I never thought I'd actually eat a croc, and then like it.

Paris - Day 2

I awoke ravenously and went straight out for a coffee and croque madame. I asked for a café and the startled man, clearly unsure about my accent, asks if I would like a café au lait. I respond, “non, café seulement,” I just want a regular old coffee. Only coffee. Simple? No. He brings me an espresso. I suppose it does make me look classier in this dingy café playing terrible American club pop at 8am while I’m wearing my rough working jacket. I begin to read Jpod and laugh out loud, everyone looks at me but I keep on reading until I feel that its time to explore.The metro takes me to the Bastille and I realise when I exit the metro that the Bastille was ripped down hundreds of years ago. I also came to this location to the see the old Paris opera house – I found the new one instead. It is supposed to be the closest space to acoustical perfection in the world, and built by a Canadian, but it definitely lacks that belle epoque sort of grandness of the Garnier Opera house. Feeling cheated, but glad to be out of the metro at the very least, I walk in a random direction. This is a good time to add that everyone, everywhere around me, always looks good. It’s fairly cold out, particularly with the wind, and I have my hood up to keep my tete warm. However, no one else seems willing to sacrifice their hair style for something as banal as warmth or comfort.

I stumbled across the Gare de Lyon, which is a beautiful stone building with a gorgeous clock tower. Took the metro to the Hotel de Ville, where I bumped my knee on wrought iron fence.  I was too busy to be bothered to look where I was walking, neck craned upwards and jowls drawn open, and my knee has been sad ever since. Walked onwards to Notre Dame de Paris where I must have spent at least an hour walking through. The most interesting part I found about the Cathedral was that it’s checker patterned floor, of marble and some other black stone, was of slightly (barely perceptible) heights. I figure this is due to the fact that marble wears much faster than any black stone like some diorites, granites, or basalts.

This sinister looking building, with its french stylisation of the renaissance is responsible for my hurt knee.  I decided not to go to Versailles today (I'm writing this on Wednesday) because of the Hotel de Ville, if you ever find yourself here - beware.

The Pantheon - in all of its nationalistic glory, an anthem to the great men who founded France as a country politically and intellectually.  Of course they didn't let a girl in until the 90's.  That Marie Curie was a bright one though.

I then walked on, enjoying smaller churches, cloisters, narrow winding streets, those old, stuffy, but of course highly prestigious, institutions of l’academie Francaise, la Sorbonne, and l’Ecole normale superiore (oxymoron, anyone?). The Pantheon was definitely the best part of this trip, I feel as if I visited both Rome and Florence in seeing this epic building. Over 200 feet inside from the floor to the top of the dome, pure classicism, and gorgeous attention to details makes this church of nationalism a must see! Of course, if none of these attributes grabs you, those of you who read Dan Brown would at least like to see Foucault’s pendulum.  However, neither I nor the french can give him our approval of Dan Brown. Sorry, his writing is as painful as a thousand baboons scratching my leg with barbed metal nails.  Sandra, my sister who is putting me up, at the l'Hotel Matos, refers to Dan Brown's writing style as, "ecrire avec ses pieds," alternatively his novels (if you are willing to call them that) are sometimes named, "les romans de plage ou roman de gare."

 

More café stops ensue, Douglas Coupland becomes funnier and even more laterally minded in his references, and I continue on to see le Jardin des Plantes. Cedars of Lebanon and a whole host of trees that turn their bracts at the thought of living in Canada are all here. I could tell by the variety of plants, the level of maintenance, and the over all design that this is one world-class garden. It is completely surrounded by powerful, formal, and grand neo-classical architecture that the French love so much. At this point, only 3:30pm and having walked really far, I decide to head home, jet lag has set in and when I see a bed at 4:30 I pass out.