My birthday in Paris! (Guest writer: Jessica!)
My birthday was superb. Here are a few memories (a month on).
After a very fancy hotel breakfast, we started out the day by walking past the Opéra, taking the Métro to just north of Ile de la Cité and crossing over the Pont Neuf (“New Bridge”, but actually one of the oldest in Paris) to get onto the Ile itself. After spending a few minutes in the lovely little garden on the West end of the tiny island, we ventured on to the Palais de Justice. Walking completely around them, I was in awe especially of the white marble lions.
On the other side was the entrance to Sainte-Chappelle, which was a free-standing church built inside the walls of the government compound so that officials and their servants could go and worship. We viewed the art and stained glass (and inconveniently placed gift shop) on the “servant’s floor”, which comprised the lower level of the building. Then we traversed the seemingly endless spiral staircase to the main level. I was taken aback by the beauty of the room I entered. I hadn’t known much about it before visiting, and I was amazed to discover a room so full of stained glass that the support beams for the roof had to be built into pencil-thin separations from story to story. The room told the pictorial stories from Genesis, covering major Old Testament books and events (including Esther, I was pleased to note), the birth, life, and passion of Christ on the wall behind the altar, the history of the acquisition of treasured relics that had been stored in the room, to the apocalypse and final judgment in a rose window opposite the altar. We spent a long time in that room, gazing at the finery (and Dave faithfully documenting).
When I was finally ready to leave, we went to a vast building on the other end of the complex that had had several purposes throughout the years: dining room, storehouse, guard “shack”, and finally prison, before becoming open to the public. It is most famous for holding Marie Antoinette just prior to her execution, and seems very remorseful for the incident. There is now a chapel and small museum there in her honor. It also held Robespierre before his execution, and they stole a rotting wooden ladder off his house to make an odd wall decoration. Apparently, the prisoners there could tip the guards to receive their own bed in a quiet room with no prostitution (otherwise you would just have to lie on the hay and watch). I would have stayed longer, but the most interesting historical placards were in French, and I was tired of translating already.
We continued on to the Notre Dame, on the other end of the island. We immediately recognized it. I enforced a ban on photos for the time being, so I could just stare and enjoy it. (Don’t worry, we took plenty later). We walked around it and looked at les gargouilles (gargoyles) and les arcs-bouteilles (flying buttresses). Before heading in, we stopped at a street vendor for a croque-monsieur for me and a crepe for David. We saw that you could pay to climb to the top and get a better look at the gargoyles, but we were low on time, so much to Dave’s chagrin we decided against going up. Something to look forward to for next time, I suppose. Past the beggar with the stumpy leg lie the entrance. We ventured in and looked around the massive cathedral. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of tourists neatly moved counter-clockwise to see all the chapels. Many braved the 3-10 euro fee to light prayer candles. A diorama showed the outside of the building in detail, while another showed what it had looked like halfway through the building progress. Fine art littered the place throughout. A rusty choir began to sing and soon gained strength. A trickle of worshippers proceeded to the front, while the rest murmured on. The best part was seeing the famous rose window from the inside. As we were just discovering new features on our camera, I stopped for several minutes to try to get a good picture of the glass art from the inside of the darkened building. I got my picture and headed out—sans guidebook, I soon realized. I went back inside and searched for it, but to no avail. I even utilized my French to ask those in the seat I had been in if they had seen a book. The information desk was nonchalant and unhelpful, although one member warmed up to me and helped me search the lost-and-found. I was dismayed—so much more to do in a day, but now no more map or suggestions of where to go! Thankfully, my sense of direction was at work, and we went south to St. Germain.
It began to rain, and just as I pulled out my umbrella, we spotted a bookstore called Shakespeare! We bought another guidebook there, in which the bookstore happened to be featured as one of the best English-language bookstores in town. Someone was looking out for me. Following the “top 10 things to do in St. Germain” suggestions, we walked past the Sorbonne and down Rue (or was it Boulevard? Avenue?) St. Michel to get to the Panthéon, making 3/10. This monument of a king’s thankfulness was meant to look like the Pantheon in Rome (which we would see a few days later), but ended up looking more like St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, due to its prominent “capitol” dome. We peeked inside, but since the admission price was high and we were low on time, we decided against going inside (nothing in there anyway—just more fine art and a few famous painters’ graves). Going in the direction from whence we came on the main street (another top 10 destination), we happened upon a friendly-looking pub and stopped in. Both of us got amazing ales (Dave’s in a glass so tall it had to be held up by a wooden apparatus) and enjoyed people-watching for a little while.
Afterwards, we traveled on to the Jardins du Luxembourg. A friendly, thoughtful place, it seemed to be full of hopeful young intellectuals, as well as the odd family and elderly couple. The sun was setting and the scene was just delightful. After a short stroll, we heard whistles blowing. This was the police’s way of getting everybody out before closing. As people started to head toward the exits, Dave realized he had to use the men’s room (compliments of the huge ale). We needed to go out the opposite direction, so we defied the whistles and went against the flow. We saw a café and a puppet theatre along the way, but alas, the men’s room was locked. The labyrinthine statue garden looked enticing, but not wanting to upset the gendarmes, we dutifully exited the park.
Next on the agenda was a small church with a notable fresco, but Dave did so have to go. I thought I saw a street stall (which you will find intermittently, never dependably, on Paris streets), but when we got closer it was something else. Wanting to see the chapel, I told him that perhaps there was one inside the church. Lucky for us I was right. The chapel contained 3 paintings (2 murals and a fresco) by a famous painter whose name escapes me. My favorite was Jacob wrestling with the angel, which I stared at for quite some time while Dave used the loo. Relieved, we got on the Métro and headed back to the hotel room, where we quickly changed for dinner.
As we were en route to the restaurant, I was happy to receive a happy birthday call from my family. The Métro ride was longer than expected, and the restaurant (Le Bistrot Papillon) was in a, shall we say, obscure part of town. However, once we got inside, it was quite charming, with antique landscape paintings and dried butterflies on the walls. We got a private corner seat next to the window and a vacant piano, and took a long time in choosing our meal. We ordered a bottle of Burgundy to share. I got a warmed goat cheese salad and braised orange sole. Dave got escargots and duck confit. For dessert, I had a cappuccino with an assortment of tiny slices of different chocolate delicacies. Dave got a sampling of sorbets. Afterwards, we bought a bottle of excellent champagne, had another lovely family phone call, and headed back to the hotel. What a day!
After a very fancy hotel breakfast, we started out the day by walking past the Opéra, taking the Métro to just north of Ile de la Cité and crossing over the Pont Neuf (“New Bridge”, but actually one of the oldest in Paris) to get onto the Ile itself. After spending a few minutes in the lovely little garden on the West end of the tiny island, we ventured on to the Palais de Justice. Walking completely around them, I was in awe especially of the white marble lions.
On the other side was the entrance to Sainte-Chappelle, which was a free-standing church built inside the walls of the government compound so that officials and their servants could go and worship. We viewed the art and stained glass (and inconveniently placed gift shop) on the “servant’s floor”, which comprised the lower level of the building. Then we traversed the seemingly endless spiral staircase to the main level. I was taken aback by the beauty of the room I entered. I hadn’t known much about it before visiting, and I was amazed to discover a room so full of stained glass that the support beams for the roof had to be built into pencil-thin separations from story to story. The room told the pictorial stories from Genesis, covering major Old Testament books and events (including Esther, I was pleased to note), the birth, life, and passion of Christ on the wall behind the altar, the history of the acquisition of treasured relics that had been stored in the room, to the apocalypse and final judgment in a rose window opposite the altar. We spent a long time in that room, gazing at the finery (and Dave faithfully documenting).
When I was finally ready to leave, we went to a vast building on the other end of the complex that had had several purposes throughout the years: dining room, storehouse, guard “shack”, and finally prison, before becoming open to the public. It is most famous for holding Marie Antoinette just prior to her execution, and seems very remorseful for the incident. There is now a chapel and small museum there in her honor. It also held Robespierre before his execution, and they stole a rotting wooden ladder off his house to make an odd wall decoration. Apparently, the prisoners there could tip the guards to receive their own bed in a quiet room with no prostitution (otherwise you would just have to lie on the hay and watch). I would have stayed longer, but the most interesting historical placards were in French, and I was tired of translating already.
We continued on to the Notre Dame, on the other end of the island. We immediately recognized it. I enforced a ban on photos for the time being, so I could just stare and enjoy it. (Don’t worry, we took plenty later). We walked around it and looked at les gargouilles (gargoyles) and les arcs-bouteilles (flying buttresses). Before heading in, we stopped at a street vendor for a croque-monsieur for me and a crepe for David. We saw that you could pay to climb to the top and get a better look at the gargoyles, but we were low on time, so much to Dave’s chagrin we decided against going up. Something to look forward to for next time, I suppose. Past the beggar with the stumpy leg lie the entrance. We ventured in and looked around the massive cathedral. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of tourists neatly moved counter-clockwise to see all the chapels. Many braved the 3-10 euro fee to light prayer candles. A diorama showed the outside of the building in detail, while another showed what it had looked like halfway through the building progress. Fine art littered the place throughout. A rusty choir began to sing and soon gained strength. A trickle of worshippers proceeded to the front, while the rest murmured on. The best part was seeing the famous rose window from the inside. As we were just discovering new features on our camera, I stopped for several minutes to try to get a good picture of the glass art from the inside of the darkened building. I got my picture and headed out—sans guidebook, I soon realized. I went back inside and searched for it, but to no avail. I even utilized my French to ask those in the seat I had been in if they had seen a book. The information desk was nonchalant and unhelpful, although one member warmed up to me and helped me search the lost-and-found. I was dismayed—so much more to do in a day, but now no more map or suggestions of where to go! Thankfully, my sense of direction was at work, and we went south to St. Germain.
It began to rain, and just as I pulled out my umbrella, we spotted a bookstore called Shakespeare! We bought another guidebook there, in which the bookstore happened to be featured as one of the best English-language bookstores in town. Someone was looking out for me. Following the “top 10 things to do in St. Germain” suggestions, we walked past the Sorbonne and down Rue (or was it Boulevard? Avenue?) St. Michel to get to the Panthéon, making 3/10. This monument of a king’s thankfulness was meant to look like the Pantheon in Rome (which we would see a few days later), but ended up looking more like St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, due to its prominent “capitol” dome. We peeked inside, but since the admission price was high and we were low on time, we decided against going inside (nothing in there anyway—just more fine art and a few famous painters’ graves). Going in the direction from whence we came on the main street (another top 10 destination), we happened upon a friendly-looking pub and stopped in. Both of us got amazing ales (Dave’s in a glass so tall it had to be held up by a wooden apparatus) and enjoyed people-watching for a little while.
Afterwards, we traveled on to the Jardins du Luxembourg. A friendly, thoughtful place, it seemed to be full of hopeful young intellectuals, as well as the odd family and elderly couple. The sun was setting and the scene was just delightful. After a short stroll, we heard whistles blowing. This was the police’s way of getting everybody out before closing. As people started to head toward the exits, Dave realized he had to use the men’s room (compliments of the huge ale). We needed to go out the opposite direction, so we defied the whistles and went against the flow. We saw a café and a puppet theatre along the way, but alas, the men’s room was locked. The labyrinthine statue garden looked enticing, but not wanting to upset the gendarmes, we dutifully exited the park.
Next on the agenda was a small church with a notable fresco, but Dave did so have to go. I thought I saw a street stall (which you will find intermittently, never dependably, on Paris streets), but when we got closer it was something else. Wanting to see the chapel, I told him that perhaps there was one inside the church. Lucky for us I was right. The chapel contained 3 paintings (2 murals and a fresco) by a famous painter whose name escapes me. My favorite was Jacob wrestling with the angel, which I stared at for quite some time while Dave used the loo. Relieved, we got on the Métro and headed back to the hotel room, where we quickly changed for dinner.
As we were en route to the restaurant, I was happy to receive a happy birthday call from my family. The Métro ride was longer than expected, and the restaurant (Le Bistrot Papillon) was in a, shall we say, obscure part of town. However, once we got inside, it was quite charming, with antique landscape paintings and dried butterflies on the walls. We got a private corner seat next to the window and a vacant piano, and took a long time in choosing our meal. We ordered a bottle of Burgundy to share. I got a warmed goat cheese salad and braised orange sole. Dave got escargots and duck confit. For dessert, I had a cappuccino with an assortment of tiny slices of different chocolate delicacies. Dave got a sampling of sorbets. Afterwards, we bought a bottle of excellent champagne, had another lovely family phone call, and headed back to the hotel. What a day!
posted by Dave | 4:00 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home