o eni k . t g e.
PARIS MM
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CHAPTERS
I. Strange Nostalgia
II. Point Zero
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III. The City of Light IV. Beneath
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V. Le Pandemonium
VI. Hall of Mirrors
VII. Two Explorers
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CHAPTER I
STRANGE NOSTALGIA
HIS very place, in this exact moment must have been a hallucination, a figment of my imagination or a fragment of distant memories now perfectly in focus – I realized I had been to this place before. Above the clouds and across the Atlantic Ocean in our flying machine, our crew had reached latitude 48.864716 and longitude 2.349014, following seven arduous hours in the esteemed and revolutionary Red Hawk. According to the meters of the machine’s instruments, the temperature was 19°C, humidity level 63% and the atmospheric pressure 990 hectopascals upon landing; a Godsend for aeronautical travelers. We had arrived in Paris, France on March 7th. The year was 1913. Our crew was comprised of nine swashbucklers: Liam, Haeun, Nicole, Sarah, Jeanette, Camila, Alicia, the incomparable Professor John Luttropp and, of course, myself. This group was among the finest and most scholarly from the newborn institution, the New Jersey State Normal School at Montclair. We had only met weeks before our travels but had become quite comfortable in each other’s company, alleviating my initial hesitation and apprehension for such a daring venture. Despite having seen Paris earlier in my life, I was now even more enamored by the delicate extravagancies that the city had to offer. Perhaps it was the Parisian air in which we respired that made our reality seem quite surreal. More than likely, it was being in the presence of the luminaries of our time and having the opportunity to stand amongst astonishing architectural feats that would ultimately make for such a dreamlike and inimitable experience. Subsequent to our first night at the Hotel Ronceray Opéra, many of us were well rested and anxious to begin our exploration of the city. I was famished and it was certainly most practical to satisfy my yearning for savory foods as soon as possible. There were café’s, fruit stands and pâtisserie’s at each corner which made it difficult to thwart off the cravings that I had had for French
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omelets, quiches and those divine éclairs. Before long, with our belly’s full and ambitions wide, we instinctually made our way on foot towards La Basilique du Sacré Cœur de Montmartre, located at the highest point of the city. This Romano-Byzantine Church had been under recent construction for ages so having the privilege to witness the beauty within its Travertine limestone walls is not easily describable through words alone. There is an angelic presence to its atmosphere – ethereal to those without faith, and holy to those with it. The extraordinary craftsmanship and artistry to make such a church reminiscent of a 13th century Byzantium cathedral in our modern age is in many ways incomprehensible to my mind. The warmth of early springtime brought us back down to Earth, and the secular liveliness outside of the church compelled us to continue traversing the endless cobblestone streets. We walked until we had found ourselves at the center of what seemed like a community of artists – an eclectic and vivacious gathering of pure talent. I was particularly enthused by the work of one individual. His paintings and illustrations were unlike any that I had ever seen – bazaar, sporadic, yet quite intriguing. Attempting to converse with him would have been an embarrassing effort but, with the understanding that I was a foreigner, he proceeded to show me his works – some finished, some in progress. I was especially drawn to one of his paintings that featured three disproportionate women in bathing attire, basking on the seashore. I admired his work and wanted to stay longer, but the city was vast and my time there would be brief. My farewell was taken kindly as I attempted to verbalize a compliment in French. “Très bon monsieur! Au revoir!”
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CHAPTER II POINT ZERO
T was always effortless for me to imagine myself in New York City, so why was I still in such disbelief at my being in this incredible “City of Light,” La Ville Lumière? My mind was foggy and fatigued from late onset jet lag, and I must have experienced acute sensory overload while trying to process all that was happening before me. Yet, there was no time to waste thinking about such things – only places to see and memories to create. We were all becoming more acquainted with the city streets of Paris and were continuously amazed by the efficiency of the recently constructed underground railway system called the Métropolitain. Each entranceway that we came across was stylized in accordance to Jugendstil, also known as Art Nouveau to the French. This elegant, yet modern, artistic approach was being echoed all throughout the city – from poster art, to furniture and especially evident in the architecture. As charming as the modern architecture of the city was, I was most eager to satisfy my interests in historical architectonics. It was at Point Zero, the center of Paris, where we stood before the legendary Notre-Dame Cathedral. It was as haunting and as exceptionally beautiful as I had remembered. I placed myself in Victor Hugo’s famed novel, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, having taken place in the late 15th century. I pictured how barbaric and sadistic the culture must have been during the time period. Perhaps little has actually changed since then. I had circled the Cathedral two or three times prior to going inside of it. As I circled, I thought how unsightly it was to see such an astonishing structure tarnished as a result of pedestrian carelessness and pollution in the city. This aside, I had been enthralled by its delicacy and marveled at the gargoyles glaring down upon me. They made it seem as if I were not welcome inside this house of worship. I finally entered the dark, cool and noticeably ancient atmosphere of Notre-Dame and began my approach towards the altar. Afternoon light radiated through the stained glass rose windows and warmed the
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room with a holy presence, an unforgettable sentiment. As short attention spans often prompt impulsive tendencies, I quickly re-focused my intentions to finding my way upwards to see where the hostile gargoyles perched silently. There was a spiral staircase within the western façade that I found could take me to the silent guardians. Alas, the ascend challenged my inner intrigue to a battle of heart, lung and bodily endurance. As I climbed those three hundred and eighty-seven dizzying stairs, feeling out of breath, light-headed and at an obvious loss for words, I could not help but imagine all that it must have taken to build Notre-Dame. It would be very uncultured of me to complain about such a thing as “too many stairs to reach the topâ€? compared to the hundreds of years and all the blood, sweat and tears it took to build this timeless structure. Finally, I reached the top of the cathedral and shared the otherworldly view with the gargoyles.
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CHAPTER III
THE CITY OF LIGHT
was exhausted from the seemingly endless walking that the previous held and, as a result, got off to a rather late start. The hours passed by quickly as we covered much ground. Our only moments of leisure were spent in the newly built and profligate Aux Galeries Lafayette, a luxury bazaar that was attracting crowds of Parisians and world travelers to its displays of extravagant fashion merchandise. Its dome-like ceiling structure was made of colorful stained glass while the ironworks, visible throughout, were beautifully constructed as well. The ambiance felt more in likeness to an opera house than a bazaar but was able to attract the masses quite effortlessly from all that it flaunted. I had walked all the way to the west bank of the Seine River from the hotel, which is a rather significant distance on foot. Dusk was upon us and hunger had set in, so I glanced up at the colossal clock outside of the Gare d’Orsay railway station to confirm the time. At this very moment, I was nearly knocked over by a multitude of travelers and commuters exiting the railway station. Feeling rather disoriented and in the way, I managed to find a staircase that led me to the walkway along the Seine. My feet had temporarily given out on me, so I located a comfortable place to sit and rested awhile. To my right were two musicians playing for an audience of none, with no intention of collecting money for their musical efforts. I found this quite unusual compared to the indigent streets of New York. Instead, they were enjoying the reverberation that the bridge above them had offered to their sound. I listened to the guitar strings buzz, and the accordion wheeze in the most gracious of ways – I was entranced. The guitarist had begun singing, and I had listened carefully to her voice travel over and above to the other side of the river.
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Sitting on a bench by the water Boats passing out on the bay He’ll paint you my dear Just as you appear Listen to what he’s got to say here Claude or Claudette? Guess it’s whatever you get The fog makes for a nice silhouette Swaps out his palette for A different color set Can’t tell how it’s gonna turn out just yet Children playing, all sorts of fun Painting pictures of almost anyone His eyes are down, his strokes are broad He’s thinking he’s just like Claude He’s been boozing alone; I can smell it from here Must have it hiding somewhere, somewhere over there He won’t make you into a star He paints you as you are Then you can find him at a main street bar The concrete’s baking from the sun all day Bickering with his brush, having his way A dingy dwelling or a grand façade He’s thinking he’s just like Claude Now all of the stars cascade through the night As he’s tying up the easel to his motorbike A palette falls off, one with earthen tones As he crawls across the cobblestones” One by one, the streetlamps along the river flickered into illumination as the sun slowly fleeted.
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CHAPTER IV BENEATH
S we began climbing down the spiral staircase to the underground cemetery of Paris, a home to nearly six million deceased, a disturbed and somewhat claustrophobic sense of uncertainty had come over me. I knew that the impending sight would exhibit skeletal mosaics amongst other natural masterpieces, such as the miniscule growth of stalactite and stalagmite formations. However, I could not help but think “what was the true attraction to a place best known as ‘The World’s Largest Grave?’” Despite my unease, I continued to walk through the tunnel network which was originally designed as a passageway to the gypsum and limestone mines of the city. We had walked over a kilometer when I noticed the air begin to dampen and the pathway narrow; it had become obvious that we were nearing the ossuary. Needless to say, I had grown anxious for what I was about to witness. Yet, there in the musty atmosphere augmented by the ominous lighting and musty odor, the stage had been set for something surprisingly fascinating. Quiet gasps could be heard and noticeable distress was observed in the body language of several onlookers within the solemn, yet inquisitive crowd. It had taken several seconds for me to realize that I was looking at a countless number of human skulls and femurs stacked atop one another. A thought struck me just then; I was no longer uncomfortable while reflecting upon my trip to the bazaar or when encountering various other unsightly remains. The reality of what I was seeing was a result of a mournful time period, too familiar and rich with death, disease, war and poverty. Since building a modern city meant maximizing its space efficiently, it was only logical to relocate pre-existing grave sites for future development. As James Allen once quoted, “There can be no progress nor achievement without sacrifice.” It was sobering to comprehend that these countless remains belonged to those who once walked the same cobblestone streets as I had but, since then, have been long forgotten.
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CHAPTER V
LE PANDEMONIUM
UR long anticipated visit to Musée du Louvre was within reach once we surfaced from the Métropolitain. Within a few shorts blocks we had made it to the magnificent palace, which once belonged to powerful rulers such as Philippe Auguste, Louis XIV and later, Napoléon Bonaparte. The entrance was rather teeming with travelers but we were able to push through until the bottlenecking erupted. We were now standing inside the legendary museum. This moment had been, unequivocally, one of my most overwhelming experiences while in Paris. I was certain that I would only be able to appreciate a fraction of the great and timeless works that this magnificent museum had on display. To be practical and efficient in what I was to see was critical; so, without hesitation, I began my exploration of the museum at a random corridor and was on my way to becoming enlightened in an artistic context. The most memorable pieces for me include Leonardo Da Vinci’s paintings such as the “Mona Lisa” and “Madonna on the Rocks,” Alexandros of Antioch’s “Venus de Milo” marble statue, Antonio Canova’s alluring statue titled “Cupid’s Kiss,” Claude Monet’s famous water lily paintings, John Martin’s “Le Pandemonium” and the endless, intricate tapestries. Besides these aforementioned works that I anticipated seeing most upon arrival, there are simply too many notable pieces to mention. These timeless art pieces and collections gave me a small glimpse of what greatness is while simultaneously preserving the memory of their masters throughout the ages. Ultimately, descriptions do no justice as these pieces are worth infinite emotions.
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CHAPTER VI
HALL OF MIRRORS
T was apparent that we had arrived at our destination as the rail wheels slowed to a low, screeching halt. The city of Versailles, no less that forty-five minutes outside of the center of Paris, welcomed us off the train with a cool breeze, which aided in revitalizing our tired eyes. Wisps of the blossoming tree pollen could be seen dissolving as the sunrays dispersed their warmth, revealing a most glorious sight – the Château de Versailles. Having the opportunity to explore the palace, both the magnificent corridors inside and the elaborate gardens outside, was a vicarious luxury. To imagine myself walking the halls where King Louis’ XIV-XVI and Marie Antoinette once paced, danced and sauntered was nearly incomprehensible. The most enchanting aspect of the castle had to be The Hall of Mirrors. As I meandered, it felt as though I was in a mirage; to see various versions of myself intermixed in the intricate context, at infinite angles was captivating. What was most intimidating (yet also comical) was picturing myself presenting a priceless gift to the King only to retreat without tripping all over myself and in front of the entire Royal Court and Royal. Ultimately, one of the curators at Versailles, said it best when she described the establishment as “sumptuous and theatrical entertainment… a manifestation of glory and power imposed to a great extent by art, luxury and magnificence.” As I wandered outside into the seemingly endless gardens, feeling as Alice must have upon entering Wonderland, this quote resonated with me as I decided to let myself become lost in time and beauty for the remainder of the afternoon.
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CHAPTER VII TWO EXPLORERS
UR adventures in Paris were soon nearing their end, but it was not quite time to pack our luggage yet. My suitemate Liam and I had made the effort to wake especially early on our last day and, while we had been set free from the itinerary and time constraints of our group travels, we had finalized plans of our own. We discussed traveling through the city on bicycle, as the French typically do, and found a place around the corner from the hotel to rent them at an hourly rate; what a favorable coincidence it was. I had never gone cycling through a large city before and knew this would be the best opportunity to see this incredible place exactly as it was meant to be seen. Liam and I were two modern day explorers, fearful of nothing and eager to see and experience absolutely everything. With nothing more than a compass and our knapsacks filled with rations for the days travel, we began our journey. Liam and I agreed that revisiting Sacré Cœur, and the artists there, was vital. After watching these talented men and women create endless pieces from caricatures to sceneries, we found a nearby park to eat lunch and solve the world’s problems. By doing so, we found that friendship was easy to establish as we had much in common. We digested, and continued to cycle back towards the Seine, where we had found ourselves wrapped in conversation (and lust) with two young British girls whom we asked to share a coffee éclair with. They agreed, and we were glad for the company and the dessert. Our bike ride continued through the Tuileries, only to be chased away by la sécurité de jardin on their bicycles. As foolish foreigners, unfamiliar to the rules, and unable to comprehend what the screaming frenchmen had been saying, we did all that seemed logical at the time – escape. Who knew that bikes were not allowed in the gardens? We laughed at the irony of the situation and both decided we had
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worked up one last appetite. With adrenaline still flowing, we stumbled upon a small cafĂŠ called Le Bistrot de Jeannete where I had some of the most incredible quiche and French beef in my life. Although my adventurous curiosity stopped at trying escargot, I felt as though I had extended myself beyond what I thought possible. Without a doubt, I found myself newly enlightened by this endearing city of light, of endless life and of everlasting love. As I longingly rested my head on the window of the Red Hawk and overlooked what was my home for the past week, I pondered how different my life would be as a Parisian. How strange would it be to be a citizen of this country? Would I find this city as enchanting and romantic as I do being a mere traveler? With these thoughts in mind, I promised myself to always look at the world through the rose-colored lenses in which I viewed Paris, as it was the most wonderful week of my life and an experience to always remember.
Je me souviens‌ Liam and I at La tour Eiffel
Je me souviens… Professor John Luttropp and I at Musée du Louvre
Je me souviens‌ Cruising on the Seine River
Je me souviens… Standing at Point Zero — The Center of Paris