Adieu Dear Paris, Until We Meet Again

"I like the Eiffel Tower because it looks like steel and lace." -Natalie Lloyd

We woke up Friday morning already lamenting the fact that this was our last day in Paris. I felt a frenzied determination to somehow squeeze any last bit of pleasure from this lovely place. We got up early to visit Sacre Coeur. This church located at the summit of the butte Montmarte is the highest point in Paris and boasts of the very best view of the city. Our original hope was to get there early enough to catch the warm morning glow kissing Paris as it woke up. We rode the silly funicular car up to the church.

And this....

was our amazing view of Paris. Bwah-Wah. Not everything about our Paris trip could be quintessential. There had to be one disappointment. Next time...we will watch the sunrise over Paris. There was nothing else to do but go get our tenth croissant of the week. Even disappointments in France are not disappointments.

There were three museums on our "would-be-nice-if-we-saw" list, and we were going to try to see them all in one day. Unfortunately, the rules on cameras in these museums were much stricter than in the Louvre, which confused me. Me being the rule-follower that I am, I forbid Neil to so much as pull out his phone in front of these exhibits, being the "rules-are-made-to-be-broken" kind of guy that he is. So my pictures of these experiences are sparse, which makes me a little bit sad.

This was the Musee d'Orsay. This museum was full of mostly the Impressionists. I forgot how much I adored Impressionistic art. Renoir, Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, Degas! It was almost more than I could take to see so many masterpieces in one place.  

There stood Neil and I in front of Van Gogh's self-portrait, and I caved. "Quick," I said. "Get out your phone!"

Van Gogh drove me to rebellion. I couldn't bear to leave without bringing a little of him home with us. Neil was more than happy to snap a photo of the portrait. A photo I'll be happy to share with you once I get my hands on Neil's phone. I felt not a tinge of guilt. Hey, we didn't use a flash! I wasn't raised in a barn.

We also stopped at the Orangerie where we beheld whole walls covered in Monet's Waterlilies and caught our first and only glimpses of some of Picasso's works.

And at this point, my feet were done! Passed done! They had endured too much for too long. I just couldn't go one more step. So much for the Rhodin museum. The Thinker would have to wait until next time, and my heart still hurts a little bit that I didn't go see him and his other bronze masterpiece friends.

So we took a break and enjoyed our final moments on the Seine.

And grabbed a quick photo of this obelisk, pilfered by none other than the great Napoleon on one of his conquering escapades in Egypt. This also happened to be the square where the dreaded guillotine resided and where many French aristocrats met their doom. Now it is just a pleasant little place near the Tuileries with a strangely out-of-place Egyptian artifact perched in the center.

It was at this point that we decided that we had not eaten nearly enough pastries on this trip, so we made a bee-line for Cafe Angelina. This is the place where we had the most exquisite authentic French breakfast accompanied with little pitchers of hot chocolate that basically gave me an out-of-body experience. But the pastries...oh, the pastries. To leave Paris without trying the pastries would have been the greatest tragedy. We picked our treat of choice and took our darling little boxes back to the hotel so that we could carry on and cry tears of joy without causing a scene, and because it was still raining and we didn't want our little boxes of confectionary perfection to be ruined.

Angie was sure to get some macaroons. The best she had ever eaten.

I got the Choc Africain. I am not quite the chocolate fanatic that I once was, but this decadent treat called my name, and it was heaven. Neil will choose raspberries over chocolate any day of the week, so he chose this berry tart complete with handmade marshmallows. 

It was like they had made this treat just for Angie. Remove the IN, and you have an edible name tag right on top of Angie's Millefeuille.

We were in heaven as we ate our treats and discussed the unbelievable experience we had just had in this beautiful country. A few tiny crumbs fell from Neil's tart as I sampled his treat and landed on the bedspread. That night, I noticed giant grease stains on the bedspread. A-hah, that was the secret to these divine treats. About a pound of butter. No wonder they were so light and flaky and delicious. One can't help but look at a Dove chocolate or a package of Swiss Miss mix with disdain after devouring chocolate in France. It's ruined me forever.

We were not far from leaving this dear little place, and I hadn't even taken a picture of our quiet little street. Neil ran down to grab a picture of our hotel and the street we had walked down everyday. If you look really closely, you can see Angie and I poking out the window on the top floor.

Our remaining hours in Paris were waning. What to do? We decided to head over to the Trocadero, where the view of the Eiffel Tower is best.

The view was great. The rainy weather all week was a slight inconvenience, but I will say, it made for perfect Paris photographs. Who knows when I'll be back, so I'm grateful for overcast skies creating the perfect filter for nicely saturated photos of the most beautiful city in the world.

We spent the last few hours of the evening just sitting at the park on a bench chatting as we watched the sky change from gray to black. We watched as they lit the tower for us one last time.

The tower sparkled in the distance on the hour, reminding us that it was getting late and that we had a train to catch in the morning. This remarkably surreal experience was coming to an end, as all good things do. We participated in a collective sigh, then forced ourselves to say good-bye to our bench and to Paris. This was the last photo I took in Paris.

Normal life has long since resumed. We are up to our elbows in homework and school activities, once again fighting for precious family time. When it all begins to become drudgery, I look at these pictures and remind myself that....

"We'll Always Have Paris." -Howard Koch

Day Five - Versailles!

"I am the state." -King Louis XIV

Thursday arrived, and it was onto the train and off to Versailles. I could not wait to tour this infamous palace. First things first. We waited in a ridiculously slow bathroom line, monitored by a most diligent bathroom attendant/custodian. You didn't dare approach a stall unless beckoned by the busy-body with a mop. One woman actually tipped the busy-body. Really? A tip for informing someone that a bathroom stall is now vacant? I'm perfectly capable of ascertaining for myself whether a stall is occupied or available, thank you very much. After what seemed like a two hour potty-break, we were finally able to enter the grand palace once occupied by grand individuals like Louis XIV and the ill-fated Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette. 

Upon entering the gate, I was simply in awe of the massiveness and the ornateness of the structure.

That such a place was built for one family was difficult to comprehend. I could immediately sense why the French people of the 1700's were perhaps a little perturbed at the lavish lifestyles of the nation's royalty.

And then we went inside. Every ceiling was covered in gorgeous murals. The walls were plastered with beautiful paintings. Everything seemed to be covered in gold-leaf or fine fabrics. There was crystal and marble and fine woods around every corner. It got to the point where I wasn't even impressed with another gaudy bedroom or hall. 

It was all so gorgeous and so gluttonous.

And then we meandered into the magnificent hall of mirrors.

The natural light coming in through the tall arched windows really accentuated the beauty of this room.

The place was teeming with tourists, but I tried to imagine the hall empty except for a couple of royal children adorned in knickers and ruffly gowns playing tag amongst the mirrors and chandeliers. I tried to picture the French aristocracy, just in from a hunting party, mingling along the corridor. I'm sure that King Louis expected this luxurious palace to house his posterity for centuries to come. He would have been shocked to see commoners decked out in tennis shoes and fanny-packs traipsing through his elegant halls. But so it is. The Sun King is now nothing more than a name in a textbook, and his glorious home nothing more than a symbol of the glut of his lost empire.

It was getting close to closing time, and we still hadn't seen Marie Antoinette's estate! We waited in yet another ridiculously long line to take a tram to the Hamlet. And this, my friends, was my very favorite part of Versailles.

After a beautiful and refreshing walk, we encountered the queen's own special place of refuge.

Marie Antoinette was given this little corner of the estate to do with what she chose. She was the only queen ever given that liberty. Here there were no marble halls or gold-plaited chambers. There were no grand palaces. I felt like we had walked onto the British countryside. I almost forgot we were in France.

I fell in love with this queen as I walked her estate. Here was a woman who preferred cottages over palaces, country gardens over acres of manicured landscapes, and her ponds over the grand canal. It became apparent that Marie Antoinette was greatly misunderstood. That this was not a woman who smugly pronounced, "Let them eat cake," but a woman who was forced into a situation at a very young age, who made the best of her circumstances, and who eventually fell victim to her circumstances. This place was her sanctuary. This is where she came for refuge and peace. I liked the Hamlet, and I think I would have liked its queen.

With our remaining hour at Versailles, there would be no more waiting in long train lines. We would walk back to the palace. I daresay it was one of the most beautiful walks I've ever taken. As we neared the Grand Canal, and the Apollo fountain, the misty rain began. Sunshine is great, but there was something about being in the gardens of Versailles in the mist and the rain that I found utterly splendid and probably wouldn't have had it any other way. If nothing else, it scared the tourists away, and allowed us some unforgettable kodak moments.

The palace was closing, so we took in our last views of this marvelous place.

What the Sun King did not know, is that he had created a place of splendor that would be enjoyed by millions of people for centuries after his death. Though his intentions were greedy, the outcome would be surprisingly noble as the common public would have access to such beauty without the need for great wealth or a long pedigree. And for that, I suppose we all owe him a small thank you.

We took the train back to the city. We had yet to walk along the Champs-Elysees or to see the Arc de Triomphe, so that is how we finished the night. We walked along the bustling Champs-Elysees and passed stores that were pitifully beyond our price range and ended at the great Arc.

There we stood in front of the great monument that so proudly represents all of the French victories over the centuries.

Once again, the photos can't quite capture the magnitude of this enormous structure. Beneath the arch is a tribute to the fallen unknown soldiers of the first World War.

We were about to head to our hotels, when I mentioned on a whim that perhaps we should climb to the top of the Arc. We hadn't really taken that opportunity at Notre Dame or the Eiffel Tower, not wanting to waste our three precious days waiting in long lines. But there was no line for the Arc, and our invaluable Paris Passes covered the fee. Heck, we're in Paris, standing under the Arc de Triomphe, let's climb to the top. So we did. We climbed the infinite number of winding stairs and found ourselves at the top, albeit out of breath and rubbing our burning thighs. But the view was worth it. We looked down upon the humming Champs-Elysees and over at the Eiffel Tower as it stood watch over the city of lights and pinched ourselves one last time.

Day Four - A Feast For the Eyes and the Belly

"Cafes Abound In Paris..." -Galignani's Guide

Our diet in Paris consisted of four dominant foods...eggs, bread, cheese, and sugar. Those greens you see on that plate next to the omelette are probably the first and the only greens eaten all week. I don't think a day went by that we didn't eat a perfectly prepared egg, a baguette, and a crepe. Sometimes it was a perfectly prepared egg inside of a crepe. And we were sure to get our treats. 

On this, our first morning in Paris, we stopped at a crepe shop for breakfast. Here we were able to experience the quiet cobblestoned road dappled with cafes that you always see in the movies. 

As we nibbled on our crepe filled with banana and nutella, a cat slinked across the top of one of the old french buildings. It just added to our splendid morning. There's Angie enjoying her Croque Madame, lest you think we only ate gyros in France. Like I said, plenty of eggs, cheese, and bread.

We actually did less eating than we thought we would in Paris, because there was so dang much to see. This morning, we made it a priority to get inside of Notre Dame.

The inside of Notre Dame was different from the inside of the Dom Cathedral in Cologne. There were not quite as many stained glass windows, and not as much natural light. But the warm glowing chandeliers were a lovely touch.

Notre Dame was much more tourist packed. All of Paris was chuck full of tourists. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. It was a little frustrating at times not to be able to get a photo without thirty heads in it. I couldn't help but take a picture of this group of children on a field trip. Can you imagine? "Ok children, don't forget your permission slips tomorrow, for our field trip to the 850 year old Notre Dame cathedral." A far cry from our typical field trips to the Dinosaur Park or the Planetarium. People in those halls had spent thousands of dollars to finally get to Paris to see Notre Dame, and these cute little school boys were climbing on the columns as if it was any other boring museum. If those children only knew what kind of history they had at their finger tips.

I also thought this couple was cute, sitting back and enjoying the beauties of the cathedral.

We said farewell to the home of Hugo's infamous Hunchback and made our way to the Conciergerie. This building had been a bit of an afterthought. Neil's coworker had mentioned that this might be a place of interest.

Um yah, this building had only been the center of the French Revolution. Angie and I both being fascinated with the French Revolution, this was indeed a place of interest. The Conciergerie  was also known as the "antechamber to the guillotine" as it was the final stop for over 2,700 people who ended up at the guillotine during the Reign of Terror. 

The most famous guest being Marie Antoinette. We enjoyed touring the building and reading about the queen's final months in what seems like a harmless place over 200 years later. We also learned more about the revolution.

It was a little bit eerie to think of how many people had spent their final moments in this building before losing their lives, some in very torturous ways.

This was the ladies courtyard, where the female prisoners were able to go out and get a little fresh air.

We also stopped in the Sainte-Chapelle, a church that dates back to the 1200's. I was most intrigued by the detailed stained glass depicting scenes from throughout the entire Bible. From Genesis to the life of Christ, all represented in stained glass. Amazing!

We devoted the last half of the day to the Louvre, understanding we wouldn't even scratch the surface of such a collection in one evening. But we were going to give it the ol' college try.

Call me clueless, but I guess I didn't realize the Louvre was actually contained in a massive palace. I only ever remembered the pyramid. Shows you what I know.

The first thing that struck me was how absolutely enormous some of the paintings were. You see these paintings in books and have no idea that the originals take up entire palace walls. How the artists were able to pull off such works and maintain proper scale and perspective is beyond me. It seems like you would have to use a paintbrush 20 feet long to get back far enough to see what you're painting. I found myself walking down the center of the rooms. You had to step back to fully enjoy the art.

The next question was, are we going to go see the Mona Lisa? I mean we're in the stinking Louvre, heck let's go see the Mona Lisa. We weren't quite sure where to find her, until we passed a room overflowing with tourists, facing one wall, and pointing phones and iPads and all sorts of cameras at a lone painting. We took a shot in the dark that this might be our lady.

Indeed it was. So much for me having a quiet moment with one of the greatest paintings in existence. So much for me getting close to examine the brush strokes and the cracks in the paint. It was short little me standing behind a mob of about 50 people. I kept asking myself, "Do half of these people even care about art, or did tripadvisor just tell them this was a must-see?" I handed Neil my camera and told him to get a good shot.

He delivered. There she is my friends...the original Mona Lisa by Leonardo Da Vinci. It really was beautiful. The thing that shocked me was how vibrant the colors were after so many centuries.

This too is an original Leonardo Da Vinci, but there was no frantic mob fighting for a picture of her. It was just as I suspected. Those people didn't care about art.

I liked this painting. Neil came up to it and said, "Oh, I love the face made out of vegetables." Then he moved on. I looked at him like he was crazy. "What are you talking about?! This is a beautiful still life." I thought to myself. It wasn't until I got home and looked at the photos that I noticed, oh, it's a face made out of vegetables. What does that say about how mine and Neil's brains work?

We had seen some magnificent paintings, but now it was time for some sculpture.

I love that there are still artists that perch themselves in a corner of the Louvre and start recreating the works of the masters. 

I can remember sitting in my sophomore world history class and watching a video about the statue of David by Michelangelo. I can remember being in awe of this piece of art, not just because it was a naked man, but because the stone looked like flesh. How did Michelangelo do this? I had that experience again this evening as I came across another original Michelangelo.

"The Dying Slave" stood at the end of this long corridor of sculptures. And I fell in love with it. Apparently tripadvisor had not done its job on this one, and so I was able to have a quiet moment with "the dying slave".

Neil asked Angie and I why we thought Michelangelo's sculptures got so much hoopla when there were countless beautiful sculptures throughout the museum. We contemplated and discussed this matter in the Louvre. How often do you get to discuss such a question at the feet of "The Dying Slave"? Angie pointed out that Michelangelo's work got all the hype partly because it's Michelangelo. He's one of the greats, everyone knows it. But then our conversation went something like this, "The reason he's one of the greats is because his work really does stand out. It is exceptional. Look at one of those statues over there. That is a lovely marble rendition of a woman. But look at Michelangelo's slave. You almost forget it's stone. It seems like you could go up to him and touch him, and he would be soft flesh not hard rock." And that was the conclusion we drew while sitting in a palace hall in the Louvre among gorgeous sculptures.

I came to one more conclusion as I walked the Louvre where nudity seemed to abound. I was born in the wrong era. I should have been born during the Rococo era, where soft fleshy women were considered works of art. I felt at home amongst the nudes of the Louvre. These 21st century women with their thin firm bodies. They're the freaks of nature, not me.

Anyway, my last visit was to a corner of the museum that housed some Peter Paul Rubens, an artist I fell in love with during that college art/history class nearly two decades ago. The same class that left me determined to visit Europe one day and see these masterpieces in person, not just on the glossy pages of a tattered textbook. It was just as I suspected. The vibrancy of the originals is beyond anything a photograph could duplicate. You felt like you could look into the eyes of the subjects in the paintings and that they could speak to you. And I kind of wished that they would.

I had been amongst the works of the masters, and it had been a most enlightening experience.

"A masterpiece withstands time. Its importance grows on those who feel attracted by its unending life. It creates enthusiasm which spreads from soul to soul..." -Hilla Rebay