Beauty along the Seine
My Last Night in Paris
My feet took me all over Paris today, and it is now 11pm in Paris, and my feet are tucked up in my hotel bed while I write the events that took place today.
The day started later than normal. I hadn’t had the opportunity to sleep in for a few weeks and I took advantage of it today. My room in this hotel is very small. I am at the end of one of two hallways and my neighbors’ threshold touches mine. I have a neighbor on either side of my threshold and the beautiful attendant decided to work on those rooms in the morning and soon became an organic alarm clock to my ears.
I walked down to St. Michel and took a taxi through the city. My plan was to walk from the Notre Dame Cathedral to the Basilique du Sacré Coeur in some pilgrimage of prayer and stubbornness, but it was so frigid out, that I simply turned into a mammal seeking shelter. I ran into a bakery and purchased a scrumptious croissant and started to walk out again. I got as far as St. Michel and hailed a cab towards the basilique. The cab driver was so nice; she told me all about the city center and the different attractions going on over the weekend. We drove through the Jardins, towards the opera house, and started to truck towards Montmatre.
The city was so different today in comparison to yesterday. I only have yesterday to compare it to. There were only a few brave pedestrians tempting to hike in the snow yesterday, and the sun decided to flirt with us today, and many people came out to walk around the city. The shops were opening, the fruit and flower stands had put out the days freshest, and everyone was in good spirits.
My taxi took me to the bottom of the stairs of the Cathedral so that I could take the Feniculari up to the church. However, there were only about 300 steps to the Cathedral entrance. The steps are staggered into incredible platforms, which give you a sneak peak into the cities skyscape. I opted for the stairs instead of the feniculari. It was very cloudy and I couldn’t make out very many buildings but I could see the Notre Dame from those platforms. I kept hiking up those stairs and at the top there were even more stairs. The homes in that area are lovely and ancient. I wish I knew someone that lived there that I might have a cup of coffee to take in the view. The sun was my neighbor that morning. I sat on the steps as the sun brought heat and a gorgeous morning light on to the façade of the church.
The inside of the church is huge. There are side chapels dedicated to martyrs and spiritual leaders along the sides of the church. There were tourists, patrons, believers, all around and each with a specific purpose for being there. There was a beggar outside of the chapel praying and if I had known French perhaps I would have sat with her and talked for awhile. The center of the church has an enormous Christ dressed in a white robe with his hands stretched out down to the congregation. It’s so striking. It’s the tallest image of Christ that I have ever seen. The dome brought in such a crisp beautiful light and shined specifically on one of the four angels that were looking over us. Those angels too were so breath taking. I wondered; do they really look like that? Are they standing nearby as these do?
On the right side of the chapel is a metal sculpture of Christ. He’s holding His sacred heart and stretches His other hand towards us and in an invitation. His head is bent down towards the kneelers as to say, I hear your prayers and share the sacred sacrifice with you. But it wasn’t sufficient for me. I know that God isn’t present in the sculpture, and it confirmed that. It confirmed my peace that I don’t have to be in any church, or kneel before any statue to know that God can hear my prayer, petition, supplication, cry, beg, outcry, breath, and whisper I have. No matter where I go.
There were woman and men all around me praying. I found myself sitting next to them and praying for them too. I asked God to hear their prayers, come to their aid, comfort their day, and show them that you are near and are seeking a contrite people. I stayed in the chapel for an hour or two and watched the stain glass paint warm tones over the cold stone. Saw the school girls walking around trying to figure out if it is ok to express their spirituality and not just view the church as an art piece. The offering box was there, the candles were available to be lit, and the kneelers were finally empty. One girl pulled out her Euros, lit a candle, did the sign of the cross, and kneeled. Her other friends nearby quickly went silent, and tapped one another to show what the one gal had done. She continued to keep her eyes closed as she kneeled before the Christ statue and the rose. She simply said I prayed for my family. A few other spectators followed her footsteps and became participators too.
I followed the narrow roads from the Chapel to Montmartre area where the little bistros and painters were located. It was such a touristy pretend spot but had hoped it would be real. I wanted to see Shirley McClain in an Eve suit, or as Irma La Duce but to no avail. The center did have an essence of what Hollywood has depicted but I wasn’t convinced. Is this where Toulouse hung out? Is this truly the spots of all the great suffering artists from the era of art that I admire so? Perhaps it is just that. And if you look above the tourist center into the windows and down the petit rues nearby, you can imagine the tiny quarters hosting big hearts with creative minds. Yes, it’s true. This is the spot right on top near the Moulins of France. So I bought my first souvenir two watercolors the size of table cards to bring home and frame and add to my travel art collection. Immediately, I saw the artist go into the café to order something. It isn’t easy being an artist no matter where you are.
I began the hike back to the Notre Dame. I google mapped it and it said 2.7 miles but that’s if you don’t get lost, and I did. Lots. Always. The rest of the day. I wanted to go back and photograph all the familiar landmarks that taxi had quickly swung by earlier, and that I indeed did. I stopped at this delicious bakery that left tantalizing treats in the front window. I choose a fruit flat like muffin. The first bite was heaven. The dough so tasty, and the fruit so wonderfully tart, and continued my pedestrian tour of Paris. I left the Sacre Couer around noon and arrived at my hotel at 8pm in the evening. From Montmartre, I followed the roads to the city center where everyone was shopping, shopping, and shopping some more. I thought to myself, here is where all the people are! It looked like 5th Avenue in NYC or Kings Road in London. The fashionistas were cruising the roads while wearing gigantic stilettos. Models had their books in tote everywhere mixed with ruffian long haired artists and their sketch books. The older wealthy woman walked along in thick fur coats and their lil pups on a leash. Each time a store would open there was a blast of rich French fragrances escaping into the everyday smog scents of the motorcars. I admit I walked into a few shops just to look around. Immediately, I was sized up, since my outfit was from the house of Target and DSW, but it was fun looking around none the less.
The Paris Opera House had the sun shining on it to the point where the gilded cherubs that adorn the roof tops glow. The cars zooming, and whizzing all around it. The musicians walking into the house with their instruments and tuxedos in tote. The house was under construction, but the front was open and clean. Students that were visiting sat along the steps for a respite but from a distance they appeared as scattered confetti.
The St. Lazarus chapel is under construction too, but wow what a majestic symbol in the heart of the shopping district. I thought if I ever had a son I might name him Lazarus (would that be weird?) but as I thought about it more, that’s a pretty powerful name to identify someone with, and the chapel is just a bonus. I don’t recall entering any other chapels dedicated to Lazarus, but this one would still be one of the most beautiful ever. I strolled along the city center and got lost. The words Cartier, Guerlian, Baccarat, Givenchy, Chanel, kept distracting me. I wouldn’t dare go in, but the windows were a joy to admire.
But I had to do it. Ever since I was a little girl I had dreams (real ones) of having dessert at the Ritz hotel in Paris. I would be dressed up (spring dress) and would walk in and have a sundae. I am not sure if I will ever have the opportunity to travel to Paris again, so I walked in. This is where Audrey filmed. Black and white flashes of Love In the Afternoon came into my head. The front desk. The revolving wooden door with the front desk nearby. What’s that aroma? Talcom? Yes! The Ritz is bathed with a decadent talcum, which was so very pleasing to my noose. I went up to door man and in my broken French asked if Le Dejeuner was still available or desert. He told me that the Hemingway bar was closed but that the Bar Vendome was available. He walked me directly to the front of the door and a young lady welcomed me. She wrote my name in a 500 page ledger. Table for 1? Oui! Nom? Elizabeth! (Turkish dance of Joy). Who else was in that book?
The Ritz is layered in mirrors. Gorgeous mirrors. And various shades of blush. The ladies room door was hidden behind a mirror. When you walked in to the ladies room, it was another rotund room, with door handles all around. The toilets were hidden behind mirrors too. Incredible. So gorgeous.
I walked back to the lounge as my table would be available. Unfortunately they did not make sundaes, but I didn’t want to be rude and leave, so I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. Hot Tea! I sat back and enjoyed the view; eaves dropped into the neighboring conversations, giggled with the baccarat lighting, and wrote about the day in my journal.
The tea warmed me up and so did that experience. It gave the energy to walk the rest of the way back towards the Left Bank and my hotel. I went through the Jardins and saw the famous entrance to the Louvre. The Pyramid. What a cool piece of modern art. In back of the entrance was a spectacular salmon sun setting colour that shined on the Eiffel Tower. You can see the tower from almost anywhere in the city.
The cold began to set in as I walked across the punt (bridge) and made a dash for my warm room.
Tomorrow is the day I go into Togo. I’m awaiting the arrival of my co-worker and we shall fly into Togo together. The shuttle will be picking me up at 10am and will board for Togo soon after. The Africa journey awaits. Mercy Ships has landed in Togo, and are preparing the OR’s now. They received their first patient last night, and will soon perform the cleft palette operation when the ship is fully up and running. Despite all the wow of Paris, my heart is not far, from those that are suffering.
The glitz of the Paris shopping district phase, and the Holy Spirit reminds me of the real purpose. The souls of this world are His diamonds not Cartier. The diamonds faceted tear drops in His little ones that suffer are his jewels. Everything else is just sifting sand (literally).
Friends, keep me in your prayers. Pray for a safe travel. Pray for my continued health. Pray for a smooth arrival at customs and that we will find our Mercy Ships connections too. Pray for safety on the ship. Pray that the Lords will be done.
Au Revoir Paris! Bon Jour Togo!
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