1) I did not feel like rushing anywhere, and I took my time in the morning writing my pages, breakfasting in the lobby (another amazing omelette), and I did a card reading in my room. By roughly 10:30 I was on my way to the Marais to stroll about and see what I could see before going to Notre Dame for 1:30.
2) The Marais — such chichi shops and bakeries, such narrow sidewalks! Before I knew it, I was astonished to find myself outside the Musée Carnavalet. Having visited in 2011, I wasn’t really planning to go again, and yet here it was . . . and the Sert murals were here, weren’t they? I passed the metal detector inspection, and was on my way.
2a) I had forgotten a lot of what I had seen there the first time: the Medici queens of France, Catherine and Marie; Madame de Sevigné, who lived at the Carnavalet for a time; the parades of the Catholic League, commedia dell’arte, chinoiserie, street signs, paper fans (but no reproductions in the gift shop . . . ), historic interiors, and of course the French Revolution. It was a remarkable journey.
2b) But the Sert room, when I finally found it again! José Maria Sert, third husband of my beloved Misia Sert who left her for Roussy Mdivani, was a fashionable muralist of the early 20th century. He knew everything about living expansively — which requires more than spontaneity and resources, dahlings, it requires intelligence and taste — and did so. But the fashion for his work did not really survive WWII, alas. It still suits me, though! I loved getting to see this room again, all silver with swags of red draperies, fantaisies of tropical and mountain landscapes with elephants and fanciful inhabitants.
3) The hot sunny walk then began to Notre Dame for my 1:30 admission. En route, I had to walk under a fire truck’s ladder on which a fireman was walking two tethered little boys up the ladder into a window. C’est plus curieux!
4) I didn’t really know what to expect at Notre Dame, but the courtyard in front of the church was teeming with tourists, most of whom understandably had no idea what to do.
4a) The façade had very obviously been cleaned; it looked like it had only been built 100 years ago.
4b) I figured out where the end of the long line for advance reservations was and took my place, falling into conversation with the Asian-American couple in front of me. They had been booked to see Notre Dame in 2019 two or three weeks after the fire, so obviously had still not been inside yet. We talked about my previous visit in 2008, and our collective visits to Sagrada Familia, ascending church towers in general (the husband loves it, his wife and I do not), and other matters.
4c) Suddenly the line started moving a lot faster than I expected. I noticed a party ahead of us, of People Younger Than I, including a man in a tanktop and shorts that it’s a good thing they weren’t shorter. Remembering the dress codes in Catholic churches of Portugal, Spain, and Venice, I wondered if they would let him in, but I guess dress codes aren’t as much of an issue in Paris.
4d) Near the front of the line I noticed an altercation between a party behind me and a man in a family of four who it looked like might be trying to cut the line. I didn’t get involved; I was not late, and I figured God was going to judge us all based on what we deserved anyway.
4e) My ticket was scanned and I made it through the metal detector unscathed, but then the guard called me over to his little table because he wanted to know about the pouch inside my shirt. When I bring my passport, I wear it inside my shirt so no one can get at it; I didn’t think it might look suspicious. Oopsie.
5) Yes, it’s disorienting walking into Notre Dame from that bright courtyard, but don’t just stand there, people. Keep it moving.
Well, she influenced me. 😒
5a) When I visited in 2008 I remember a dark interior, and I don’t remember a lot of people. Since the fire and restoration, the stone walls are lighter and brighter, and the world has come knocking. I’m sorry to say that at times there was an atmosphere of NotreDameLand, e.g. “Tyranny of the Pretty Lady” Influencers eager to pose against a new background, never mind that it’s a sacred space.
5b) The staff did their best to contain the hubbub with the occasional broadcast of a prerecorded SSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH! followed by “Silence please” in three languages and another SSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH! Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t work as well.
5c) I also gave up not walking in front of people taking photos. There’s not enough time in the day.
5d) Despite the crowds, the church remains a beautiful jewel, with its time-honored darkness cleaned away to give us something of its original splendor. And splendid it is! Though that splendor was made a little more ordinary when I saw single panels in a few stained glass windows open to help ventilate the church. All those tourists made it very humid.
5e) The choir and the pietá at the back had been reserved for prayer, and I got in the short line to be admitted. Coincidentally, the couple who had been in front of me in line earlier were in front of me here. The nice young man admitting those who wished to pray asked them if they understood English (they did), and then explained that they could not have their audio guide headphones on during prayer, and that photographs during prayer were forbidden.
5f) When it was my turn there was a seat on a three-seat pew right at the front. I knelt and prayed for our beleaguered country, and when my knees protested, seated myself and continued. Notre Dame was not really on my radar this trip; if Craig had not explained how to sign up, I wouldn’t have gone. So it was meant to be.
6) Leaving Notre Dame, I turned left and crossed to the Right Bank, and turned left again up the Quai de Tournelle. I had an idea that it might be fun to get a Parisian street number for my house, and little blue numbers for the doorbells. Gyygle was not exactly helpful in targeting Parisian hardware stores (please, no instructions or commentary; it’s done now), and the one I stood before was just way too chichi to have anything so basic. Oddly, an old TryppeYdvisor page recommended a store called BHV, which just happened to be in the Marais, where I had planned to return anyhow.
There’s still much to be done.
6a) That journey brought be across and down the Seine again — and what could be wrong with that?
6b) Finalment, BHV appeared just after the Hotel de Ville. Long story short, after searching the entire hardware floor, I found the street sign section, with the blue house numbers . . . and they didn’t have my number! I took that . . . as a sign. Guffaw.
Important graffiti.
7) By this time Daddy was feeling a visit from Miss Dee Hydrate, and it was time to get rid of her in the Place des Vosges, one of the loveliest pockets of Paris. After having settled at Ma Bourgogne on the edge, I realized it was where the travel director of the trip ye Instytytte sent me on in 2011 had taken me for a ricard. How did I remember? I recognized the comical brass fittings on the toilet doors.
7a) An al fresco table, an aperol spritz, a salade césar, a large bottle of sparkling water . . . and then profiteroles because I was bad.
8) After this light midafternoon meal, I strolled about the crowded place, loving the four identical fountains, the statue entirely obscured by the four trees, the walkers and the sunbathers and the young people just sitting on the ground in groups talking to each other. At the center someone was trying to organize a large group photo of some group of ~50 people, probably scholars.
9) Walking back to the Métro, I could both observe and reflect on how difficult it is to get around Paris when one is mobility-impaired. The sidewalks are narrow, half café and half chaos. And I don’t recall seeing many cuts for wheelchairs or scooters at the curbs.
10) Back at my hotel, I had the extremely disturbing experience of learning that my connecting train from Brussels to Vienna had been cancelled, and the app had not automatically booked me on replacement service. I just have to keep reminding myself that Adults Solve Problems, and I am Actually An Adult (though it doesn’t often feel like that, even at my age). The victory: I was able to rebook (but one connection in Cologne or Nuremburg is 15 minutes 😬). But did my voucher take? I fear I am going to have to solve this at the train station in Vienna with an Actual Person.
11) I brought my laptop downstairs to sit at one of the outside tables, write, and enjoy a negroni and a croque monsieur. (Their version is more like a grilled cheese, but no complaints from me — I didn’t have to eat it with a knife and fork.) During the process a Parisian man panhandled me.
12) Now upstairs for the night, and preparing to pack for Vienna, which I suspect will be fairly easy. Now that I’m packing, I’m sorry I didn’t arrange to stay longer here. But I have been here before, and I’ve never really been to Vienna.
