Paris

The next great adventure of December was Paris. It was so surreal to be there, especially since it was probably the first time I've had to deal with the language barrier on my own (Jack decided he'd let me try to do the talking). Even when I went to Holland, the language was already embedded in my mind, but French was completely unfamiliar.
Suddenly, I recalled "The Human Cost of an Illiterate Society" by Jonathan Kozol, which I heartily recommend. His book Savage Inequalities is also very good. Anyway, I began to glimpse what it must be like to live in a country that doesn't speak your language. In his essay, he forces the reader to sympathize with those who cannot tell the police where they are because they cannot read street signs, or the mother who mistakes a large pack of Crisco for a chicken because of the image on the front.
It was certainly unsettling to mumble a pair of words in French and hope that someone took pity on you, but luckily it didn't come close to the struggle of those who are illiterate. It just meant that Jack and I strolled around Paris, in the vague direction of the Seine, for a few hours before realizing exactly where we were. It was nice, though. For once, not caring if we lost a couple hours, because we found a fantastic little bakery, where we bought a baguette and quiche to share while standing under an awning to keep away from the drizzle.
Well, we finally got to the Seine. I couldn't stop taking pictures. I would stare in awe for a minute or so, and just as Jack started to move on, I called for him to wait so I could take a picture. I wish I could spend months just soaking in the scenery of Paris, months sitting at a cafe, sipping tea while people-watching. I could reserve a week or two to spend entirely in the Louvre and another in Musee d'Orsay, and a week or two to spend in the streets of Marais, the gay district, as well as Montmartre.
Our first official stop was Saint Chapelle: a gorgeous church crowned with starry vaulted ceilings and three walls of stained glass, each portraying a different book of the Bible, and on the opposing wall, a stained glass rose packed with the miracles of Christ.

After that small wonder, we were too tired to fully appreciate the grandiose Notre Dame, although we thoroughly enjoyed it. The only thing was, we thought it would be nice to see the towers, but couldn't find the entrance anywhere. Since we got a bit lost earlier, we hadn't stopped at the hotel, and our backpacks began to drag our shoulders down. After I had lit a candle for my Aunt Priscilla and had captured all the light I wanted in my little Cannon, we left to find food, and then the hotel.

Paris is definitely one of the best places to find good food for a reasonable price. That night and the next morning we found fairly small cafes to eat at that were fairly priced, with a delectable selection of entrees, and friendly service, defying the set stereotype of the scoffing Frenchman. Although, I suppose if we pay money, they'll be as friendly as possible. I choose to be optimistic, though!

I wish I had taken a picture of my dinner that night: pork loin with fresh mustard dressing and tender noodles on the side, topped with a juicy tomato. I barely touched the meat and it split, really melting in my mouth. Jack and I discovered that food and water have an uncanny ability to improve spirits, and we walked to our hotel much more cheerfully than when we had slumped into the restaurant.
Early the next morning, or at least early for Parisians, because when we set out around eight, the streets stretched almost bare before us on our way to the Louvre. As I said, we happened upon a nice little Cafe perfect for breakfast, where Jack devoured a lovely omelette and I "un petit-déjeuner peu de français", a little french breakfast. With fresh-squeezed orange juice and hot tea, I enjoyed the best croissant I've ever had along with buttered bread and jam. 
Soon after, we strolled over to the Louvre and got in only 15 minutes after it opened, which meant the marble sun-lit halls dappled with statues were almost empty, and they were silent. We popped up to the Dutch and Belgian paintings to see Rembrandt, but soon we left in order to make the most of a few hours in the huge museum. 
Again, I was continuously struck by the unreal feeling of admiring some of the most famous works of art, and a strong desire to be able to understand some of the (what I guessed were) art lectures held in the museum, with students sitting, pencil in hand, scribbling down the words flying out of the professor's lips. We also happened upon a few painters, practicing by mimicking the master paintings hung before them. We only really hit the crowds when we moved into the Greek and Roman statues- and then the Mona Lisa. Someday I'll go back and spend weeks gazing as brushstrokes and smooth marble and stone, but for now I will cherish those few blissful hours spent admiring art. 

With a walk along the Seine, we came to Musee d'Orsay, but the queue was much too long to consider going in, which was disappointing. On the other hand, one day when I do go, I'd like to be allowed as much time in there as possible. Instead, we headed over to Musee de l'orangerie. 
Nothing can really prepare you for the spectacle of Monet's Water Lilies. All you can do is sit and stare, stare at the color, pace backward and forward while staring at one lily, and watching it take form as you step away and stare as it decomposes the closer you come into strokes of brilliant red or white or pink. It was hard to leave. The room is white and ovular, accommodating the paintings, and a hush falls over most visitors as they enter this blue-green sanctuary. 

But, finally tearing my eyes away to glance at my watch, I followed Jack to the lower levels, where a small but beautiful collection awaits. We were lucky enough to stumble upon an exhibit of Spanish art "between two centuries", which was rounded off with a few of Picasso's stunning works. I now cannot remember whether photos were permitted downstairs, but my camera was running low on battery, and so I made meager attempts at sketching my favorite paintings to remember them clearly. 
It got to be mid-afternoon, and hungry though we were it was much too early for dinner, so instead, we stopped at the Christmas Market area (or that's my guess of what it was) and shared a fresh crepe smeared with nutella and stuffed with banana slices. Yum. That was gone before we found the metro station where we could connect to a line to the Eiffel Tower. 
I absolutely LOVE going to big cities like New York, Paris and London, where the subway, underground, or metro system is so easy to follow- even a foreigner can do it! Within a half hour or so, we arrived at the Champ de Mars station and made our way around a few buildings before the Eiffel Tower burst into sight, dazzling with orange light. Although we didn't get to take the stairs up (they had closed the stair entrance-not our fault, though very disappointing) we did take them down. As we queued, six o'clock struck and the tower flashed above us, and again as we glided up in the lift. One more hour passed, and we stood on the observation deck for the last time to watch the lights flash on and off, on and off in a pattern so I stood transfixed. First,  I began following a line of lights, then trying to catch the pattern and then letting my eyes slide out of focus and just marveling at the sparkling effect. After a minute or so, I became concerned that it would suddenly stop. That I would have to break eye contact with the metal giant and descend to reality: the end of the trip. But the lights seemed to go on. By the time they stopped I was ready to go, or at least ready enough to accept it. 

P.S. I apologize for the obscene amount of pictures. I couldn't choose!