When I think of weekends that could be considered “best weekends ever,” a few instantly pop into my mind: Quebec in 11th grade, Camping the First in 12th grade, the Delphi weekend in Greece last summer — and this Paris weekend certainly gets added to the list.
We (myself, Lauren from USC, Angee from Purdue, and Andrew from Vermont) had to wake at the ungodly hour of 4 AM to catch a train from Canterbury to Ashford at 5:40 (we left campus before 5 to make sure we made it to the train station in time), then had to sprint through ticketing at Ashford (literally) to jump on a 6:20 EuroStar Chunnel bullet train to Paris. I fell asleep pretty directly, waking to see blue misty fields zooming by before disappearing into the blackness that (I’m assuming) was in the water under the English Channel (or they’ve been playing some cruel joke on the public with this whole ‘Chunnel’ thing). Lauren woke me up as we pulled into Gard du Nord, a very sterile looking and enormous train station. From there we fumbled to buy the correct metro passes, somehow navigated the metro map, and found our hostel.
The hostel, “Calaincourt,” was located outside the touristy part of Montmartre, the old haunt of such greats at Monet and others from the impressionism lot. Stepping out of the metro into the ‘real’ Paris for the first time was just as stunning – if not moreso – than the last time I was there in 2005. There is something about Paris that is so utterly distinct, so very different from every other city you can imagine. Its in the architecture, the streets themselves, and every pastry shop you stroll by.
The air was misty and the sky overcast, but it made the day all the more comfortable for walking around. We dropped off out bags at the hostel, had pain au chocolate (chocolate croissants) and espresso for breakfast (my first opportunity to see how much French I had managed to hold on to after basically not using it for 2 and a half years), then struck off towards the heart of town.
Our first stop was Sacre Coeur, after of course the fifty thousand steps or so that it takes to get there. The building was massive, white stone stained with black in very sharp distinction. Around the front, there was a balcony overlooking green plazas and extending into the heart of the city. A man with a harp sat outside and played sections of Pacabel Canon, and for a good half an hour we stood in silence and breathed in the sight of the city. It was one of those moments that seemed to crystallize in time, where the clocked stopped and everything was perfect.
Then we started down the hill and were accosted by the Bracelet Men, vendors who try and tie a piece of string around your wrist, call it a bracelet, and try to make you pay for it. They picked out Lauren and yelled something like, “Oh, pretty lady! Beautiful! Sexy – sexy boom boom!”
And so our team name was born: for the weekend, we were Team SexBoom, ready to take on Paris and all its annoying street vendors.
We took the metro down towards the Seine. Beginning with the old Bastille monument, we meandered down the Rue de Rivoli, seeing the Place des Vosges, Hotel Sully, Hotel de Ville, Seine, Musee’ d’Orsay, Notre Dame, and winding up – of course – at the Louvre. Along the way we stopped at least twice in various cafes for eclairs, espresso, and quiche — we ate a lot of chocolate and coffee that weekend, but I guarantee we walked off every single calorie.
The Louvre was even more striking from the outside than I remembered. We wandered in through the eastern entrance and then into the main courtyard, with the pyramid and fountains. Although it wasn’t sunny, per se, it was still bright. The air was crisp, and there weren’t really many people there. The Eiffel Tower made a dim appearence through the mist as we went through the Jardins de Tuilleries, through the Place de la Concorde (“Where the guillotine was during the Revolution!” I excitedly told everyone, transported momentarily back to my senior graduation project, a novella called Maison du Pain set during the French Revolution), and finally down the Champs Elysee to the Arc de Triomphe. We didn’t go up, thinking that we would have time to do so in the evening the next day (which sadly never happened), but we did go underneath.
It was nearly 6, so we made our way back to Notre Dame, where we met (after a good bit of searching) my uncle and his wife Katya. They had made dinner reservations for 8 for all of us, so we killed some time by going into the cathedral, only to find some big ceremony going on with all sorts of Catholic big-wigs (not to be offensive). None of us really knew what was going on, or certainly what the occasion was, but it was neat to watch it (although the incense made my eyes burn…)
The restaurant was along the Rue de Rivoli, and was unbelievable. We had a lovely bottle of wine, hors d’ovres platter including fois gras (liver), salad, olives, egg, goat cheese, and LOTS of baguette — very, very good baguette. I did try everything – even the liver – although I didn’t particularly like it. The main meal was calamari with risotto colored with squid ink, so it was deep blue — really, really good!! I didn’t think it could get much better.
Until dessert. I’ve tragically forgotten the name of the chocolate mound of heaven that Andrew and I split (unkie? some help?), but it was a cake-like shell with gooy molten chocolate in the center and fabulous vanilla ice cream to temper it. And of course espresso.
The next day we got started a bit later than we wanted to, thanks to me forgetting to re-set my clock for the one hour time difference. Still, we were out the door (after having complimentary breakfast! A lot of hostels do that over here – VERY handy!) and drinking espressos like very tasty medicine. Our first stop of the day was the Musee’ d’Orsay, which we arrived at just after it opened around 10. I think I could have lived in the Monet room for days. His series of the Rouen Cathedral are just clear enough to be concrete and just misty enough to be interesting, the vagueness of the lines making the whole scene hover somewhere between dream and reality. They had 4 of them in varying degrees of color (from light blues to deep blacks and grays). Stunning.
After the Orsay, we went to the Eiffel Tower, determined to make it all the way to the top — something the Olympic selection committee stopped me from doing last time. It was a brilliant day outside – not a cloud in the sky, sunny and relatively warm (50s easy — not to rub it in to those of you coping with -2 every morning… eeeek!) and not too windy (at least with feet on solid ground). The wait wasn’t that bad to get to each level. We climbed the stairs to the first two (cheaper!), then took the elevator to the tip top. The view was amazing — and the wind was staggering. You had to stay on the side away from it, or hold your breath to go to the other side! You could see the whole city set out on its oddly shaped grid in fabulous definition – and we even saw a football (as in soccer) game going on!
We tried to go to St. Chappelle after the Tower, but just missed it. Its a shame – it was the perfect day for being encased in stained glass.
By 5, we were all dragging pretty severely. We trudged back to the hostel and found they had moved us around so we could all be together (we had been scattered in different dorm-style rooms the night before). Not only were we together, but they gave us a hotel room! A double bed and two singles, and our own bathroom, and our own TV! We proceeded to eat massive amounts of chocolate and NutriGrain bars (the only food we had brought of our own) and watch EuroSport long jumped until about 8.
For dinner, we returned to the Champs Elysee and got pizzas at a very nice French-Italian mixed restaurant called Cafe Roma. Might I say that pizza made Italian style with French cheese is a very big winning combination! We topped it off with chocolate mousse and – of course – more espresso, before returning to the hostel for the night.
The next morning, Lauren and Andrew had to leave early to catch a 9-something EuroStar. Angee and I had until 1, so we took advantage of the Louvre’s free day (first Sunday of every month!) to see some of the highlights. Now, two very overtired 20 year olds can’t fully appreciate the glory that is the Louvre, but we really did give it our best shot. We saw the Mona Lisa, Nike Victory of Samothrace, Venus de Milo, and the old Medieval foundations, and found ourselves too pooped to stand up any longer. We retired to the cafe, got something to sip on, and fully appreciated the spectacular view of the Louvre courtyard and the bright sunshine. It was one of those moments where I was struck to the core about where I was and what I was doing. I think we each had one together, because neither one of us seemed able to say anything, and I think we both teared up when we had to get onto the metro to go back home.
The ride home was uneventful – I slept for most of it – got home, showered, ate, and feel promptly to sleep. What a brilliant weekend. What a brilliant city. And what fantastic people to share it with! =) Love you all!
