Paris was a test of survival.
From the moment we got off the plane late at night and every form of public transit was closed or under constructions, we had reached the first part of our trip that wasn't conforming to our organization and preparedness. We ended up paying for a taxi to our hostel, madly googling on slow airport wifi the proper manners and rules in accordance to a French Taxi. He was very nice though, even being so considerate as to change his classical music to an English pop station. Appreciated but unnecessary. We splurged on a nice hostel close to the heart of Paris, knowing that by the end of our adventure, we would be ready for a four person room with our own bathroom. And it was heavenly.
We woke the next morning to take a nice stroll down the canals right outside our hostel. The only way I can describe the feel was 'Parisian'. No one was walking around in berets with baguettes yet the canals, the buildings, the layout of the streets - even the ducks - somehow felt distinctly French.
The next day was devoted to museums. I had been warned over and over again how vast and time consuming the Louvre could be and we planned to tackle both it and the Musee d'Orsay in one day. Honestly, one of my favorite parts of Paris are probably the museums. The buildings themselves were a piece of art, meant to show off the things inside as well as be a signal to anyone walking by, as if to say, "There is important stuff in here. It's pretty. It's cool. Come in and see."
The Louvre was absolutely amazing. It's overwhelming how much stuff there is. We all split up to look at different things, knowing we could only see so much in our allotted four hours and so Janna and I ended up wandering through almost all the exhibits on the first three floors. As time ticked down, Janna made it her "life's goal" to try and find pivotal pieces of art she had always planned to see, the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa. We wove through exhibit after exhibit, getting lost and distracted by Mesopotamian statues and Babylonian artifacts. It began to feel like a real life National Treasure or DaVinci Code. We had a map but all the information cards were in French, so we were guessing by color and the few signs that were in English. It was exciting and exhilarating and fun. It is one of the fondest memories I have of our whole trip.
I basically made my friends go into the catacombs with me. I was expecting to be terrified, and I was, at first. But there is a calmness down there, a very deep sense of respect and peace and quiet. The only time my heart truly raced was when an attendant sitting in a dark corner asked us where we were from and told us facts about the catacombs, using his flashlight to show us a nameless skull that had a bullet hole, and the feet of bones that lay behind the initial walls of bones that lined the catacombs.
I also made my friends go to
Père Lachaise Cemetery and find Oscar Wilde's grave. His words and his wit, his struggles and perseverance is fascinating and beautiful. His grave has a plexiglass wall around it, since it's tradition to leave a lipstick kiss there. Behind it, though, someone managed to slip the note above inside. There was just something about someone thinking about him, thinking about his struggles, and thought "He would appreciate this," that touched me. As busy and overwhelming as Paris was, it was a revelation to think that among million plus graves, there was this incredibly personal, yet anonymous, message.
We took the Metro all around Paris, from the Notre Dame Cathedral, then to the catacombs, then the Eiffel Tower, and then Arc de Triomphe. It was a test of patience, and perseverance, and buying endless amounts of Metro tickets at a given time. It was crowded and a little confusing. But the thing I realized, even though we didn't have much time or money to get truly close enough to study any of these places, was how detailed everything was. There was this delicacy, this finesse to everything. I'd never realized how fragile the Eiffel Tower was, how it looked almost like filigree, or how much more there was to the Arc de Triomphe than just a large archway.
The last day was spent in Versailles, where we arrive 30 minutes early to wait for 2 hours in line to get in. The Chateau was gorgeous, the finery and glamour apparent even in today's day and age. Unfortunately there were so many people it was hard to truly study and appreciate all the details and touches created so many years ago. As we ventured out into the gardens, just to get some fresh air and relieve some claustrophobia, it became clear where the true beauty and time went on the estate. There were so many fountains and gardens and there was such a structure to the nature, the gardens so pristine and organized, the fountains and the whole estate symmetrical and clean.
Paris was a test of survival.
There were far too many tourists around, making it hard to appreciate anything. We were on the last four days of a 21 day trip, and we were past the point of exhaustion. Everything was in French, the streets are winding, and it was hard to find anything despite signs and the map on my phone. There were public bathrooms in the middle of the street that clean themselves but hosing the entire interior down once you were done. I think many people like this aspect of Paris, the bustling and the business, the urgency and (sometimes) ostentatiousness. However, it was the quiet moments that really stayed with me, the morning walk down the canal, watching a woman take a video of ducklings, going to the bakery after a busy day and buying some bread and a cookie, feeling like a treasure hunter in the empty floors of the Louvre, walking around the removed gardens made for Marie Antoinette to escape the chaos of Versailles.
My feelings towards Paris seem to be indicative of the city. It's tough - it'll test you and help you grow. It'll teach you and challenge you. And it will do so while looking beautiful, while appearing deceivingly delicate and fine, while being incredibly steady and strong. It's a testament to Paris, I think, that I could feel so constricted and stressed, and yet still balk at it's beauty, it's fragility. So kudos, Paris. Let me know when there are less people in you, and I'll come visit again.
