If you’ve been following along here, you can tell that this trip has been about seeing the sights as much as – if not more than – playing shows. Yes, I came to Europe with several intentions, only one of them being to establish some musical roots. I also came to soak up the history and culture… and to have experiences. Today, I definitely had “an experience.” More on that in a minute. For now, here are some sights…
Another beautiful day…
I didn’t intend to begin my day at Notre Dame, but as I was walking by I thought “why not?” My museum pass covers the fee to climb the towers, and I thought I should take advantage of the beautiful morning. The steps were a lot tighter than the Arc de Triomphe and I cannot imagine ascending them without electricity, on a cold, dark night. It’s a tight spiral, and one misstep can make for a very nasty fall. Something that really annoyed me is that, after waiting in line to enter, you are ushered inside to begin climbing the tower (so you think). Then you arrive at this landing, which conveniently happens to be the gift shop. You are trapped here for ten minutes or so until someone with a walkie-talkie allows you to proceed. Very tricky. A lot of the sites have been that way: you enter… the gift shop. But this was the worst, as you’re really stuck there.
Anyway, once I was allowed to move on, I made some friends:
Again, we were held on this landing (at least it had a spectacular view). This time we waited much longer, and we all began to look like the guy on the left. By “we” I mean the people I was being herded around with.
Finally, we were allowed to climb! When I reached the top I must admit I was awestruck by what stood before me: the man supervising the top level was one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen! Had there not been a wire fence I might have plummetted to my death. Oh, yes, and the view of Paris was quite stunning as well:
Sacre Coeur in the distance:
I said “au revoir” to mon ami (sigh) and headed to the other end of Ile de la Cite, where I continued my church tour at Sainte Chapelle. Again, this wasn’t part of today’s plan (and believe me, traveling with Laura, every day has a plan), but I guess I was hoping he – I mean, “it” – would be as beautiful as the last stop.
Again, waited in line to enter… the gift shop. Fortunately I wasn’t held captive this time; the chapel is up a short staircase, and the stained glass windows are truly specatular:
That being said, would I go out of my way to see it? No. If you have a limited amount of time in Paris, I don’t think it’s worth the three stars in my guidebook. It’s funny how some things become such a big deal (granted, this was originally built to house Christ’s crown of thorns, so it does have religious significance for many people). Are we attracted to things because they resonate universally, or because we’ve seen them on TV? This can be asked of anything – top 10 singles, celebrities, cities… the Mona Lisa (I’ll get to that, too). This has been on my mind a lot as I merge in and out of tourist mode. Sometimes I feel like a vulture. Sometimes I feel like cattle. It’s not good or bad, it’s just very interesting…. For example, while other things have been a let-down, there is SOMETHING about the Eiffel Tower that is undeniably stirring, if not deeply moving. Is this because it has come to represent Paris (again, just a recognizable symbol) or is there something about this iron structure that is independently seductive? I’m not trying to extract the romance from it. It’s just worth pondering (for me) how and why things become popular, and how that changes its significance. Some things are celebrated for their popularity, while other things are shunned for it.
Anyway, after making my way off the island I took a stroll through the Louvre courtyards, under the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, and into the Tuileries gardens, which is overflowing with wonderful sculptures. I didn’t even attempt to take pictures because I saw no way to scale down such a spectacle (sorry). However, here are some pictures from outside the Louvre:
The Orangerie opens at 12:30, and I arrived just in time to bypass the line (again, museum pass) and enter what became another highlight of the trip. The main attractions are Monet’s water lilies, and they did not disappoint:
Someone could say the same thing about the water lilies (touristy, etc), but standing before these massive canvases is mesmerizing. I find repetition to be something that links all of my “heroes,” for lack of a better word. I’m intrigued by their commitment to their obsessions. I love how Monet painted the same objects over and over again, and saw them differently every time. Even more than that – he was able to create his own language and translate what he saw for us, so that we would be able to experience an entirely different universe. That’s some powerful stuff.
The Orangerie collection is pretty small, but it makes up for its quantity with quality. I really enjoyed the Cézannes, Matisses, and Derains. There was a solitary Gauguin (“Paysage”) mixed in, too (another favorite):
The unexpected blow to the stomach was the Chaim Soutine paintings, which had me metaphorically doubled-over. I was astounded – I don’t recall ever coming across his paintings before, and if I have and never noticed it’s because I mustn’t have been “ready” for them (funny how things reveal themselves over time). I have never before seen such ardent, passionate pain articulated so powerfully – and so urgently – on canvas.
“Glaïeuls”
“La Fiancé” (she looks happy, doesn’t she?)
“Boeuf”
“Paysage” (or, a world gone awry)
I’ve never been “one of those people” who takes pictures in museums (no flash, I promise), but when something grabs ahold of you, it’s not always easy to let go. I later read that when Soutine’s friend Modigliani…
(His “Femme au ruban de velours”)
died, and his widow subsequently committed suicide, Soutine was driven to smear his sorrow across these canvases. They almost appear to be still wet with emotion.
After digesting these masterpieces I walked back through the gardens to the Louvre, just for a taste. This is no place you attempt in one bite. The Louvre requires years of nibbling.
I really enjoyed the French sculptures in the Cour Puget and Cour Marly, but there is no competing with the apartments of Napoleon III:
I was beginning to feel the need to escape the hordes and I headed for the exit, saying hello to the Mona Lisa on my way. I was very amused by the paparazzi pouncing on the poor thing:
I actually found them to be more interesting than the painting (which is magnificent). In many ways cameras have ruined travel and our ability to “be here now”. Which is funny, because they require the photographer to focus in on something very much in the moment. I suppose the displacement is in the intention of viewing it later – “I’ll film this now so I can watch my vacation when I get home.” Is it our inability to be in the present – needing to do something, rather than just observe, experience – or our attachment to the present – wanting to preserve the moment forever – which has turned us into these vultures?
I went to lunch at Le Grenier de Notre Dame, which was actually my first meal out since arriving last week. I’ve picked up pastries, but I’ve mostly been cooking in the apartment. After two weeks of eating out in England and Ireland I needed some homecooking, and the produce is so incredible that I was anxious to play with it. Le Grenier is a small vegetarian restaurant a few doors down from Shakespeare & Co. and my seitan and vegetable couscous was delicious.
Afterwards – here is where the “experience” kicks in – I decided I had had enough of the tourists. I wanted to experience the “real” Paris so I rode the Metro to a rather unsavory neighborhood. As I walked along, hesitantly, I discovered what, for a lone female, is one of the most terrifying things in the world: I was being followed. Not to mention a white American girl in a Middle Eastern neighborhood of a city where she doesn’t speak the language and has no idea where she’s going. But it was still light out and I am not stupid (well, we might have to question that) so I forged ahead, considering it a better option than turning around and having the dreaded confrontation. Alas, avoiding confrontation was not an option. I was in the difficult situation of needing to convey that I did not want to be messed with, and yet not disclosing my Americanness… so after an abrupt discourse didn’t deter my shadow I screamed “Arrêt!” and dodged into a Femmes-Ouvert (Women-only) Hamman shortly thereafter.
Having lived in NYC gives one a ridiculously disproportionate sense of false-security. I was very fortunate, and even still, I felt really violated and grossed out. How appropriate that I had entered a sanctuary of ritualistic bathing! I got myself a locker and a towel and headed for the baths, not quite knowing what to expect (especially because most of the people weren’t speaking French. And definitely not English). Next thing I knew I was lying on the tile while a woman sloughed my skin with such ferocity that I was half-expecting to see my organs emerge. I think I shed five people on that floor. Of course I had no idea what was going on, but it was heavenly. My lower back is often in pain, and with all the walking and standing I’ve been doing the past few days, it has been excruciating. But after stretching in the steam – pain be gone! Something was burning in one of the rooms to create a wet sauna, like a sweatlodge (I didn’t recognize the smell). But the best was pouring bucket-fulls of hot water over my head – very therapeutic.
I emerged feeling ready to conquer the world – or at least the walk back to the Metro. I hauled ass – sorry, but there’s no other way to put it – passing the creepy and curious loiterers outside the hamman. I felt a bit like the “Boeuf” painting above, or like the “boeuf” I’ve seen hanging in the windows of le boucher. I have never been made so aware of being a woman – it was not a pleasant walk, and I had to glance over my shoulder more than once. But I obviously made it, and rejoiced upon returning to my neighborhood where I can be invisible. Of course, I did make a quick stop for grapes and cheese and walked home from the store, into the building, and up to the top floor with a man who, I did not know, is my next-door neighbor. That got the heart beating again.
It’s only know that I realize it is Halloween – always a weird, twisted day for me. I inherited my mom’s distaste for this sinister holiday (yes, she’s one of the ones who turns off all the lights and goes out to dinner – BUT she brings candy to the neighbor’s kids on her way – so sweet). Needless to say, I am glad that it’s almost over and that I survived another Halloween. Tomorrow is a new day and a new month, and I look forward to returning to the wonderful world of Rick Steves with all of my beloved tourist friends.
Happy Halloween 
