Waking Up In Paris and the Delight of French Snow
Sunrise on Notre Dame de Paris
Thursday, January 17, 2013
My journey to Paris started with an early Seattle to D.C. flight, then after a short layover, an overnight jaunt across the Atlantic. Without much time to sleep on the plane, we landed at 6 a.m. at Charles de Gaulle. After breezing through the empty airport and grabbing my bags on the carousel, I made my way outside into the bitter wind. That was a jolt of winter’s reality so I dug out my hat and gloves and never went without them for the next two weeks. The line was short for grabbing a cab and soon I was being whisked away to the city. It was surreal still being dark at 7:30 a.m. and surrounded by rush hour traffic on the highway. Did Paris really exist?
Almost an hour later, the cab dipped under a bridge and we arrived in Paris proper. Still half asleep, I peered wide-eyed out the cab’s windows to identify the old world architecture I’d dreamed of. At one point, we zipped by Notre Dame’s flying buttresses (Really? Was that it?? It seems so small!), then turned away from the Seine and navigated through the dark, narrow, one-way streets of the Latin Quarter to find the Hôtel des 3 Collèges. A storefront across the street was draped in bright, glaring Christmas lights that would serve as a landmark for finding my first home-away-from-home the next three days.
With nearly six hours to burn until my room was ready, it was time to step out on my first Paris exploration! The winter sky was clear and the air was cold, which made perfect walking weather to cure jet lag. First stop: Notre Dame! I knew she’d be only a few blocks away so I headed north towards the Seine and let the river and cathedral unfold before me. What luck! The sun was finally emerging over the city and I was able to walk around the legendary cathedral several times to capture it in the morning light. I could not get enough of staring high up at the cathedral’s stonework. Everywhere I looked, it revealed new characters and architectural flare: the gargoyles, the statues, the buttresses, the carvings, the pilgrims, the history…..the stonework was like a book to be read in itself. I could have sat in front of it forever.
History
Ground for Notre Dame was broken in 1163 on a site previously occupied by other churches and even a Gallo-Roman temple a thousand years before. The first dedication mass was in 1345. It was designed by Bishop Maurice de Sully and over the centuries became a Gothic architecture masterpiece. From 1845-1864 the cathedral underwent extensive renovation after being damaged during the French Revolution. A statue of the renovation’s architect, Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, is nestled among the apostles and evangelists at the base of the 300 foot tower, looking outward, blessing the city, while he looks up admiring his work. The gargoyles ornamenting the exterior of the cathedral represent souls caught between heaven and earth, and also function as rainspouts (from the French word ‘gargle’).
After the morning walk and orientation to the Latin Quarter, the rest of the first day was spent crashed in my new hotel room, weary from jet lag. For dinner I ate the Trader Joes snacks I had brought while watching tv in my room. This was a very important lesson that I learned from my previous trip to Italy. Always have snacks on hand for an impromptu dinner. There was no way I could muster the energy or patience to find food in a strange city tonight.
Mission First French Blunder Accomplished
Friday, January 18, 2013
I was up at 3 a.m. with jetlag, which happened to time well with Oprah’s interview with doper extraordinaire, Lance Armstrong. After his sociopathic attempt at apologizing, I managed to read and then sleep a bit longer, rolling out around 10 a.m. to find my first breakfast at a café around the corner. Tucked in the back room, I still managed to make my first Paris blunder after ordering an espresso right away. When the waiter brought it out, I then proceeded to order a petit déjeuner, which apparently already comes with un café, so he huffed away with my fresh espresso. I desperately tried to call him back so I could keep them both, but it was too late. He was annoyed and I was in need of coffee. A university-type Frenchman next to me scoffed in accented English:
“It’s never easy, is it.”Once I had my meal (merci merci) I drank my single espresso, ate my delicious omelet and half piece of toast, and struck out around the University area.
Roaming the Latin Quarter
The second morning was a self-guided tour of Rue Mouffetard (Poissonnerie! Fromagerie! Pâtisserie! Boulangerie! Charcuterie!), Jardin des Plants (plant sleepy time), Café Delmas (sigh, more espresso) all by 10 a.m. I strolled to the Luxembourg Gardens, which were dormant and gray like the sky above, and the marble statues slept with their eyes open. When I was ready to leave the Gardens and about to open my bag for the map, an older man started talking to me asking if I needed advice on where to go.
Did I stand out that much already? I was just reaching into my bag, but apparently that’s all it took to give me away. He was holding a baguette in its paper bag and eager to speak broken English and show me around. His name was Robert and he lives in the Saint-Germain area and sometimes guides tourists. I felt this was a sign of welcoming to the city so I put aside my cautionary inhibitions and accepted his offer to play tour guide and proceeded eagerly by his side.
We crossed north of the Gardens to Saint-Sulpice church, my first visit to a sacred, historical church. As he opened the door I had no idea we could just walk in so I doubly appreciated my new guide’s expertise. How lucky are we! It was so wonderful to just be able to enter such an historical place and continue to enjoy what its masons created for everyone centuries ago: the stone walls and pillars, the marble floor worn by centuries of worshippers, the candles to instill hope and remembrance, the statues and paintings to pray in front of. Robert pointed out the part of the church used in the movie, The Da Vinci Code. Back outside we crossed a few more small streets and he pointed out where he lived and favorite place to eat. He asked if I wanted to continue the tour tomorrow, but I explained that my own tour started soon and thanked him very much for what he showed me. A wonderful, unexpected start to my trip.
I continued my journey through the old streets of Saint-Germain, determined to find Cour du Commerce Saint-André and its reputed covered alleyway and historic cafés. Aha! I found it, like another world hidden among the bustling shopping areas. After passing on Café Le Procope (so fancy), I slipped into Le Pub Saint-Germain where I was welcomed by two charming waiters who even helped with my French (c’est trés bon, not trés bien). Their plat du jour was of hot soup and my first (maybe last) beouf tartare, to which I added heaps of the accompanying sauce to get over the look and consistency of the pink mass. Dessert was simple fruit and yogurt. More espresso. Maybe time to take a nap.
After some much needed jet lag rest, I knew I had to rally for a proper dinner, not just the crumbs of my snacks. I was quite enchanted with Saint-Germain so I decided to head back to that neighborhood.
A snowy Friday night in Paris!
And all the pretty Paris people were out celebrating happy hour. Low blood sugar sent me into the first place I found, Le Bonaparte, across from Saint-Germain-des-Prés, which is the oldest church in Paris, dating from the 11th century. The restaurant was wall-to-wall with locals eating and drinking at the crowded tables - always a good sign! I inched my way past the diners to a small table overlooking the outdoor seating area, which was enclosed and full of Parisians tossing down cocktails. My little corner was perfect for people watching, especially the older ladies in their fur coats sucking down their cigarettes. I wasn’t that hungry so I ordered a simple dish, something with spinach and cheese….how bad could that be? Little did I know it would be the most amazing dish ever to taste (so far). The cheese was dipped in a light batter, the cooked spinach accompanied it a tiny mound, and a small bowl of hot diced apples soaked in vanilla and sugar was considered an official side dish. The flavors! I had the smallest bites, enjoying each taste, not believing how good it could be. By now it had started to snow and I was eager to photograph the big flakes coming down. But first I had to capture the enchanting scene of two older local men at the bar. It took about 10 takes between the lighting and trying not to be so obvious, but I finally got a shot that captured what I wanted.
Off into the snowy night! Everyone enjoying the delightful scene outside was giddy, the light was perfect, and the snow just didn’t stop! I was reenergized, snapping photos at every turn: a bike locked and forgotten, Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Deux Magots, Institute de France, the Seine, Notre Dame, the Sorbonne, the theater up the street from my hotel. I walked everywhere with joy in every step. How many Americans could say their first real night in Paris was under a rare snowfall? There were so many moments: everyone outside playing in the snow, my coat and hat caked in wet heavy flakes, a tv reporter wanting to ask me about what I thought about the weather (too shy to answer on camera of course). What a magical way to be welcomed to the city. I reluctantly crawled into my little hotel room, but so happy for its warmth all around me, smiling at what still had to come.
