Jardins et Musées

I have become somewhat convinced the primary reason I continue to pick up these stories after long durations having gone without an apparent hint of interest, is simply because I can only escape the desire I have to return to Paris for so long. It is something that will haunt you in the best imaginable way. It's something you never forget. Like an old Edith Piaf song bursting forth from a phonograph. Much like the thought of a woman you are convinced is absolutely the most gorgeous thing you've ever had the privilege of seeing with your own two eyes. Or the itching feeling within your soul that you may receive when you are on the verge of greatness in any way conceivable.

I recently had the pleasure of watching a fantastic foreign film the other day again entitled "Amélie". It is a film about a shy waitress who, after an surprisingly pleasant discovery in her life, dedicates her life to helping others find happiness in clever ways. She seems to have trouble going after it for herself however, and the story takes place primarily in Paris. Fantastic shots of Montmartre and the lifestyle flow throughout the film like the very water in the River Seine. It is definitely a feel-good movie and entirely in French, so it is subtitled as all good foreign films should be. Then again, gotta love those voice-overs in Kung-Fu flicks like "Inman" (another amazing one). Watch the trailer to the film here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sECzJY07oK4 Anyroad, this movie had brought me back yet again to the feelings and visions of France I once held in person, leading me to find some outlet in which I can attempt to express it!

I suppose I'll pick up where I left off...where were we.. ah yes! Walking down l'Av. des Champs Elysees towards the Jardin and the Musee Louvre. The Jardin du Luxembourg was incredible, and it had an incredible array of things to witness; an ancient Egyptian obelisk and a holiday fair Ferris wheel among them. It was a Wednesday night from what I remember, and that is good news if you're planning on visiting the Louvre (which any self-respecting art-lover, or self-respecting human being, should fit in when going to Paris.) then because admission is free. Not that I wouldn't have given quite a LOT to visit it, but c'mon when you're on a budget... Truth of the matter is, it will be very difficult to describe to you what happened within those three hours that seemed to fly by too quickly while walking amidst the ancient Greek and Roman sculptures and countless priceless works of art amongst the myriad corridors and rooms of the Musée.


I was pleasantly surprised to find my favorite sculpture of all time at the Louvre, "Cupid and Psyche" by Antonio Canova. I honestly could have, and probably would have, spent all three hours just looking at that sculpture in particular had I not been aware of the immense collection still awaiting to be seen in the museum. It was literally awesome to be in the same rooms with the works of art I had only previously seen in films, pictures and history books. To know the history and struggle and the victory behind the works was intense. When you look at the works themselves, you can see the world through the artist's eyes. What was beautiful; what was chaos. The faces of the very sculptures were themselves the faces of the creator, the people of that time and place. Each stroke of the brushes centuries ago made with the same hands that touched those very scenes physically. One must truly witness it for themselves. Upon leaving the museum, my mind felt intellectually violated, to be honest. It was reeling from the massive intake of an entire face of humanity I had never before witnessed to that extent. It left an impression in such a way that I can never go back to that previous, forgotten way of thinking. My mind and heart was expanded in a way to a growth point one can only experience by being subjected to it. You will see.

Message received: "We, ART, will speak for ourselves."

Quite An Eggsperience

Upon descending le tour’s archaic elevators, I proceeded to walk across the Parc Du Champ de Mars, past the countless autumn leaves that spoke amongst themselves in many inexplicable tongues of color, and looked back to the Eiffel Tower as though the experience of reaching the top had yet to happen. It was all so surreal and beautiful. A fantastic aspect of travel is upon visiting a place that is particularly memorable or impactful, one can almost travel there, back to those same places within the heart, mind and soul. Almost. While the unique sounds and extraordinary sights can only be fully experienced when physically present, the mere remnant of that is significant enough to last until I can create more recollections to add to my mental memoir on the next adventure... I can still faintly hear that familiar accordion playing those old tunes echoing throughout the Paris Metro.

I then proceeded down L’Avenue de La Motte Piquet and across several busy streets to a corner café where my girlfriend at the time and I decided to stop for some lunch. Now something I learned on this day was that French food has l’œufs, or eggs, in… well just about everything. This doesn’t trouble me a bit, as I am a fan; however my ex-girlfriend is really quite allergic. So basically everything on the menu turned out to, quite literally, be a recipe for disaster. Of all the experiences I had attempting to speak French, I would say I had the most difficulty in restaurants and patisseries. Perhaps more vocabulary would have been useful. Be prepared for understanding terminology for those environments! But I digress. After asking if what we had ordered contained eggs, and the waiter promptly replied “non”, he randomly reappeared minutes later with the biggest egg you’ve ever seen sunny side up smiling at us from the plate. I apologized for the mistake and although he said our applicable plates had no eggs, soon after we departed (and left a rather large tip), I soon found myself travelling with a nauseous wreck. Had it not been for the fact that I was fascinated from exploring Paris, I probably would have felt much worse about the situation, especially seeing as how each picture I took had a shot of her about to throw up over every bridge and landmark along the river Seine.

As we passed l’Hotel des Invalides, the captivating gold dome reflecting the light of the sky, and with my feet shuffling through the fallen leaves, I truly felt I was in an entirely new world. We turned down Boulevard des Invalides and walked past the Museé Rodin, which was incredible to simply know what lay within it’s walls. Rodin’s most famous work, with which people most often associate him, was his sculpture “The Thinker”. It was actually originally to be part of a very large contract for an art museum entitled “Hell’s Gates” that was never completed. The site of the Museé can be found here: www.musee-rodin.fr

Traversing Esplanade des Invalides, the view of Paris is one of the most interesting. The Eiffel Tower can be seen above nearby apartments, the expansive Assemblée Nationale building and l’Hotel des Invalides is directly to the left, and across the river can be seen les Grands et Petit Palais. I kid you not, had I not gone inside myself, I would say the front gates to Le Petit Palais could possibly be a portal into heaven. See for yourself! Inside was an art exhibit (likely a cover to disguise the real portal), and after taking a good look we then carried on down the famous Av. des Champs Elysees towards La Jardin du Luxembourg and Museé Louvre. And this, dear readers, is where I must leave you for now. Until next time!

A View From The Top

Je suis vraiment desole, je ne parle pas français tres bien, mais..." (followed with random vocabulary words in French) was the phrase I used most while exploring Paris. And you know what? It worked rather well. It means, "I'm sorry, I don't speak French very well but...", and I found that as I made an honest effort to communicate in the language of that particular country, almost everyone was willing to help me or kindly make sympathetic attempts at friendly conversation. Which really, who could ask for much more?

For some reason, many Americans assume the French are extremely rude and dislike any form of interaction involving them. I suppose I can imagine if one goes to France, acting like a tourist rather than a traveller, and expects everyone to speak English and automatically conform to customs and habits one has picked up in their own country, the ensuing encounters could be a bit unpleasant. Living in Southern California, it would best be compared to an individual of Mexican descent approaching you and rattling off their concerns in Spanish, expecting you to communicate effectively with him or her and becoming irritated you cannot. Make sense? I hope so.

Moving on! As the morning began, and the sounds of Parisian activity rose from the street outside my window, I quickly set out on the path that was planned out the previous evening before I reluctantly went to bed. Of course the true art of travel is diverting from one's plans, so I wasn't counting on sticking to it. Walking to the nearest Metro station, I breathed a sigh of satisfaction from merely being in Europe on my own time, with such a feeling of detachment from all I left behind in the States. That is one of the many sacred characteristics of travel: the ability to completely escape all you’ve known as ordinary and replace it with what others know- their culture, their world. There is something spiritual in nature about becoming immersed in a different culture; a sort of connection with people that cannot be attained by sitting at home or in your hometown all of your life. Not to say that is the incorrect thing to do, but it is something you will never experience unless you get out into the world and be a part of others’ lives and let them become a part of yours. Seeing things from a completely new perspective in that way is something that the cost of a plane ticket and hotel can never cover; it truly is priceless. I think at some point or another a part of each of us has thought of how incredible it would be to drop everything and take a plane out of one’s own world and into a totally new one. Dropping everything and leaving, just walking right out the door and boarding a plane. Of course apart from being a fugitive, that could be a very good thing. Perhaps one could ask themselves why they “can’t do that” and look for solutions to remedy the problem?

Anyroad, I left the Metro once it arrived at L’av des Champs-Élysées, and proceeded above ground to L’Arc de Triomphe, which turned out to be quite a bit larger than I had previously anticipated it would be. It was also a great deal more epic a sight to behold, with an immense French flag waving amidst the four pillars of the infamous landmark. After walking around it for a time and seeing The Tomb of the Unkown Soldier, I proceeded down L’av Kléber to the Palais de Chaillot. Now, this was one of the most incredible sights of the entire trip. Not the Palais itself, but in fact what I saw once crossing the open plaza to survey the city. I had seen bits and pieces of Le Tour Eiffel (the Eiffel Tower for you English speaking folk) between the beautiful buildings along the avenues, but when you walk into plain view of all that Paris has to offer, your breath can’t help but escape you. The amount of sky when in harmony with the environment of the low level buildings, and contrasted by the tower against it all is something pictures really cannot capture in depth, both physically and mentally. It really took a while to soak it all up (that’s me in the center of the picture there), but once I recovered and got back on my feet, I walked across the bridge, or Pont d’léna, to the tower and purchased tickets to the very top. It was about €14, but the price was actually much higher than those Euros to get to the top. I never thought the words “this is a nightmare” would come out of my mouth when on the Eiffel Tower, but there was the absolute coldest, highest-speed wind I’ve ever experienced bombarding all of us when moving up the three levels of the tower, I just couldn’t help it… so make sure you dress warmly for the occasion. A young child was crying and trying to hide it was that bad! But keep in mind, it was well worth it to see what there is to see from the top. It seems for many things in life, the price you pay to get to the top turns out to be nothing for what you really get in results and rewards of finally reaching it.

The interior of the tower itself can best be described by the following: A small, rambunctious young lad was running around and misbehaving when he suddenly runs to a support beam and yells loudly, “Ces’t comme le chocolat! NOMNOMNOM!” All of which basically means, “It looks like chocolate!” shortly followed by the charming sounds of the boy pretending to eat the Eiffel Tower. I suppose it was the brown paint covering the metal, but either way it apparently looked delicious. The structure really was a remarkable sight and the views it offered were spectacular. The best view of the rest of Paris is where I will leave you for now, but needless to say, the day held much, much more.

Paris, je t'aime (Pt. 1)

Ah oui, the charming sounds of an accordion playing in the distance. The birds flutter past ze Eiffel Tower in unison and there are artists (emphasis on the “i”) painting amongst the many parks. Ah, Paris. You can pretty much bet that any and all thoughts you may have about how spectacular Paris is will be blown away and far surpassed. While I only spent two days in Paris, it was not nearly enough time in the city to fully get all I could out of the experience. Don’t get me wrong now; I definitely was out seeing all I could practically nonstop. So buckle down and prepare for the rapid unfolding of events!

My travel partner and I began the journey by taking a Eurostar train from London’s Kind’s Cross/St. Pancras Train Station to the Gare du Nord Station in Paris, France. And no, unfortunately I did not take platform 9 ¾. I am convinced the Chunnel is the easiest way to get from London to Paris, being affordable and much less of a hassle than airlines. The trip went smoothly and I had the great pleasure of being in the car with a host of drunk Irishmen who were on the way to Paris for a big football match. To give you an idea of the crew, upon nearing the station in France, one merrily shouted in regards to the Eiffel Tower, “It’s just a big f---ing pylon!”. Charming.

First tip on visiting a foreign country: Go with a map in hand of where you will be. This seems like common sense to most people, me included, however I was talked into purchasing one at the train station when I arrived at the Gare du Nord station. Bad idea. There was so much happening upon arriving, I soon found myself distracted by patrolling French military carrying FAMAS assault rifles and trying to read signs in French. Fortunately, I had been taking French that semester and it paid off to no end. My travel partner and I soon found ourselves on the boulevard looking at public maps in an attempt to find our hostel, the Montmartre Clignancourt Hotel. We eventually found it after asking for directions in French a couple times. This place worked out fantastically. It was extremely affordable (about forty American dollars a night) and I scored a room on the third floor above a quiet Parisian street. Well quiet aside from rioting Algerians; but I’ll get to that later. It even had a view of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica lit up in the evening over the neighboring rooftops. Speaking of rooftops, one of the best things about Paris was the open feel to it. There was just so much sky! The buildings in the main circle of the old city are not allowed to be over a certain number of stories. The one building they let go beyond the limit was a complete eyesore and an obvious mistake. I personally think they should demolish Le Tour Montparnasse, but that’s not up to me.

Anyroad, the first night I arrived at the hostel, I was not about to just stay there, even if it was late into the night. I soon came to find that Paris is alive and active well into the early morning and actually on into the following day. As I walked the many streets (or “rues”), I found that every neighborhood or street appeared to have its own café in a way, at which the residents of said establishments would spend time together on into all hours of the night. I decided to check out the nearby Sacré-Coeur Basilica and ran into numerous charming streets and market squares.

I also got a chance to see the famous Moulin Rouge cabaret after walking past the Café des deux Moulins (from “Amelie”).

This was an interesting point because a group of Irish football fanatics were literally stopping traffic and jumping on everything they could find in celebration of beating the French and moving a step closer to the World Cup. I managed to leave by the time the local police finally gained the courage to begin breaking it up.

As the night wore on into the early morning, I made my way back to the hostel and made preparations for the next day. I decided I would catch the metro to L'Arc de Triomphe and head from there to the rest of the areas I wanted to hit. I knew the day ahead was going to involve a lot of walking, and could not have been more excited for the things I would soon see and experience. And with that, I bid Paris bonsoir.