Paris holds the key to your heart.

I went to Paris this weekend without any expectations. I had visited twice before, when I was sixteen, and I hadn't like it. I know, I know... everyone is supposed to love Paris. But I don't like big cities in general - I always feel on edge, like I have to hold myself more tightly - and it had been a crowded and cold trip in July.

Whether it was the weather, the tourists, or just that I was too young, suffice to say that my opinion of Paris has changed. Our trip was magical, beautiful, charmed. We didn't have any plans, and everything fell into place before our eyes.

We stayed in the Young and Happy youth hostel in the Latin Quarter, right on Rue Mouffetard.

This in itself was an amazing experience. It was my first time in a hostel, and all the cliches came true. We stayed in rooms with eight other roommates, we chatted and drank wine late into the night with some boys from Germany and Montana, we met a Swedish professor who informed us that the Swedish princess studied in Angers.

Our location was perfect. Walking out the door, we were surrounded by restaurants, cafes, patisseries, fromageries, boulangeries, fresh fruit stands, all crammed into the narrow alleyways and winding streets of the Cinquieme Quartier. The smells were powerful and fascinating - roasting meat, strong cheese, baking bread.

We wandered for hours just in our little neighborhood, discovering the Luxembourg Gardens, the Pantheon, Saint Sulplice, the Closerie de Lilas (where Hemingway wrote many of his stories - very emotional for me), the Sorbonne in the early morning:

It was supposed to snow on Saturday, but instead we had bright blue skies for the entire trip. It was bitter cold in Paris, and very windy, but we were so happy to have the sun shining.

One of my favorite discoveries was the Eglise de St-Etienne-du-Mont.

By fate, luck, or serendipity, my friend and I walked straight into St-Etienne on Saturday morning. I can safely say, without a doubt, that this is the most beautiful church I have been in so far. The intricately carved white stone, the holy water fount crafted out of a giant seashell, and of course, the stained glass:

Drinking in the beauty, I was unprepared to find Blaise Pascal's tomb in the back of the church. I was extremely moved; surely God had led me straight to this quiet corner of the city. Reading Pascal last year in my PLS Seminar was a revelation for me. I hadn't known it was possible to express the ideas that had been in the back of my own mind for so long.

To find Blaise himself was destiny at work. The heart has its reasons of which reason knows naught.


We came back for Mass that night, and I know I will return every time I am in the city.


One disappointment was Notre Dame. I shouldn't say disappointment, as I honestly wasn't expecting much from this tourist trap. But I came out not just unmoved, but frustrated and sad.

The architecture and stained glass were impressive, though not my favorite, but the utter disrespect shown by the crowds and crowds pushing through the church horrified me. Mass was going on, but only about twenty people were actually participating. Tourists were taking pictures of the priest and congregation, talking loudly, eating, and observing our faith as if it were some bizarre exhibition. Sacre-Coeur has the same number of tourists but is much better-run. 

We got out of Notre Dame pretty fast, and some of our other adventures included:

• Walking from the Ile de la Cite all the way down through the Louvre gardens to the Arc de Triomphe. The arch was horrifying, inspiring, a tribute to all the soldiers killed during France's long and bloody history. 
• Sitting a cafe, drinking chocolat chaud and people-watching. I was surprised how crowded the cafes were, and with Parisians, not tourists. They spill onto every street-corner, just like in the Paris of my dreams.
• Eating dinner as the Tour Eiffel sparkled through the window.
• Climbing Montmartre and wandering through the artist's neighborhood. I've always loved this part of the city, and the trip was great for my ego, as the artists told me over and over that I was "trop jolie" and definitely needed my portrait painted. Maybe someday.
• Walking by the river, looking at the booksellers and the bridges and and the tree-lined, cobble-stoned paths and the sun on the waves.

• Wandering through a street-market and sampling foie-gras. Mmmmm.
• Visiting Shakespeare and Company, a famous bookstore and another Hemingway site. I could easily live there:

We finished with the Musee d'Orsay. So many of my favorite artists are represented here - Moreau, Watts, Burne-Jones, Chavannes, Monet - and I discovered many new ones. We didn't have much time, so unfortunately I didn't get to sit down and sketch, but I was walking on air the entire time. I probably looked insane, scribbling in my notebook with an idiotic grin on my face, twirling in circles to get the full impact of each room.

Beauty!

Reflecting on the train ride home, I know that this was only the first of many trips to Paris; I will be back soon enough. I have fallen in love with the city, the real city, with its crazy streets, flowered balconies, and Parisian-crowded cafes. I finally feel like it is my city, as if I was the first to discover and explore its intricacies and unexpected depths.


Au revoir, I thought to the swiftly passing streets. I'll see you again.