the train station and there boarded a train back toward Paris for our second stop of the day. Just outside Paris, we stopped at the town of Versailles, home to the famed palace. The golden gates of the palace ushered us in to the extravagance of the French aristocracy. The place was obnoxiously glamorous, approaching sensory overload. Every room was decorated thoroughly; there was scarcely an inch of wall left unadorned. Paintings covered each ceiling (each comparing the king in some way to the gods of Olympus) and many of the walls, tapestries were draped willy-nilly, busts and sculptures loomed out of corners, and mirrors (a huge luxury at the time of its construction) were in profusion. The Hall of Mirrors bore testament to this. We were able to see the king's bedchambers as well as Marie Antoinette's bedchamber. I had to point out to Mom that my refurbished room (the guest room) bore a striking resemblance to Marie Antoinette's. Hmmm...
We made the tour of the entire palace (or at least what was available for viewing) before heading out to the grounds and gardens, which stetched for miles. After seeing this, it's pretty easy to understand why the French revolted. After touring the extensive grounds for awhile, we eventually headed back into town and back to the train station. Once back in Paris, we found a little Italian restaurant for dinner. It was our last meal together after a very brief, whirlwind reunion.
The next morning, we had to get up early for Mom, Dad, and Spencer's flight out. They wanted to get to the airport early (wise, I discovered later, since security and passport lines made them reach their plane five minutes before takeoff!), but I didn't have to leave from Gare du Nord until that afternoon. I joined them on the Metro heading toward the airport, but stayed on when they got off. We had to make our final farewells on the Metro, which isn't exactly the best place for such events, but it had to serve in this instance. Falling exactly halfway through my studies abroad, this had been just the time I needed to see my family, and it was really tough to say goodbye after having just been reunited with them. But we parted with the understanding that two months will fly by, as it indeed already is. Once the goodbyes had been said, I continued on the the Metro to the Opera Garnier, carrying all my belongings in a backpack on my shoulders. It being around eight o'clock on a Sunday morning, the opera house wasn't open, and the area around it was still sleeping. There was even a homeless man sleeping on the steps. I had secretly been hoping that this was the opera house used as the basis for The Phantom of the Opera, but it didn't seem to be. If anyone knows either way, I'd definitely be interested in hearing. Beautiful building either way though. I went from there to the Hotel des Invalides, the final resting place of Napoleon Bonaparte. I walked around the perimeter of the expansive building and grounds, but didn't go in. Too much to see, and too little time. In the spirit of most French opulent architecture, the dome of the chapel of Invalides is flaked with gold, making it pretty identifiable from any point in Paris. From there, it was on to Saint Germain des Pres, allegedly Paris's oldest standing church. I wasn't able to enter, due to Sunday services, so I moved on to the Seine after admiring the fire-blackened exterior. I spent the next couple hours wandering the
banks of the river, crossing and recrossing it, checking out anything that looked worthwhile. I eventually grabbed lunch at a little sandwich shop and ate in a mini garden outside a smaller chapel. This garden was bizarre, perhaps modeled after Spenser's Bower of Bliss. There were cardboard cutouts of people all over the place, some of them wearing clothes, others not, some kissing, some embracing, some just lounging. Truly bizarre. It rivaled the mannequins of Edinburgh. To top it off, a French lady approached me and asked for a cigarette. All was made better when this two year old Norwegian girl walked up to me, stopped a couple feet away, and just stared at me with these huge brown eyes. It was adorable. I continued in my trek from there, seeing some fantastic churches and monuments, walking by the Hotel de Ville (I couldn't help thinking of 101 Dalmations - Disney strikes the imagination again!), and eventually crossing over to the island where Notre Dame is situated. There, just behind Notre Dame, I found the Memorial de la Deportation, a park/museum dedicated to French concentration camp victims. The museum is buried beneath the park grounds, a series of stone walkways cut out of the island's interior. It was a fairly sobering experience, especially when I saw the chamber whose walls were lined with over 200,000 quartz crystals, each commemorating a French citizen killed in the Nazi concentration camps. Another testament to yet another incredible epoch in this country's complex history.
I walked back past Notre Dame one last time on my way back to the Metro, which I took to the the far east side of town, where the Cimitiere Pere Lachaise is situated. I was figuring it would be just another cemetary, and I could see some typical French graves, maybe a few famous people, then move on in my sight-seeing extravaganza. Not the case here. I've never seen anything like this cemetary in my life, and I don't have anything to compare it with. It must have been nearly a square mile in size, every square inch covered with a family monument or private tombstone, many of them fashioned in Gothic architecture. Some of the headstones even looked like miniature cathedrals. The huge draw to the cemetary is the hundreds of famous people who now call it home, most of them French, a couple of them foreign. Among my favorites were Frederic Chopin, Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Balzac, Bizet, Gay-Lussac (another famous chemist), Edith Piaf; the list was extraordinary. Now, I thought it would be easy to find all of these graves, snap a quick picture, and move on to the next. Not so. In an hour of ranging over the vast cemetary (which was conveniently situated on a hill - what a joyous time lugging my backpack around that place!) I only found Chopin and Morrison. Like I said, I've never experienced anything like it. The cemetary even had its own chapel and enormous crematorium compound.
After retreating from the cemetary in frustration at getting lost and not finding everything, I hopped back on the Metro (very hot by this time - it was a perfect, sunny day, but not ideal for backpacking) and took it to my last Parisian stop: Basilique du Sacre Coeur. I'm still not sure if it was wise to finish with this incredible basilica. It was an extremely beautiful sight: constructed of white stone, dominating the city from atop a hill (also fun to climb with said backpack - am I beginning to whine too much?), but it was tourist central, especially on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The steps leading up to the basilica were littered with throngs of people. There were literally only narrow avenues on either side of the steps to move up or down. Most people were just lounging on the steps or on the grassy hill alongside. On a pillar at the top of the steps, a man from Africa, advertised as being a "football freestyler" was juggling a soccer ball, doing all sorts of tricks I hadn't even considered before. The interior of the basilica was just as crowded, but I was able to sit down, rest my shoulders, and soak in the beauty and grandeur of the space. Definitely a place I'd like to visit again at a less-busy time. Walking back down the congested street leading to the Metro station, I stopped at a crepe stand and had a banana nutella crepe, the best I'd had in my time in Paris. Highly recommended should you get the chance. Munching on that (wrapped in a napkin for convenient travel purposes), I walked back to the Metro and took it back to the Gare du Nord for my train out. No problems on this journey either, thankfully, although it was much more crowded than my ride in. Delightfully, my carriage seemed to be screaming baby central. But I just pulled out Les Mis and sat contentedly reading, glancing occasionally at the passing French countryside (that is, until we were again in that tunnel which you realize only at the end is the chunnel). I was even able to fool the French lady sitting next to me that I was French with my reading of Les Mis! She tried striking up a conversation with me in French, and when I responded "Parle-vous Anglais?" she gestured to my book, and I opened it to show her it was an English translation. Once back at St. Pancras, it was a short tube trip (I didn't exactly have the stamina to backpack it across London in the same day) to Paddington, and a relaxing train ride back to Oxford station. Walking back to my empty, dark room (my roommate is only in the room at odd hours) was a little different than walking back to a hotel room to see Spencer, but it was nice to be back nonetheless.
Overall, a perfect trip. It was just the time to see my family, and what better place to see them again. My favorite place was Chartres, and my favorite Parisian sights were the Cimitiere Pere Lachaise and the Pantheon. One could posit from this I have a fascination with the macabre and morbid. Very possibly. Now, I'm just back in Oxford, touring the city, and waiting for classes to resume on Monday. Send me an email or skype me if you have the time, because I've got nothing else going on! I'll hopefully get some photos of my various adventures up here soon. Till then, cheers!
