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"
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Paris à pied
With the Paris transportation strike just firing up, Craig and I knew that reliable public transportation would be a long shot for the duration of our trip. Carefully studying our maps and asking the hotel manager countless questions about the locations of various sites around the city, Craig and I meticulously planned out our walking route the early the next morning.
"We'll definitely need to prioritize our time and group sights together by location so that we don't waste time backtracking on foot," Craig reasoned.
"Agreed," I nodded. "I know you're not a fan of art museums, but the Louvre is top on my list."
"Don't get me wrong," Craig said while glancing over the map, "I want to see the Louvre, too. It looks like the museum is also near Notre Dame and Sainte Chapelle."
"We'll probably need to hit the Louvre first since the lines can get really long later in the day," I replied. "So what do you think of hiking downtown, grabbing breakfast at a coffee shop, getting in line at the Louvre before it opens, and seeing the Mona Lisa first before catching the churches?"
Silence.
More silence.
It was at this point that I realized my boyfriend had unmistakably tuned me out to whatever was flashing across the television screen.
"Craig!" I exclaimed waving my hand across his face, thus breaking his mesmerized gaze. "Did you hear what I just said?"
"Of course," he shrugged, "we'll see the Louvre first."
"I'm amazed you caught that much of the conversation," I mumbled. "What are you watching?"
"Rue Sesame."
"Rue what?!"
"Rue Sesame... I had no idea that they had Sesame Street in French."
Intrigued, I turned towards the television only to see the blue "Healthy Foods" monster nibbling vegetables. "I miss the cookie monster," I sighed.
"Me too," Craig groaned while flipping off the TV.
Picking up my purse and pocket maps, Craig and I left the hotel to begin the long trek into downtown Paris.
The sky was still dark when we left our hotel well before 7 a.m. Unsure how long the line outside the Louvre would be that day, our goal was to reach the museum's glass pyramid before opening in hopes of avoiding a long wait.
Our walk into downtown Paris was surprisingly refreshing. After countless trips on the London subway, we were thrilled to walk through narrow streets, watch shopkeepers set out produce displays, and listen to disgruntled Parisians argue with delivery truck drivers. There was something charming about the city just before dawn. Strolling hand-in-hand, Craig and I arrived at the Louvre's glass pyramid as the sun was just beginning to rise. Quietly walking through the Jardin des Tuileries ("Garden of Tuileries"), Craig and I watched the sunrise alone in the park before the city had even begun to open her eyes.
Reluctant to break our comfortable silence, I softly said, "The Louvre doesn't open for over an hour and no one is waiting near the entrance. Would you like to find a place for breakfast?"
Bribed by the concept of food, Craig nodded, and we left the garden to find a cafe along the Seine River. Though unsure of what over-priced cafe we would find along one of Paris's most-touristy boulevards, I was too hungry to venture too far from the river in search of food. Eventually, we found a small cafe (doubling as a bar at night) that was serving a decent breakfast special: toast, jam, two eggs, bacon, and a drink for 5 Euro (approximately $7).
Though it sounds not far from typical American fare, I must admit that the French do breakfast spectacularly to a whole new level. First of all, freshly baked bread and homemade jam -- need I say more? And secondly, the hot chocolate is phenomenal. Throughout my travels, I sought to find Europe's best hot chocolate. True, the Americas own bragging rights to the best coffees, but hot chocolate and tea far exceeds expectations in Europe. Up to this point, Germany was winning hands down with the most decadent hot chocolate... but that was before visiting France. The hot chocolate at that particular Parisian cafe was the most creamy and comforting hot drink my taste buds have ever experienced.
As for Craig, the French finally convinced him to drink his coffee white. Like several caffeine-addicted college guys, Craig had grown accustomed to the standard black coffee -- no cream, no sugar. In France, however, most Parisians drink their coffee with lots of cream (1/2 coffee and 1/2 cream, to be exact). Wanting to fit in, Craig tried it their way and found his coffee to be a rather pleasant experience. Needless to say, his coffee habits have been converted ever since.
After enjoying a relaxing and somewhat robust breakfast, we tipped the waiter and made our way back to the Louvre. The famous art museum was scheduled to open at 9 a.m. that morning, but the transportation strike threw everyone's schedule a little askew. Stepping into a fairly short line around 8:15, a security guard walked to the front of the building to slap a sign on the door that read: "Due to the transportation strike, the Louvre will open at 10 o'clock."
When asked about the delay, he simply replied in surprisingly fluent English, "Our employees have not arrived yet." Apparently tourists were not the only ones affected by the strike!
Standing in line for an extra 90 minutes only served to build my anticipation of seeing the world's most famous art galleries. To be completely honest, I did not even know that the Louvre existed until Dan Brown wrote his controversial novel "The DaVinci Code". From that point, I had become almost obsessed with seeing the Mona Lisa, Madonna of the Rocks, and a few Michelangelo sculptures.
"Stop hopping," Craig chided with a grin.
"I can't help it," I replied. "I'm really really excited to finally be here."
Rolling his eyes, Craig wrapped an arm around me to stop my jittery jumping. "I know this isn't your cup of tea," I began, "but I promise this is the only art museum I'll make you endure while we're here."
"No worries," he said. "I've always wanted to see the Louvre... just not as much as you, I can see."
After endless waiting, the doors to the museum finally opened prompting at 10 a.m. Rushing with the crowd to the closest ticket kiosk, Craig printed our admission tickets as I unfolded a floor map of the museum. "We should probably start with the Mona Lisa since that'll draw a large crowd before long."
Shrugging, Craig handed our tickets to the woman at the ticket gate, and we quickly made our way to the Louvre's most prized painting. As I had expected, the Mona Lisa was rather small. Compared to the "Wedding at Cana" hung on the opposite wall, this womanly portrait appeared tiny. Though a few signs stating "No Pictures" in French dotted the gallery, few paid attention to them and the guards did not seem to mind as tourists snapped photo after photo of their favorite paintings. I was surprised by the fact that no one complained about the flash photography -- certainly, it can't be good for the centuries-old artwork. Not to be a hypocrite, though, I will admit to taking a few photos of my own, but I tried to avoid using flash photography on the paintings.
My best word to describe the Louvre is expansive. With several levels and thousands works of art, Craig and I had a hard time pin-pointing what we really wanted to see. Bypassing the audio guides in hopes of saving money and limiting our time, I had one interesting wish while we were walking throughout the Louvre. I wished that Bill was there with us. Bill and I had already toured several art museums in London and Madrid, but now I was experiencing the largest one without him -- and it was a lot harder to enjoy. When Bill was in high school, he took an AP Art History class that actually served him well while in Europe. Though not too enthused by looking at paintings in a textbook, Bill remembered enough to explain famous works of art and little-known tidbits about the artists as we walked through various art galleries. With all of the Louvre placards written in French, I had a hard time judging whether a specific painting was historically significant or simply pleasant to gaze upon. "Bill would really love this," I thought to myself.
Using my Rick Steves Tour Book and shoddy memory of the "DaVinci Code", I managed to catch a few well-known works of art while Craig and I strolled around the museum. In particular, I really wanted to see da Vinci's "Madonna of the Rocks". During his lifetime, Leonardo da Vinci completed two very similar paintings: "Virgin of the Rocks" and "Madonna of the Rocks". Both contain four similar characters, but legend claims that "Virgin of the Rocks" was painted later with several Catholic symbols to appease the Church. Lucky for me, I would get the chance to see both while in Europe. "Virgin of the Rocks" is owned by the National Gallery in London, and "Madonna of the Rocks" is housed in the Louvre.
Interestingly, the paintings exhibit polar opposite emotions as you view each separately. Glowing with Christian symbology, "Virgin of the Rocks" portrays a warm scene of the Virgin Mary with Jesus, John the Baptist, and an angel. With cherub-like cheeks, the painting appears similar to other Christian scenes completed in that time period. "Madonna of the Rocks", however, evokes very different feelings. Void of halos and crosses, the characters in the painting appear to have almost remorseful expressions and "Mary's" hands look almost claw-like in nature. Though many leave this up to speculation, I truly feel that each painting was design to serve a very different purpose.
Catching glimpses of Venus de Milo, Michelangelo's Slaves, Cupid and Psyche, and the Winged Victory of Samothrace, Craig and I felt ourselves trudging through gallery upon gallery until the paintings appeared virtually all the same. Reaching our limits at about the same time, Craig sunk into a gallery couch and said, "I don't know how much more I can take of this."
Ready to leave, we walked back through the Louvre's glass pyramid just as a tourist mob was pushing its way into the museum to see the Mona Lisa.
"We'll definitely need to prioritize our time and group sights together by location so that we don't waste time backtracking on foot," Craig reasoned.
"Agreed," I nodded. "I know you're not a fan of art museums, but the Louvre is top on my list."
"Don't get me wrong," Craig said while glancing over the map, "I want to see the Louvre, too. It looks like the museum is also near Notre Dame and Sainte Chapelle."
"We'll probably need to hit the Louvre first since the lines can get really long later in the day," I replied. "So what do you think of hiking downtown, grabbing breakfast at a coffee shop, getting in line at the Louvre before it opens, and seeing the Mona Lisa first before catching the churches?"
Silence.
More silence.
It was at this point that I realized my boyfriend had unmistakably tuned me out to whatever was flashing across the television screen.
"Craig!" I exclaimed waving my hand across his face, thus breaking his mesmerized gaze. "Did you hear what I just said?"
"Of course," he shrugged, "we'll see the Louvre first."
"I'm amazed you caught that much of the conversation," I mumbled. "What are you watching?"
"Rue Sesame."
"Rue what?!"
"Rue Sesame... I had no idea that they had Sesame Street in French."
Intrigued, I turned towards the television only to see the blue "Healthy Foods" monster nibbling vegetables. "I miss the cookie monster," I sighed.
"Me too," Craig groaned while flipping off the TV.
Picking up my purse and pocket maps, Craig and I left the hotel to begin the long trek into downtown Paris.
The sky was still dark when we left our hotel well before 7 a.m. Unsure how long the line outside the Louvre would be that day, our goal was to reach the museum's glass pyramid before opening in hopes of avoiding a long wait.
Our walk into downtown Paris was surprisingly refreshing. After countless trips on the London subway, we were thrilled to walk through narrow streets, watch shopkeepers set out produce displays, and listen to disgruntled Parisians argue with delivery truck drivers. There was something charming about the city just before dawn. Strolling hand-in-hand, Craig and I arrived at the Louvre's glass pyramid as the sun was just beginning to rise. Quietly walking through the Jardin des Tuileries ("Garden of Tuileries"), Craig and I watched the sunrise alone in the park before the city had even begun to open her eyes.
Reluctant to break our comfortable silence, I softly said, "The Louvre doesn't open for over an hour and no one is waiting near the entrance. Would you like to find a place for breakfast?"
Bribed by the concept of food, Craig nodded, and we left the garden to find a cafe along the Seine River. Though unsure of what over-priced cafe we would find along one of Paris's most-touristy boulevards, I was too hungry to venture too far from the river in search of food. Eventually, we found a small cafe (doubling as a bar at night) that was serving a decent breakfast special: toast, jam, two eggs, bacon, and a drink for 5 Euro (approximately $7).
Though it sounds not far from typical American fare, I must admit that the French do breakfast spectacularly to a whole new level. First of all, freshly baked bread and homemade jam -- need I say more? And secondly, the hot chocolate is phenomenal. Throughout my travels, I sought to find Europe's best hot chocolate. True, the Americas own bragging rights to the best coffees, but hot chocolate and tea far exceeds expectations in Europe. Up to this point, Germany was winning hands down with the most decadent hot chocolate... but that was before visiting France. The hot chocolate at that particular Parisian cafe was the most creamy and comforting hot drink my taste buds have ever experienced.
As for Craig, the French finally convinced him to drink his coffee white. Like several caffeine-addicted college guys, Craig had grown accustomed to the standard black coffee -- no cream, no sugar. In France, however, most Parisians drink their coffee with lots of cream (1/2 coffee and 1/2 cream, to be exact). Wanting to fit in, Craig tried it their way and found his coffee to be a rather pleasant experience. Needless to say, his coffee habits have been converted ever since.
After enjoying a relaxing and somewhat robust breakfast, we tipped the waiter and made our way back to the Louvre. The famous art museum was scheduled to open at 9 a.m. that morning, but the transportation strike threw everyone's schedule a little askew. Stepping into a fairly short line around 8:15, a security guard walked to the front of the building to slap a sign on the door that read: "Due to the transportation strike, the Louvre will open at 10 o'clock."
When asked about the delay, he simply replied in surprisingly fluent English, "Our employees have not arrived yet." Apparently tourists were not the only ones affected by the strike!
Standing in line for an extra 90 minutes only served to build my anticipation of seeing the world's most famous art galleries. To be completely honest, I did not even know that the Louvre existed until Dan Brown wrote his controversial novel "The DaVinci Code". From that point, I had become almost obsessed with seeing the Mona Lisa, Madonna of the Rocks, and a few Michelangelo sculptures.
"Stop hopping," Craig chided with a grin.
"I can't help it," I replied. "I'm really really excited to finally be here."
Rolling his eyes, Craig wrapped an arm around me to stop my jittery jumping. "I know this isn't your cup of tea," I began, "but I promise this is the only art museum I'll make you endure while we're here."
"No worries," he said. "I've always wanted to see the Louvre... just not as much as you, I can see."
After endless waiting, the doors to the museum finally opened prompting at 10 a.m. Rushing with the crowd to the closest ticket kiosk, Craig printed our admission tickets as I unfolded a floor map of the museum. "We should probably start with the Mona Lisa since that'll draw a large crowd before long."
Shrugging, Craig handed our tickets to the woman at the ticket gate, and we quickly made our way to the Louvre's most prized painting. As I had expected, the Mona Lisa was rather small. Compared to the "Wedding at Cana" hung on the opposite wall, this womanly portrait appeared tiny. Though a few signs stating "No Pictures" in French dotted the gallery, few paid attention to them and the guards did not seem to mind as tourists snapped photo after photo of their favorite paintings. I was surprised by the fact that no one complained about the flash photography -- certainly, it can't be good for the centuries-old artwork. Not to be a hypocrite, though, I will admit to taking a few photos of my own, but I tried to avoid using flash photography on the paintings.
My best word to describe the Louvre is expansive. With several levels and thousands works of art, Craig and I had a hard time pin-pointing what we really wanted to see. Bypassing the audio guides in hopes of saving money and limiting our time, I had one interesting wish while we were walking throughout the Louvre. I wished that Bill was there with us. Bill and I had already toured several art museums in London and Madrid, but now I was experiencing the largest one without him -- and it was a lot harder to enjoy. When Bill was in high school, he took an AP Art History class that actually served him well while in Europe. Though not too enthused by looking at paintings in a textbook, Bill remembered enough to explain famous works of art and little-known tidbits about the artists as we walked through various art galleries. With all of the Louvre placards written in French, I had a hard time judging whether a specific painting was historically significant or simply pleasant to gaze upon. "Bill would really love this," I thought to myself.
Using my Rick Steves Tour Book and shoddy memory of the "DaVinci Code", I managed to catch a few well-known works of art while Craig and I strolled around the museum. In particular, I really wanted to see da Vinci's "Madonna of the Rocks". During his lifetime, Leonardo da Vinci completed two very similar paintings: "Virgin of the Rocks" and "Madonna of the Rocks". Both contain four similar characters, but legend claims that "Virgin of the Rocks" was painted later with several Catholic symbols to appease the Church. Lucky for me, I would get the chance to see both while in Europe. "Virgin of the Rocks" is owned by the National Gallery in London, and "Madonna of the Rocks" is housed in the Louvre.
Interestingly, the paintings exhibit polar opposite emotions as you view each separately. Glowing with Christian symbology, "Virgin of the Rocks" portrays a warm scene of the Virgin Mary with Jesus, John the Baptist, and an angel. With cherub-like cheeks, the painting appears similar to other Christian scenes completed in that time period. "Madonna of the Rocks", however, evokes very different feelings. Void of halos and crosses, the characters in the painting appear to have almost remorseful expressions and "Mary's" hands look almost claw-like in nature. Though many leave this up to speculation, I truly feel that each painting was design to serve a very different purpose.
Catching glimpses of Venus de Milo, Michelangelo's Slaves, Cupid and Psyche, and the Winged Victory of Samothrace, Craig and I felt ourselves trudging through gallery upon gallery until the paintings appeared virtually all the same. Reaching our limits at about the same time, Craig sunk into a gallery couch and said, "I don't know how much more I can take of this."
Ready to leave, we walked back through the Louvre's glass pyramid just as a tourist mob was pushing its way into the museum to see the Mona Lisa.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
