The City of Lights

Well, it only took years of pining, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to study abroad, and a fourteen-hour bus ride, folks. I finally made it to Paris.

We left at about two in the morning on Thursday and spent the whole time dozing on the bus. Going through customs and the channel tunnel was pretty uneventful, aside from the fact that our bus had to actually drive onto a train to be ferried over to France.

Once we were there, we spent the morning at various different WWI memorial sites, although it’s almost always referred to as The Great War in this part of the world. The first was a Canadian memorial, then a French one, then a British one, then a German one, then Thiepval, the joint French and British memorial to the Battle of the Somme. It was a pretty quiet and pensive morning, due in part to the setting and in part to the fact that we were all so tired. As we walked around, I heard several of the boys in my class talking to each other about how if they had been born one hundred years earlier, they would’ve been drafted and possibly ended up in a memorial like the ones we were on. It’s kind of hard not to think about it when the ground is still pockmarked with craters from shells that exploded over a century ago and the only thing you can see is crosses or tombstones. The sites are all beautiful and peaceful in a weird way, with sunshine and chirping birds and the beautiful French countryside stretching for miles past the edge, but they’re also incredibly somber. I think everyone who has a chance should visit a site like this. It’s a pretty stark reminder.

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On that cheery note, we left Thiepval and started the drive to Paris. We were told it would take about three hours, but with traffic and the roundabout ways buses have to drive it took closer to five. I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see a broom closet hotel room in my entire life. Me and my roommate just collapsed onto our little Ricky and Lucy twin beds and didn’t move for an hour until we got hungry enough to find some dinner.

The gang finally ended up at a restaurant called Suffren for dinner (The process of finding this place took several false leads that ended in restaurants that were either too expensive or “had a menu all in French.” I was at the point of tearing out my hair to remind everyone that we were in France, but we got our dinner eventually, so all’s well that ends well). The waiter caught on that we were American almost immediately, and I don’t believe he spoke a word of French to us the entire time. Even the menu we were given was in English. After some kerfuffling with Euros to pay the bill, we set off in search of dessert.

We never did find that dessert on the first night, but ended up straying into the path of the great sweeping beams of light from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Once we got close enough to see, over the rooftops, that the Tower had started twinkling, we gave up on finding a patisserie and charged towards it like the reckless American idiots we are.

As a person who has spent most of her life in love with Paris, that sight was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever experienced. It felt like being a tourist in New York for the first time, where I just couldn’t keep my eyes anywhere but above me. The Eiffel Tower has spent years hanging on my bedroom walls, as the background pictures on my devices, sitting in miniature on my dresser. To actually be there looking up at it, perfectly golden against the night sky, is something I won’t ever forget. I must’ve spent at least five minutes or so leaning against a lampost staring up at it while the rest of my group took pictures in front of it. I could’ve happily stayed there and looked at the Tower until they turned the lights off (and I’m pretty sure they stay on all night, which is fine by me).

Friday was our only full day in the city itself, and our whole group was determined to make the most of it. Our first job was to tackle the metro. I’m finding the more I travel that train systems are always a lot more intimidating out of practice than they are in real life. With the use of an online map or trip planner and a little common sense in the station, the metro was pretty straightforward. I was, however, the only person in my group who could properly say the names of any of the stations. The train put us directly next to the Arc de Triomphe, and we circled it for a while before we finally figured out where the entrance was to get into it. A quick purchase of tickets, and we were climbing the endless spiral stairs up to the top.

I remember hearing once in a French class when I was a kid that there were building height restrictions in the areas of Paris close to the Tour Eiffel, because nothing was supposed to be taller than that landmark. Consequently, the Arc is also one of the tallest structures in the city, and the view from the top is just unparalleled. In the daytime, the Eiffel Tower down the street is almost translucent through the slightly smoggy air, which is a nicer effect if you don’t think about the air pollution. The closest buildings are so quintessentially Parisienne, with wrought iron balconies just like you see in every movie. I could’ve stayed up there for ages. Down one level in the gift shop, I wandered around sure that I wasn’t going to buy anything, because I tend to be not that big of a souvenir person, even in a city that I’m so in love with. Then, from across the shop, I heard a few tinny strains of a song I happen to know very well. I’m pretty sure I half-ran to find the little music boxes playing La Vie en Rose. There was no question about whether or not I was buying one of those.

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After the Arc, we ate lunch in a little cafe where we were visited by a very friendly cat who wandered in. I’m starting to wonder if European cats are just nicer than American ones. This particular kitty milled around our feet as we were paying the bill and was very happy to eat the little pieces of chicken we dropped on the floor for him. He did also avoid the big golden retriever that was parked by the cafe door, whereas my friends and I did no such thing.

Following lunch we crossed the Seine on an elegant bridge and made our way to Notre Dame. They don’t ring the bells as much as I hoped they did, although I did catch a few peals on the hour throughout the day when we were close enough to hear.

You can tell when you approach it that Notre Dame was built to be intimidating, and it continues to succeed in that goal to this day. I was totally blown away by the sheer amount of detail in the carvings on the outside and in the stained glass on the inside. The whole building is an artist’s dream.

The thing that I found surprising and disappointing was the strains of commercialism that have wormed their way past the saints and gargoyles standing watch outside and set up shop in the cathedral. There’s a gift shop right there inside, along with a series of infographics that really belong in a museum. The history of the cathedral is absolutely something to be celebrated and taught to visitors, but I would have greatly preferred if they had set up another building or room off to the side to house these things, for the sake of preserving the sanctity of the church. Religion aside, the cathedral was not as solemn and serene as I wanted it to be, and I had to shoulder through impressive crowds just to get a picture of those glorious circular windows. I do think the replacement of peace with bobblehead bishops is something to be lamented in Notre Dame, and I wish it had been slightly more reverent inside.

By the time we left Notre Dame, it was nearing dusk. We had a quick stroll along the river to look at the booths hawking old books, colorful paintings, magnets and coasters. We found a small little staircase that took us down close to the water, where a friend snagged a few candid pictures of me being pensive before I caught her pointing the phone in my direction. After that we made our way back to the Eiffel Tower. After some debating amongst the group we all finally decided that we’d be upset if we left Paris and never went to the top of the Tower, so we purchased tickets that would allow us to climb to the first two levels and take an elevator up to the third.

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I am here to tell you, buy the tickets for the elevator all the way up. Unless you are an actual Olympian with medals to show for it, don’t take the stairs. You’ll think you’re in decent shape. You’ll wonder how hard it could be. You’ll think you can handle it. You can’t. Those stairs just keep going and going and going. Four flights in I was winded. Eight flights in I had to take a break at every landing. When we reached the first level I had to sit down for a solid five minutes to catch my breath, and don’t even get me started on going down, at night, with those spotlights that bathe the Tower in gorgeous golden tones shining directly up into your eyes. Between the Tower and the Arc, I had to take two ibuprofen before I could even get out of bed and walk five feet to go and brush my teeth the next morning. Don’t make my mistakes. Take the elevator.

Issues with cardio aside, the views from the lower two levels were wonderful, and I couldn’t get enough of the skyline shots. It was only when we reached the very top level that I was reminded that I don’t really like heights too much. My group had timed our ascent perfectly so that we could take pictures with the setting sun as our backdrop, but I couldn’t bring myself to go closer to the edge than a few feet off the wall. It seems that the small champagne bar at the very top of the Tower serves both the purpose of celebration and that of settling nerves. I would have had a glass if I wasn’t so nervous about the climb back down. I’m glad I went all the way up, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I like the Tour Eiffel much better from the ground, and I probably won’t be going up again unless I can take the elevator.

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The last thing we did with our full Parisienne day was visit the Louvre. By this point my feet felt like they were about to fall right off, so we managed to trudge past and enjoy both Winged Victory and the Mona Lisa before most of us collapsed on a couch in the middle of a gallery and stayed there for almost thirty minutes. After that it was all we could do to haul ourselves back up and hunt down a little bit of dinner before we hopped on the train back to the hotel and collapsed into bed.

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Saturday found me crawling back out of bed at seven in the morning to go to Disneyland Paris. Fortified with painkillers and the promise of fireworks later in the day, we all made our way over to the parks where my large group of nine split in two- the coasters group and the princess group. Considering that my day was full of Thunder Mountain and Tower of Terror, I’ll let you guess which group I was in. There were quite a few difference between the Disney rides I know and love from Orlando and their French counterparts. I think Big Thunder Mountain had a lot to commend it, and Space Mountain’s upgrade to Hyperspace Mountain (with a Star Wars theme) was certainly fun although not very classic. A virtual reality Ratatouille ride and a spin on Alice’s Teacups were among the last things we rode for the day before the fireworks, which were very good but not nearly up to Orlando quality. Perhaps my favorite part of the day was getting to meet Push, the fabled talking trash can that until recently hung around in Tomorrowland in Florida. We caught him outside of Rockin’ Roller Coaster, where I was the only person in my group who had the guts to talk to him at first (probably because he introduced himself in French and only switched to English after I started talking). He assured me that Meghan was his favorite name, then said the same to each one of my friends but swore mine was his most favorite. At one point he asked me for a kiss (an air-kiss, not being too keen on smooching a trash can) at which point he paraded around in circles declaring “I’ve got a girlfriend, I’ve got a girlfriend!” He was a funny little guy and I’m pleased I got to meet him.

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On Sunday the Wroxton students checked out of the hotel by noon and were on the bus headed back to England by one. In that hour, I managed to get down to the bakery on the corner and purchase myself a whole baguette, which I’d seen many people do walking around the city, and I spent the rest of the bus ride nibbling on it. Silly though it may have been to buy a whole loaf of bread for myself, it was delicious, and the perfect end to my first dive into Paris. The last thing we did before we crossed the channel was stop at one more WWI memorial, this one the sight of the Armistice signing.

Back at the Abbey, we’re all tired, laden with souvenirs and happy to be speaking English again. After over a decade of wishing and waiting to visit Paris, I couldn’t be happier that I finally got to do it.

Tomorrow the Abbey hosts a medieval costume banquet for the students, and then I visit Kenilworth Castle on Sunday. I’ll do my best to get some good pictures. That’s all for now!