An Afternoon in Paris

Recovering from a mentally-draining two hours in the Louvre, Craig and I revived ourselves with lunch on a patio outside a quaint Parisian cafe. Though the restaurant was a bit up-scale for lunch, we were both too hungry to notice. Eventually adjusting to the occasional waft of cigarette smoke, Craig and I ordered a bite to eat from a waiter who was kind enough to speak in English rather than French.

"I'll try the French onion soup and a ham sandwich," Craig quickly decided after glancing through the menu.

Ordering a sandwich for myself, I waited for the waiter to walk away before whispering to Craig, "It seems so American of us to order merely sandwiches for our first lunch in Paris."

"Actually," Craig replied, "I've heard that the French are known for their baguettes and ham sandwiches. Besides, I couldn't leave France without trying the French onion soup."

Though I'm sure the sandwiches were tasty, the most remarkable memory came after our empty dishes were cleared from the table. "Dessert?" the waiter asked while gesturing to their dessert menu.

A sucker for anything chocolate, I looked pleadingly at Craig who gave in and said, "Sure, but only coffee for me."

Ordering chocolate mousse, I leaned towards Craig and said, "I can't leave without trying the country's best dessert."

And what a dessert it was! Honestly, I can't remember ever tasting anything as wonderful as this chocolate mousse. Light, fluffy, and generous in portion, I ate slowly so as to savor every bite. Craig ate a few spoonfuls and quickly agreed that it was fantastic. Scraping the last bite from my dish, I knew that I would be hard-pressed to find anything quite as wonderful anywhere else in the world.

Leaving our waiter a hefty American tip, Craig and I wandered over to Notre Dame Cathedral. Throughout Europe, Bill and I had visited several churches and cathedrals, but the great thing about Notre Dame was that it was Catholic. After spending a lot of time in albeit beautiful Anglican churches in England, I was happy to see a cathedral with more familiar religious rituals. Admittedly, Disney pictured the outside of Notre Dame rather well in their 1996 animation, but the interior was unlike any that I had ever seen. Expecting ornate windows and tile floors, I was surprised by the simplicity of the cathedral. Built of stone in the Gothic fashion, the church was primarily dark and bare with few frivolities seen in many later architectural styles. Though somewhat ominous in appearance, I actually found the interior to be calm and soothing in an uncluttered sort-of-way. Mainly, I liked it just because it was different.

Unfortunately Craig and I opted out of climbing to the roof of Notre Dame to see the gargoyles -- they were charging 7 Euro, and we were trying to control our spending. Craig did see a statue of interest as we were examining the sculptures on the outside of the church. A statue of St. Denis was located near the entrance -- with his head in his hands. St. Denis was a French martyr who was beheaded in downtown Paris. After they chopped off his noggin, however, his body bent down, picked up his head, and walked several miles to the Sacre Coeur Basilica at the northern edge of the city before finally dying there. Craig was interested in the sculpture because his family's church in Ohio was named after this unusual saint.

Practically next door to Notre Dame is Sainte Chapelle. Sainte Chapelle was a chapel consecrated in 1248 to house various holy relics such as Christ's crown of thorns and the Image of Edessa. Today, however, the chapel is mostly a tourist attraction famous for its original intricate stained glass windows. Sainte Chapelle was an interesting site for Craig and I -- mainly because we had two very different reactions. Craig was awestruck by the windows and was content to sit in the chapel for hours to examine the many patterns and colors. On the other hand, I found myself merely comparing it to a few churches in England and was soon ready to move onto the next Parisian sight.

"Julia," Craig scolded, "we are in one of the most magnificent chapels in Europe. How can you not be excited?"

"It looks a lot like the churches I've already seen," I nonchalantly replied.

Swallowing his frustration, Craig seemed a little irritated with my lack of interest. It was at this moment that I realized that perhaps I had been touring a little too long throughout Europe. When you see similar sights over and over in a matter of weeks, memories begin to run together and even the most magnificent views begin to appear a little lackluster. Bothered by this realization, I grumbled, "Maybe I'm just a little burnt out on churches."

Eventually, Craig was satisfied enough to conclude our visit to Sainte Chapelle and suggested that we begin the long trek back to our hotel in northern Paris. Backtracking our steps through Jardin des Tuilleries, we noticed that the Louvre was closing up for the day and dusk was quickly approaching.

"I can't believe that we've been in Paris for an entire day and I haven't tried the wine yet!" I exclaimed as Craig mentioned that France is a principle European wine country. Not wanting to miss our chance, we ducked into a small wine bar on our walk back to the hotel. Though not busy so early in the evening, the bartender walked over to our table to inquire which wine we would like to drink.

"Do you have any Bordeaux?" Craig asked.

Chuckling to herself, the bartender returned with a huge chalkboard outlining an entire list of wines from France's Bordeaux wine district. Randomly picking two glasses of red wine, I made the mistake of asking the following question: "Do you have a menu?"

At the time, I was hoping to order an appetizer to try with our wines, but I didn't realize that asking for a menu in France is akin to signing a contract that you will be ordering a meal. I was leery of ordering a meal at a wine bar because I knew that the food would probably be expensive and mediocre, but I had little choice as the bartender insisted that we stay for dinner. Ordering a plate of lasagna, I wasn't thrilled to see the bartender pull out a frozen TV dinner from a fridge underneath the bar and proceed to heat it up in a microwave. Without a doubt, the wine was wonderful, but I wasn't exactly thrilled with my over-priced Lean Cuisine pasta.

Heady from the potent Bordeaux, Craig and I continued backtracking our steps and marveled at the beauty of Paris at night. With Christmas only a short month away, the city had already hung hundreds of holiday lights and iridescent bulbs. The Paris Opera House towered above us as I recalled scenes from "Phantom of the Opera". Eventually spotting the unmistakable windmill of the Moulin Rouge, Craig and I knew that we were close to our hotel. Warming ourselves in the hotel lobby soon thereafter, we were happy to settle in for an early night.

Borrowing the hotel's computer to send a quick email to my parents, I briefly wrote:

"Dear Family,
Our first day in Paris was amazing. I'd love to stay longer, but tomorrow we'll be catching a train to Belgium for a few days in Brussels and Bruge. I can't wait to try the chocolate! Hope all is well at home!
Love,
Julia"