Our group trip this morning is to la Notre Dame on l'Ile de la Cite. I'm excited. I see my list of monuments growing smaller though nowhere near complete. We barely glance at the exterior before we head inside and start up the stairs. I did the 284 stairs at l'Arc de Triomphe... Notre Dame has 100 more, but again, the views are worth it.
I'm in love with the gargoyles. No two are the same. They're simultaneously terrifying and oddly likable. I take numerous pictures.
We duck through a tiny door and make our way up rickety, narrow stairs to the large bell inside the Notre Dame. Naturally, Quasimodo jokes abound. It's pretty spectacular.
We make our way down the 384 steps to the entrance where we take photos and talk to Professor Vessely about the history of Notre Dame. It took 2 centuries to build. It's gigantic. It's beautiful. Tara and I slip away to see the rose gardens in back and appreciate it fully.
We join up with the group and follow Madam Kelton to the metro to head toward la Musee Rodin. My art history is rusty. I can't remember well who exactly Rodin is or why I want to see a museum dedicated to him... That all changed very quickly.
To put it shortly: Duh, Emily.
As in Versailles, we have lunch in the gardens of the museum -which did I mention is the actual house where he lived and did his work? Mind-blowing... At the cafe, I have a giant salad (fresh salad, sliced proscuitto, dried figs, sun-dried tomatoes, and balls of mozzarella) and yogurt with raspberries for dessert. It's ridiculously amazing.
P.s. I've never taken so many pictures of food, but when in France....
I can barely walk I'm so full, but walk we do finally into Rodin's house and the beginning of the tour. His sculptures are surreal. They feel like they'll burst into movement at any second. The emotion, the tension, the realism... It's crazy. I would have enjoyed it much more had an Italian woman in her sky-high stilettos and skin-tight jeans not slipped into the way of every picture I tried to take. Sigh. Tourists.
When we can finally pry ourselves from Rodin's work, we walk through the streets toward la Musee d'Orsay. Again, I'm not entirely sure what la Musee d'Orsay is, but I'm eager to see anything after the Louvre. It's hard to imagine Paris has so many museums -priceless, amazing museums at that. The Musee d'Orsay is no exception. Once a train station, it was then converted and updated to house the works of Toulouse-Lautrec, Picasso, Pierre Bonnard, Georges Seurat, Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Renoir, Cezanne, Degas... Not that I'm name dropping or anything. I saw them all, and it was... Ugh amazing.
We spend another hour and a half in the museum, but it's not near enough. By this time in our trip in Paris, our group dwindles. People are exhausted. Some are hung-over. Others just plain hurt. After la Musee, Madame Kelton meets us outside where she says if we feel up to it we can journey to Sacre Coeur and Montmartre. I cannot express the constant pain in my feet and legs. For 5 days, I have barely slept and walked all day everywhere. I don't care. It's my last day in Paris. I'd drag my limp legs through the streets just to explore it a little bit more. It's painful being in love with Paris, but I am deeply, deeply infatuated. I can't get enough.
From a group of some 10-12 people, 5 of us emerge from la Musee d'Orsay and meet Madame Kelton to journey to Montmartre. I'm ecstactic. Montmartre is where Amelie was filmed. It's situated upon a tall high and considers itself apart from Paris. It's know for its unique, eclectic, artistic energy. You can expect artists, musicians, and street performers to flock here. After we arrive at the metro stop, we take a tram up the hill to Sacre Coeur. The weather is beautiful. The view is breath-taking. Students pile upon the grass to take it all in.
We mount the steps to Sacre Coeur.
Understandably, cameras aren't allowed inside. Signs instruct visitors to be quiet, respectful, and to dress appropriately. One of the girls ties a scarf around her legs because her skirt is too short. It's beautiful. It's huge. It's packed. Me and Andres whisper under our breaths when the severe Frenchmen watching us look away.
Madame Kelton then entices us with a drink on her at one of the cafes in Montmartre. Along the way, we make a very exciting discovery....
Oh hell yes. It's a mime! Where's Matt? I put a coin in his hat, like a robot he came to life (smirking oh so Frenchly as you can see), and began dancing to Parisienne music. A crowd gathered. He was blowing kisses and winking shyly at us. We're laughing our asses off. He's fantastic... He's a mime -in Paris. What more can you say?
Finally we make it to the cafe where we can rest out feet awhile longer. I'm so tired I can barely hold my head, so I immediately consider the cafe options and order a cappucino.
After Montmartre, I hurry back to the hostel to meet Tara for dinner. I barely have time to change and put on some red lipstick before we leave for dinner -again, at Le Vert Tulip (we're loyal customers). Our waiter is there. He laughs when he sees us and ushers us excitedly toward a back table. We're quick to order. After all, we have a date tonight.... The Eiffel Tower's waiting.
This time I order the plat du jour even though I have no idea what it is. I discover it's swordfish (I think haha), wilted spinach, and boiled potatoes. Delicious.
We meet up with the others and head off in a bus for the Eiffel Tower. We're speaking a steady hum of excitement. This is what we've been waiting for. The boat ride teased us, and we're ready to see it in person. It's the mark that we're here. We made it. It's real.
I can't express how happy I am in this picture... Instead, I can only recount what I did next. At the Eiffel Tower, one has the option to alight the stairs or simply take the elevator to the top. I have walked for some 19 hours 5 days in a row. Furthermore, I have sat down maybe twice this day. I approach the base and announce without hesitation "I'm walking it." Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy. I don't really care. If I'm at the Eiffel Tower, I'm drinking it in like every second is something to savor. I pay my 9 Euros (how the hell can you charge me 9 Euros to walk up a ridiculous amount of stairs?). The guards who check my purse tease me about this decision. I'm stubborn, and I'm excited. Night's starting to fall.
I start up the stairs. I walk. I walk. I walk. I walk some more... I reach the first level.
I walk around. I direct some French people who are lost. The views are amazing. I head toward the second level and walk and walk and walk... You get the idea. And then something unthinkable happens... I hear a roaring crowd outside erupt into applause and calls. Confused, I look around and realize... It's 10 o'clock. The Tower has begun to sparkle.
I didn't know the Tower could get anymore beautiful. Really Paris? Way to go out with a bang! The lights turn off after 10 minutes, and I'm not allowed to hike up the stairs any longer. I pile into an elevator with a bunch of tourists like a can of sardines. When we reach the peak, the final level, it's night. The window's blowing. The city's glowing around us. It's so crowded I can barely part the crowds to capture pictures, but I'm done being nice to rude tourists. I do what's necessary to enjoy Paris and all the Tower has to offer. I think you can see why...
At the top of the Eiffel Tower, they sell glasses of champagne for 10 Euros (12 if you want the glass to light up). I roll my eyes and find Andres. You don't need over priced champagne to enjoy the view. It's enough to drink in by itself.
Finally I let the Eiffel Tower go. I take the elevator down, but I insist on walking down the next two levels. It's hard to leave so soon. It's a dream, and I don't want to give it up so soon. When I reach the bottom, it's past 12 o'clock.
By now if I haven't made this point clear before, allow me to reiterate: Time in Paris... It doesn't seem to exist. At midnight, the city is wide awake and out in throngs. The Tower is swarming with tourists as reluctant to descend as I was, the courtyards are packed with groups sitting and drinking wine and eating, and the steps are full as a band takes advantage of the crowds and puts on an impromptu performance. I can't find the rest of the group. Everyone has scattered in the course of alighting the Tower, and I find myself alone on the steps sitting and waiting to see if someone familiar passes by. In fact, I want to see the Tower light up from this distance and capture a picture of it glittering. I buy a bottle of sparkling water, make myself comfortable, and watch tourists get haggled by men selling miniature Eiffel Towers by the dozens (times like this I'm happy I speak French enough to dismiss them away).
Some boys call out and say stupid things. I ignore them and sit on the steps surrounded by people and staring at the Eiffel Tower. It's a bit bizarre that it feels completely natural. I check my watch. It's only 12:30. 30 minutes until the Tower lights up again. I catch odd people staring at me, and after awhile, the looks seep in. I decide it's better I head to the hostel to see if I can meet up with anyone there. I take the metro and walk several blocks to the hostel. I'll admit here and now it's probably the dumbest thing I did in Paris, but I kept to the lights and crowded places and was fine.
When I got back to the hostel, everyone was out. I'm exhausted -like a deep exhaustion all the way down to my bones. I change and shower and collapse into bed. I check my clock and realize it's 1:12. The lights on the Tower had just ended. It seems appropriate, and I go to sleep with a picture of the golden Tower in my mind.
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