A week in Paris
Alex Weaver
19/06/2010
We left Aix approximately 11 hours of the morning by the TGV, which I liked very much. The train was nearly quarter of a mile long, divided into 11 cars, each the same model, each configured in rows of seats that were faced front and back, both options being of equal access. I had a hard time to choose the direction I wanted to face. Unfazed by the stomach illness caused by the movement or velocity of such a train, this was not then an opposite reason to look back on the long road I had come with minimal physical effort. However, knowing that a cherished past is a future neglected, I took a seat toward the front side of Allie, who had previously borrowed my book of Maupassant. We talked briefly about The Tales of the Woodcock before she fell peacefully asleep, and I quickly followed suit. Our arrival in Paris was both exhilarative and of disappointment, because I very much liked that train. After I had set and walked a lot, I ate a dinner which was neither good nor bad, nor anything but free. One night in a bar Latin capped a good day.
20/06/2010
In the morning, my friend Brian and I left after breakfast without purpose. We had a number of hours to pass before the group met at the Pont Neuf for a tour of the Seine in a boat. We happened on the first cathedral of St. Paul, and, being a Sunday, there was a running service. As a Jew, I am not inclined to go to Catholic mass. However, given the circumstances, this being the first church I visited in Paris, the service almost reached its conclusion, its conduction in pure Latin, I felt compelled to stay until the rest of the crowd, particularly French, had their fill. Only fifteen minutes. Nevertheless, I saw for the first of six times how the cathedrals of Paris reached their goal. I imagined a peasant in the 15th century, when St Paul's Cathedral was consecrated, traveling to the city by the invitation of the Bishop of Paris extended to all inhabitants of the surrounding area. I compared the richness of the structure and perfection of the glass with the best compassionate approximation I could give to life of a working country man. I was amazed. We continued our walk to the tour of the Seine, that until another tour on foot, walking to dinner and the night was born again. The night before, I met some U.S. Marines and exchanged contact information, thinking little. That night, they called me to invite myself and some friends at their home, an American vessel clandestine and diplomatic on the periphery of the city. There, the drinks were free, the company spoke the same language, and I was again, albeit briefly, on American soil. This brief detour and bizarre convinced suspicion of nostalgia that so far I have felt.
21/06/2010
The next day asking more of me than the previous one, I go into Notre Dame for the third time in my life. I had been to Paris before, once with my whole family, including grandparents, the next time with my father and my sister, who was then studying in Paris. My most prominent of the first visit is my inability to digest a force of scallops fed by my father, at after all, a very good restaurant. My fight was of restaurant noise certainly less beautiful than the night. The second trip I remember quite well, as then I had sixteen. The Cathedral of Notre Dame is, in my opinion, one of the greatest treasures of mankind. This size and age and are impressive, but its craftsmanship, its maintenance and its relevance religious strengthen its uniqueness. Shortly after my visit, the group took a tour of Sainte-Chapelle and the Conciergerie, two strikingly different stories that share a wall and a courtyard. I liked to imagine the life of Clovis, the manufacturer of the 6th century palace concierge, then prison, then museum. I imagined him with a beard extraordinary. That day was the longest of the year, and what became the longest night of the trip. The music festival had kept us from our beds close until dawn.
22/06/2010
After a fruitless struggle with the clock I got up in time to meet the train to Versailles, most proud descendant of Louis the Sun King, the fourteenth, last throw of the French heart. His mouth looks over the city as his sun would have over the seventeenth century, and its opulence ride was probably no error in its assessment but sadly representative of the taxpayer. No man who has seen this castle has in the same seen lasting wealth. I spent some time in his gardens, much of it asleep, and saw the production that was perfection. The extent to which the monarchs must control their environment is most evident in the practice of maintaining the garden. The gardens of Versailles are maintained to exude the royalty of the French order. The effect is hypnotic only to those who see control as being equal to governance. For those to whom the distinction is more obvious, the gardens have an adverse effect, not insignificant. That night I went with the group to see Les Miserables, the English adaptation of the masterpiece of Victor Hugo. I was happy without equivocation.
23/06/2010
In the morning, I woke up and took the subway to the Louvre, one of my favorite places in Paris. Our visit was mainly French art, which, given the context of world art in outline, is undoubtedly the richest of all the national collections. My favorite piece was the first one we visited, one of series depicting the life of Marie de Medici, sorry for Peter Paul Rubens. The equations of Mary and Juno and her husband Henri IV and Zeus showed the wealth and arrogance on par with Versailles, the actual performance of perfect beauty as a medium. We also admired the works of David, Gericault, Delacroix and the Barbizon, the chronology maintained in advance of convenience. I was happy with our guide and her selections. Humanity as a whole, however, I did not like so cramped. In response to the crowd that is the Louvre, I went for a walk alone after our visit. Five hours and 25 kilo later, I returned to the inn, and after five hours of socializing, I was in bed.
24/06/2010
Thursday was a free day in terms of programming as the cause of delaying our visit to the Musée d'Orsay was the government through shitty strikes. I took this unique opportunity to sleep; I'd definitely not enough during the week. Around 9:30 I was moving in the room, writing postcards to my girlfriend overseas, some reading of a book abandoned for the bustle of Parisian life, or at least that of tourist. When the rest of my roommates had finally lifted, we all went to eat Chinese food at or near the Cathedral of St. Paul, then I went with Russell at the Eiffel Tower for a nap in the sun. This nap was had, and I came back to the hostel only for a little exercise, another 10 kilo to my total. After dinner, a large group of my friends and I went back to the Tower for wine and light zones. Another long night has left me asleep in my bed.
25/06/2010
The next day was very long and started at 8 am, with my departure to the Orsay Museum. I was equally fascinated, it seemed, with the works and with how much I had drunk the night before. But I did go, and I can call it my favorite museum with comfort, giving additional demand for wild experiments before finding lunch and Montmartre. There, the group took a tour of the district and the Sacre-Coeur, which is at its peak. At this stage, I was especially tired. I caught a brief respite before returning to celebrate the 22th anniversary of life of my friend Lizzie. For dinner, we chose, rather randomly, a restaurant to the Basque, Chez Grandine. I had one of the best meals of my young life. Snail in the Basque, peppers stuffed with fish and potatoes, and lots of sangria. As a group, we drove to the Eiffel Tower, to whom I looked like an old friend. I capped the night with a pancake nutella.
26/06/2010
I woke up after sleeping ready to return to Aix and complete darkness on account of yet another alcohol headache. My trip to Paris was really wonderful. I knew the city as I never had with the family, and had strengthened the friendships of youth in the process. Paris has been a change of pace of life in Aix. It was a journey into a journey, but the kind of time that was not as durable as my life here. I love traveling, but even more I enjoy settling. I had a bit of Italian cuisine before heading to the station with group, where I wrote some poetry, listened to some Dave Brubeck, and became ready to settle on my old friend, the TGV.
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