Paris, March 2006: Day 7, March 20, 2006, Paris, France (It was Paris or Bust...)
It was hard to wake up from such a dream as the past four days in Paris, but when we did wake up, Matthew and I realized we only had two hours to catch our plane home. We hastily packed and rushed out the hotel doors, barely saying "merci" to the staff for their service.
We caught the Metro to the RER station at Gare du Nord for service to Charles de Gaulle Airport. Once we were settled on the train to the airport, Matthew and I repeated ourselves from the previous night by looking out of the windows at the passing landscape reflecting on the trip. Ironically, we were also on the train with four American girls heading home from a Spring Break in Paris. We struck up a conversation and compared notes. They did the typical tourist agenda of tours, monuments, recommended restaurants and bars, but they were fascinated about our experience of actually being involved in the protest, going to bars and restaurants in smaller, more unknown neighborhoods and traveling around with our Italian, French and Spanish cadre.
We arrived at the airport with very little time to spare. So little that Matthew and I were the last ones to check in on a very full flight on Air India back to Newark, NJ. Fortunately, Matthew was rushed through security, but, as my luck would have it, I was set aside for a "special" security procedure. Off came my belt, shoes, and all contents out of my pockets and backpack. Not trying to create a scene, I stood there half smiling, but still visibly annoyed at this process. The process took a 15 very long minutes and I was let go to run and redress at the gate. I caught up with Matthew as the final call was made for our flight. I stumbled through the last security checkpoint, boarded, found my seat and settled in for my return trip home.
I still don't know what the term "Wherever or Bust" means, but it seemed fitting as the plane took off for Newark. As I sat on the plane heading back to the USA, I turned my thoughts inward. I would remember this trip to Paris for the rest of my life, but I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to experience this sensation of stepping out of my door, going to a new place and creating new memories every single day. I would do this all over again if I had the chance, but knowing me, I'd get bored unless there was a new element.
Paris did feel natural though. Walking through the neighborhoods, going to different bars, eating the most random foods in Paris (paella on a street corner in front of Notre Dame...weird to me, what country is this?), meeting interesting people, shopping, touring around on the Metro and falling in love at first sight multiple times all seemed to fit. I belonged anywhere and nowhere. Although I adored my home, there were times when I wanted to get out and bring home with me, to see the rest of the world and still be able to find peace wherever I go. I guess I wanted both worlds - settled comfort, but variety of a change of atmosphere. I was still somber for most of the flight, but looking back over the past five days, in Matthew's words, "flawless trip."
Paris, March 2006: Day 6, March 19, 2006, Paris, France (Last Stroll through Paris, Notre Dame and Ice Cream)
I awoke in pain on our last full day in
Paris.
Five days of walking through two major cities, shopping, sightseeing, dancing and a slight hangover had taken its toll on my body.
I was beginning to feel travelers’ fatigue, if there is such a thing.
Matthew and I slept till
2 p.m. with no regard for breakfast or lunch.
All we wanted to do was recharge ourselves in order to enjoy our last day in City of
Lights.
After dragging ourselves from our beds, we cleaned up and headed to Notre Dame Cathedral to meet up with Francesca, Stephanie and Josephine.
They looked even more tired than we did, but we became energized as we joined the exuberant crowds milling around Notre Dame and the neighborhood behind it.
Even though this was my second time seeing it, Notre Dame is still a magnificent structure.
The amount of detail in even the smallest awning is inspiring.
The mid-afternoon sun coupled with a completely cloudless sky made the cathedral stand out from the surrounding landscape.
It almost felt as if it didn’t belong there, but that place wouldn’t be the same without it.
My gawking stopped as Stephanie suggested we partake of some of the best ice cream (Berthillon ice cream) in Paris at café Le Flore en l'Île (42 quai d'Orléans).
I’m a sucker for ice cream, even in 50 degree weather.
We made our way across a bridge behind Notre Dame towards the café, but I found myself leaving the group behind as a looked in all directions at beautiful views of the River Seine with Notre Dame and other gothic structures in the background.
There was an American jazz trio playing for a gathering crowd on one end of the bridge.
The other end had a street comedian trying to propose to an elderly, but charmed, woman.
I was transfixed at the people, the environment and the fact that I was truly enjoying being a traveler instead of a tourist.
This was a typical Sunday afternoon for most of the people around me.
Instead of going on a tour that I probably wouldn’t enjoy, I decided to spend it among real Parisians enjoying a real Parisian day.
This was why I wanted to travel.
This was the reason why I would travel more often.
Stephanie wasn’t lying about the ice cream.
After I spent about 15 minutes trying to find an ATM, I finally had this talked-up ice cream to my lips.
I ordered a double scoop cone with caramel and mocha ice cream.
After the first bite, I think I lost consciousness because it was
that good.
Again, I’m a sucker for ice cream, even in 50 degree weather.
Ice cream in hand, laughter from our group and the music of the jazz trio wafting through the air, I sat down on the sidewalk and started gawking again.
It wasn’t just gawking, but taking in the environment and letting the world pass me by…in a good way.
I must’ve lost track of time because the sun was beginning to set and the dusk lights of the city began to twinkle on.
I joined the group for stroll alongside the lower banks of the River Seine.
There’s a definite contrast between looking at the river from a bridge vs. the lower banks.
You can see the river’s true power as it surges through the middle of the city on its way to the
English Channel.
The
pièce de résistance to this day came as the sun spread its last rays on the buildings above us while the bells of Notre Dame sang its evening call to Mass.
The scene made me emotional as I formed a new appreciation for my senses and the memory of this moment that would last me until my dying day.
As night approached, the group began to unravel as Josephine bid us all good night and Matthew and I safe travels back home.
Francesca and Stephanie stayed with Matthew and me as we walked south away from Notre Dame on Boulevard Saint Michel.
Stephanie was about to say her goodbye’s as well, but she then came up with two bright ideas: invite us to a Catholic Mass and serenade her.
She had found out that Matthew and I sang with our church’s choir back home in
Atlanta, Ga. She loved choral music, especially coming from men.
Also, I’ve always wanted to experience the pageantry of a Catholic Mass, especially seeing that I’ve only experienced a Baptist upbringing.
We agreed to both ideas and after serenading her with “Total Praise” by Richard Smallwood, we were off to a Catholic Mass at the Church of Saint Germain Des Pres (3 place Saint Germain Des Pres).
Saint Germain is
Paris’ oldest church allegedly built in the sixth century.
Walking into the nave (sanctuary) and hearing the ethereal choral music and the French priest, I felt the presence of God transcending language and the age of the building, welcoming all who came through its doors.
Even though I couldn’t understand but a word or two from the priest, I still felt His presence work through the congregation.
I was so struck that I took communion.
It was a way for me to say an additional “thank you” to God for the opportunity to be in
Paris after going through a rough latter part of the last year.
After the service, Francesca, Matthew and I bid goodbye to Stephanie.
I tried to thank her in Italian for being such a good hostess, but I think I butchered the language.
She was charmed at my attempt though.
Francesca, Matthew and I started making our way back north towards the
Latin Quarter.
It was ironic that we three would end our last night in
Paris the same way we began it – with drinks in the
Latin Quarter.
I was beginning to feel our last night in Paris come to a somber close, but to alleviate the mood we headed towards a kitschy bar that Francesca knew of called Les Estages (35 Rue Vielle Du Temple).
We ordered a few mixed drinks, but soon realized the “bad drink” curse had followed us from Barrio Latino to this bar.
We switched to beers and sat quietly people watching and reminiscing about the past couple of days.
Matthew and I offered a toast to Francesca and her incredible job at hosting us.
She kindly accepted and proclaimed that we were her best time ever spent in her three months in
Paris.
We lingered a little longer at the bar and then accompanied Francesca back to her home near the Salforino Metro station off of Boulevard Saint Germain in the shadow of the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs complex.
As we arrived at Francesca’s door I saw that she and Matthew
wanted to say goodbye personally without me present.
I knew that they were friends, but seeing her get emotional at the thought of him leaving after not seeing each other for more than two years, I knew their friendship was a deep one.
I distracted myself by photographing a softly lit church across the street.
After a few minutes, Matthew called me over to say my short goodbye to Francesca and I also took the opportunity to thank her for her hospitality – in English, Italian and French.
I didn’t butcher the languages this time.
I knew it was getting late, but I wanted to make a quick run through the
Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe.
I didn’t want to come all this way and not see these two landmarks, even though I saw them four years ago.
Matthew was hesitant at first, but after Francesca explained that the monuments were within walking distance, he warmed up to the idea.
After our final goodbyes, Matthew and I walked west along to Rue Saint Dominque past the Hotel Des Invalides towards the ever impressive
Eiffel Tower.
Seeing the tower again brought back memories of me standing on its second highest platform and shouting “I’M IN PARIS” during my first trip to the city back in 2002.
I didn’t have as much energy this time around, but the emotion and awe were much the same.
We approached the tower as it literally sparkled with lights of thousands of flash bulbs.
It was gorgeous, but by the time we got underneath the tower, the sparkling had stopped and so did the excitement.
After a few snapshots of the tower and fending off vendors selling cheap plastic
Eiffel Tower models, we made our way across the bridge at Pont D’Iena towards the Palais De Chaillot.
The bridge offered an impressive shot of the city skyline with the River Seine cutting right through it.
With the
Eiffel Tower on one side and the city’s glowing lights on the other, I finally had one of the most visually stunning memories of my life.
I couldn’t get the picture to come out right, but the memory would do just fine.
Matthew and I were beginning to get cranky – a sign hunger, exhaustion and realization that we had one more monument to go. We hoofed it to the Bir-Hakeim Metro station and took the 6 Line to the Charles de Gaulle-Etoile Metro station right next to the Arc de Triomphe. Four
years ago, I didn’t shout from the top of the Arc, but I did stand in the middle of a crosswalk on Avenue Des Champs Elysees facing the Arc de Triomphe taking pictures of it at dusk. I repeated myself this time around, but got a few good night shots. Ironically, I also got shots of the headquarters of the Publicis Groupe, the parent company of the public relations agency I resigned from before I left for Paris. I tried to explain the irony to Matthew, but he was visibly annoyed from hunger, so out of sheer desperation we stepped into a McDonald’s and ordered two royals with cheese (quarter pounders) meals.
Food in hand and memories in our minds and hearts, we took the Metro back to our hotel. Along the way and while chomping on our burgers, we passed through various stops that reminded us of the places we’ve been over the last four days including Pigalle and Sacré Coeur. The last few minutes of the ride back to the hotel were spent in silence as we both looked out of windows on opposite sides of the train – Matthew fighting sleep and I reflecting on a trip of a lifetime. Merci beaucoup Paris (thank you very much Paris)!
It was hard to wake up from such a dream as the past four days in Paris, but when we did wake up, Matthew and I realized we only had two hours to catch our plane home. We hastily packed and rushed out the hotel doors, barely saying "merci" to the staff for their service.
