Hello All! I’m writing on a train from Tangiers to Fez, Morocco. It’s Friday afternoon and it was t-shirt weather when we left the hotel at 10am this morning! 310 dirhams (about $40USD) bought us two first class births for the four and a half hour journey. The climate is mild here, so we’re passing fields of citrus, olive trees, rows of cyprus, pines, yucca and cactus. It appears a mix between parts of Turkey and Mexico; cold nights and warm, sunny days. We’re headed to Fez to explore the leather tanneries and government carpet cooperative....oh my the treasures we will find! But more on that later, let’s go back to Paris...
As the plane descends and the countryside comes peeking through the clouds, I see the rows of poplars sheltering homes of white stuccoed walls and red tiled roofs. There are fields and fields of patch-work green and brown churned soil; yes, France on first impression appears just as it should.
Paris is a lovely city. As instructed, I arrive at the Notre Dame metro station and take the escalator up. You would think that I’d have expected to see Notre Dame standing right before me, hence the name of the station, but I hadn’t, and so stand drop-jawed, amazed to be face to face with such an iconic and unfathomable building. I gather my bearings and take off in the direction of Courtney and her dad, Mike’s, hotel. I stop though, and turn around and go the opposite way, I decide again that I must be heading in the wrong direction finally ask directions twice and am pointed along the right street...I couldn’t be been happier to be lost within my first two minutes in the city! Before I reach the hotel I am surprised on the street by Courtney and Mike, who’d been waiting at a nearby cafe.
We walk for days; to Montemartre and the Basilica of the Sacre Coure for mould wine, to the Champs d-Eulyses for a ferris wheel ride and bird’s eye view on the Eiffel Tower and Arch d’Triumph, and back to the Latin Quarter for four cheese fondu. Courtney and I explore the museum d’Orsay, which was once a train station, but now houses Monet, Van Gogh, Latrec, Rouseau, and many, many more. We peer out of the enormous clock face at the top of the building at the quick, brown Seine below and bustling Paris beyond.
When hungry we stop for a baguette with either brie or chevre. If thirsty, wine is cheaper than water. We go to Notre Dame at night, when the crowds are thin, and just watch, sit, and marvel over the cathedral.
We are joined by Courtney’s brother, Justin, and friend Shayla and move across the river to a studio apartment. We visit Notre Dame again, but this time went in. I could barely put one foot in front of the other; to be in the midst of such a vast and impeccably executed space, I can only imagine it’s like seeing snow fall for the first time. Maybe that’s how the Church does it, they shock the heck out of you and leave you so awe-inspired that you feel like you’ve seen something greater than yourself. But each stone and piece of colored glass was lain by man, yet the sum of all the parts add up to something equalling that of a religious experience.
The Louvre certainly isn’t nothing, and at night, the modern glass pyramid glows like a beacon in stark contrast to the centuries old, statue lined buildings surrounding it. You can sneak a peek through the windows at the painted ceiling and grand archways, among which lies the most fabulous collection of artwork that has ever been compiled. It is good to live in a society that values art in such a way.
On New Year’s Eve we go to the Pere Lachaise Cemetery, seeing the sites of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison. The weather has turned cold and we are glad for our hats and scarves. We enjoy a great dinner at a Chinese restaurant and make our way down to the Eiffel tower. I am a firm believer that it’s best to see the sights at night, when the crowds have gone home and the lights are lit. Tonight, as expected, the lights are lit, but the crowd is also thick, and there are shouts of merriment and well wishes from all around. The tower is of course something to behold. As you walk under it it morphs, presenting something altogether new from every angle.
We wander up the river, back towards the heart of Paris, stopping to buy a bottle of champagne from a street vendor and pausing at the eternal flame monument that has been erected over the tunnel where Princess Diana died. It’s been raining, well, more of a persistent drizzle for us Oregonians, and we squeeze amongst the thousands of black umbrellas for a view of the tower. On the strike of midnight the crowd cheers as the tower becomes a giant sparkler; thousands of tiny flashing lights make it shimmer. We cheers our bubbly and kiss cheeks. It’s been one heck of a year, with plenty of ups and downs, but we’re grateful for our friendships and are giddy with excitement for the year to come, or perhaps that’s the third bottle of wine and champagne. Either way, we have an early flight for Morocco in the morning, so we join in singing Auld Lang Syne and head to catch a cab back to the flat. Paris has treated us well.
Bessalama!
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