psyrena

When I first arrived in Paris (having just flown in from Vancouver), I was exhausted. I’d navigated Charles de Gaulle enough to get myself to the RER and on into the city. I had my little suitcase on wheels, it was 4 am, I was severely jet-lagged but in the “body is tired but the mind is racing, it should be mid-day but why is it so dark – kind of way” the hostel wasn’t open yet. I wasn’t sure where to go, so I decided to go to Notre Dame, because a cathedral just felt like a safe place to be.

It was just a big looming dark shape. Very gothic, of course, quite imposing. And lucky for me, it was open, or maybe just opened. I went inside and rested my aching body on a pew. And just contemplated the fact that I was where I was, and I was alone.

Then the sun started to make its way to the stained glass windows. At first just hints of shapes, then outlines, then… colours…

If ever I had a religious moment, it might have been then. It was just me and the cathedral. Colours swirling into the chamber and landing by my feet.

A very sacred moment I will always remember.

My advice? Go to Notre Dame if you are jet-lagged. Watch the sun come in through the windows, alone. You will leave a changed person.

i love, love, love Paris. I’ve been there so often it and Barcelone almost feel like second homes. Because I’ve stayed in Paris on my own, I’ve met so many interesting people, and places there. For example, the guy with the glass eye who’d often walk his dog in my arrondisement. I saw him playing “jazz” cello at a local pub as well. There I talked to him and he said “I’m principal cellist of the National Orchestra, and I can tell you that this..”, and here he starts playing the openings to every famous cello concerto known to man, “is not real music. No, THIS..”, he gestures to the little bar, his musician buddies, a ragtag group of second rate jazzers, “… is real music.”

I met him a few times after that. I even played a bit of Saint Saens for him and he gave me a few tips.

Just one of many wild and wonderful encounters I had in Paris. Make sure you go to the expat bookstore on the left bank (name escapes me today). They have tea every sunday for the English expats. As for the famed snobbery of the French, I never encountered any. I guess my French is passable, and the they don’t really know what to make of a cute little Canadian born Taiwanese who speaks french and travels alone.

I miss the baguettes. When people tell you baguettes just don’t taste the same anywhere else, it’s really true. I miss waking up in the morning, and going around the corner to the local baker, lining up for “une baguette plus blanche, s’il vous plait”.

I saw it when I was really young, but I still remember the awe I felt when I saw it – to my mind one of of the most beautiful structures I’ve ever seen. The Guggenheim at Bilbao is vaguely reminiscent, but the Opera House, to my mind, is much more lovely. Part of that is it’s setting on the water, and also the shell-like nature looks so organic there.