Parisian Chronicles, Jour 2
Mardi:
The four hours I had spent walking the city, invigorating and inspiring as it was, simply was not enough. My second day in Paris, I decided that it would be in my best interest to wake up as early as possible and see as much as I could of the Ile de St Louis and Ile de la Cite. I had fallen in love with this part of the city the day before and wanted to dedicate as much time to it as I could and, the earlier I could get started on that, the better.
For the few months prior to my arrival, I had lost countless nights of sleep due to my anticipation and, now that I'm here, I find that I continue to do so. I wish I could say that I planned to wake up at 7am but, the fact of the matter is, I was simply too excited to stay in bed; sleep was merely an afterthought. It's not the jetlag and it's definitely not the longing for my bed but, there's simply too much to see and not enough hours in the day. Awake and fueled with a passionate drive to bask in it all, I readied myself for my first real day in the city of lights, in typical Parisienne fashion with a scarf around my neck, Visite and Museum pass in hand (in the typical etranger fashion) and an appetite in tow.
A short, calm walk from the apartment lies Les Gobelins metro station, which was my first excursion into the Parisian transit system. Breathing deeply and hoping that I wouldn't take the wrong train or lose my ticket, I felt a sudden rush of comfort when I realized how natural it was for me to be doing this. After years of taking the metro in L.A and San Francisco, taking a train in Paris seemed almost like second nature. The system here is remarkably similar to the BART system back in northern California, giving me a sense of familiarity and a slight comfort of home.
I arrived at my first stop, Chatelet, which was a bit of a walk to the Notre Dame cathedral but, it was early enough that I would get there in time to avoid a line. Like in the bay area, Parisians don't have patience for red lights and so, I found it rather unnerving when pedestrians would nonchalantly cross while cars were approaching (I tried doing this once in the bay and almost got in a terrible wreck, never again). I waited patiently at the light and finally crossed onto the Siene and made my way to the cathedral. My timing was impeccable as I was not only able to avoid a line but I was early enough to not be allowed in. With the vast iron gates closed before me, I felt that the only thing for me to do now was to continue exploring the Ile de St Louis.
I spent my time wisely, gazing upon the Siene, watching the sun rise over the water, exploring the corners and dead ends of the Ile. There was nothing that I saw that didn't fill me with utter joy. That was until, I made my way back to Notre Dame and saw the horde of tourists photographing and congregating in front of the gates. I took a deep breath and made my way through, realizing that for the most part, they were focused on photographing themselves in front of the cathedral rather than going inside. I made my move and went inside.
My first though of Notre Dame was lost...the beauty can be described and seen in countless pictures that have been taking over the course of its existence but, to feel the beauty that resonates within the walls is utterly indescribable. The floors, the great rose windows and the illustrious sculptures captivated me and sent me back to a time I never knew. I felt the energy that lives within this space radiate within me, almost as though a wave of solace overcame my entire being. Everything that had ever gone wrong, everything that hurt, at this very moment was washed away.
Naturally, after having experienced what seemed to be a life changing event that can simply be described as "unbelievable", it was time for breakfast. Walking along the east side of the cathedral, gazing upon the long line that gathered after my visit, I turned the corner onto a tourist trap of a street. Walking down, I encountered the same sensation I had the day before on my first walk and smelled that wonderful butter touching the grill. Needless to say, my second meal in Paris was yet another crepe du formage et jambon. I walked across the street and enjoyed this meal in the court yard behind the cathedral.
My next stop was to St. Chapelle and the Conciergerie, both located within steps of each other. Of course, like a good etranger, I got lost trying to get there (unimaginable, I know, especially when you consider how tiny the Ile is). The line to enter St. Chapelle was ridiculous and, had it not been for the woman behind me who continuously invaded my personal space, would not have been so bad. Walking into the chapel, I must admit, I wasn't moved. While it is considered to be the most beautiful church in the city, I failed to see how this could even compare to what I had just witnessed at Notre Dame. Had I not noticed the spiral staircase leading onto the upper level, I would have left disappointed. In spite of the tourists crowding every square inch of me, I was able to take in as much of the 50ft stained glass windows as I could. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring but, I hate to say, I was still underwhelmed.
On my way to the Conciergerie, I took a small break on the steps of the Palais de Justice, overlooking the square where, during the Revolution, thousands crossed and were sentenced to death. I felt this was a proper way to ready myself for my visit to the ex-prison.
Once inside the Conciergerie, I was awe struck by the vast emptiness in the Hall of the Men at Arms. The sadness didn't hit me until I came upon the old cells where the prisoners were held. The mannequins inside were neatly dressed and well groomed, nothing what I imagined the prisoners during The Terror to resemble. Of course, this place also "housed" elite members of society who, for the right price, could have a cell that suited their lifestyle (like Marie-Antoinette, for example). Being there, I felt the opposite of what I did at Notre Dame. It was cold, sad and the years of bloodshed and animosity overwhelmed me. It wasn't the same as reading about it back in high school; I was here, this is where it happened and that fact became more and more real the longer I stood within those walls.
The four hours I had spent walking the city, invigorating and inspiring as it was, simply was not enough. My second day in Paris, I decided that it would be in my best interest to wake up as early as possible and see as much as I could of the Ile de St Louis and Ile de la Cite. I had fallen in love with this part of the city the day before and wanted to dedicate as much time to it as I could and, the earlier I could get started on that, the better.
For the few months prior to my arrival, I had lost countless nights of sleep due to my anticipation and, now that I'm here, I find that I continue to do so. I wish I could say that I planned to wake up at 7am but, the fact of the matter is, I was simply too excited to stay in bed; sleep was merely an afterthought. It's not the jetlag and it's definitely not the longing for my bed but, there's simply too much to see and not enough hours in the day. Awake and fueled with a passionate drive to bask in it all, I readied myself for my first real day in the city of lights, in typical Parisienne fashion with a scarf around my neck, Visite and Museum pass in hand (in the typical etranger fashion) and an appetite in tow.
A short, calm walk from the apartment lies Les Gobelins metro station, which was my first excursion into the Parisian transit system. Breathing deeply and hoping that I wouldn't take the wrong train or lose my ticket, I felt a sudden rush of comfort when I realized how natural it was for me to be doing this. After years of taking the metro in L.A and San Francisco, taking a train in Paris seemed almost like second nature. The system here is remarkably similar to the BART system back in northern California, giving me a sense of familiarity and a slight comfort of home.
I arrived at my first stop, Chatelet, which was a bit of a walk to the Notre Dame cathedral but, it was early enough that I would get there in time to avoid a line. Like in the bay area, Parisians don't have patience for red lights and so, I found it rather unnerving when pedestrians would nonchalantly cross while cars were approaching (I tried doing this once in the bay and almost got in a terrible wreck, never again). I waited patiently at the light and finally crossed onto the Siene and made my way to the cathedral. My timing was impeccable as I was not only able to avoid a line but I was early enough to not be allowed in. With the vast iron gates closed before me, I felt that the only thing for me to do now was to continue exploring the Ile de St Louis.
I spent my time wisely, gazing upon the Siene, watching the sun rise over the water, exploring the corners and dead ends of the Ile. There was nothing that I saw that didn't fill me with utter joy. That was until, I made my way back to Notre Dame and saw the horde of tourists photographing and congregating in front of the gates. I took a deep breath and made my way through, realizing that for the most part, they were focused on photographing themselves in front of the cathedral rather than going inside. I made my move and went inside.
My first though of Notre Dame was lost...the beauty can be described and seen in countless pictures that have been taking over the course of its existence but, to feel the beauty that resonates within the walls is utterly indescribable. The floors, the great rose windows and the illustrious sculptures captivated me and sent me back to a time I never knew. I felt the energy that lives within this space radiate within me, almost as though a wave of solace overcame my entire being. Everything that had ever gone wrong, everything that hurt, at this very moment was washed away.
Naturally, after having experienced what seemed to be a life changing event that can simply be described as "unbelievable", it was time for breakfast. Walking along the east side of the cathedral, gazing upon the long line that gathered after my visit, I turned the corner onto a tourist trap of a street. Walking down, I encountered the same sensation I had the day before on my first walk and smelled that wonderful butter touching the grill. Needless to say, my second meal in Paris was yet another crepe du formage et jambon. I walked across the street and enjoyed this meal in the court yard behind the cathedral.
My next stop was to St. Chapelle and the Conciergerie, both located within steps of each other. Of course, like a good etranger, I got lost trying to get there (unimaginable, I know, especially when you consider how tiny the Ile is). The line to enter St. Chapelle was ridiculous and, had it not been for the woman behind me who continuously invaded my personal space, would not have been so bad. Walking into the chapel, I must admit, I wasn't moved. While it is considered to be the most beautiful church in the city, I failed to see how this could even compare to what I had just witnessed at Notre Dame. Had I not noticed the spiral staircase leading onto the upper level, I would have left disappointed. In spite of the tourists crowding every square inch of me, I was able to take in as much of the 50ft stained glass windows as I could. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring but, I hate to say, I was still underwhelmed.
On my way to the Conciergerie, I took a small break on the steps of the Palais de Justice, overlooking the square where, during the Revolution, thousands crossed and were sentenced to death. I felt this was a proper way to ready myself for my visit to the ex-prison.
Once inside the Conciergerie, I was awe struck by the vast emptiness in the Hall of the Men at Arms. The sadness didn't hit me until I came upon the old cells where the prisoners were held. The mannequins inside were neatly dressed and well groomed, nothing what I imagined the prisoners during The Terror to resemble. Of course, this place also "housed" elite members of society who, for the right price, could have a cell that suited their lifestyle (like Marie-Antoinette, for example). Being there, I felt the opposite of what I did at Notre Dame. It was cold, sad and the years of bloodshed and animosity overwhelmed me. It wasn't the same as reading about it back in high school; I was here, this is where it happened and that fact became more and more real the longer I stood within those walls.