Mainland Trip Memoirs

Part 6: ...When It Sizzles

  There are so many things that I would like to tell all of you readers about the last part of our stay in Paris and our eventual trip home.  I sit here now, racking my brain and scribbling out main details on my little dry erase board that is already perilously close to being completely covered in writing.  Memories from our trip race through my mind, and I'm back in Paris, strolling along the Seine with Ben, my hand in his and my heart showing itself to the entire stylish city through my mile-wide smile.  We'll be homeward-bound tomorrow, but, for now, the weather is perfect, we still have a few more places to look forward to visiting, and we've already had a perfect holiday.  Life is beautiful.

  Grudgingly, I step out of that vision, and I'm sitting here once again, typing away on my laptop with Indiana landscape filling my windows.  I love this Indiana land, but I always miss Scotland when I return here.  Since I've only been back for a number of weeks, I still haven't fully readjusted to life in the States.  Enough about my identity crisis, though - there will be plenty of further posts dedicated to just that, I'm sure.  For now, I promised to finish telling you the rest of our traveling tale.

  From my previous entry, you probably figured out that the cemetery was one of my favorite places that we visited.  Next on the list would have to be La Louvre.  The Louvre is the largest museum in the world, and I cannot even begin to describe what that immensity looks and feels like.  Above ground, the Louvre resembles a huge courtyard surrounded by magnificent, multi-story buildings from the 1800s.  Also above ground are two more recently built glass pyramids that reveal what's below the surface.  Ben and I stood in the ticket line, warily reading the "Beware of Pickpockets" signs and willing the line to move faster, when I looked up and pivoted, drinking in a 360 degree view.  I sighed, smiled, and told Ben that I couldn't believe I was standing there.  It was just like my history book had depicted it to be.  Reminiscing, I went on to tell him about sitting in history class in my middle school/junior high days and opening my giant book to a colorful picture of the Louvre.  My teacher must have lectured about it, possibly even reciting something about French history or culture, but, at the time, I could barely hear.  My entire attention was on that photograph, and I remember tracing it with my finger reverently, believing it was a magical place that existed in fairy tales alone.  I toyed with the idea of how marvelous it would be to visit this romantic place called Paris and go to this beautiful museum, but that seemed like a distant dream.  My mind didn't even allow me to hope to see the outside of that historical palace, let alone the amazing works of art inside.

  Then, over a decade later, there I was standing at the entrance!  Ben joked later that if he'd known that I would be so satisfied with just seeing the outside, we wouldn't have had to get tickets. While I am, of course, thoroughly glad that we did, I must admit that, after gazing at the Mona Lisa from behind six feet of bulletproof glass and under the scrutiny of more security guards than we could probably see, I did begin to experience museum fatigue.  We walked slowly through the museum, appreciating the works of so many masters!!  Every painting seemed to be more vivid and alive than the one before, every sculpture more detailed and awe-inspiring, and every set of steps leading to more and more masterpieces.  Because there was so much talent to see, however, my eyes began to glaze.  I realized that one would need years to fully explore the Louvre - not simply the day that we had to dedicate to it.  With that in mind, I did the best I could to get everything I could out of the time I spent there without feeling guilty.  We will be back someday, and I will return to the Louvre refreshed and prepared with research notes, supportive shoes, and plenty of water.

  Along with the museum, Ben and I also visited the famous Notre Dame Cathedral, which had no hunchback character but did have grotesque carvings of demons torturing the sinful and many, many gargoyles patiently waiting for rain to flow through their mouths.  Peering up at them, I believe they might also have been waiting for their stone bodies to turn to flesh so that they could fly away.  I'm sure they're nearly deafened by those bells by now, anyway.  Who wouldn't want to escape? 

  Montmarte was another church that we visited, although I have now learned that "Montmarte" also refers to the area that the church is built upon.  This area is an extremely high hill from which tourists stand to admire the view of Paris.  The church is purely white, and it does seem to sparkle in the sun.  Inside, the aura is strange, since the subdued tone of religious observance clashes with the fairly irreverent and clicking camera atmosphere of tourism in full regalia.  Ben and I were able to ignore that feeling briefly when we saw the massive, domed ceiling of the church and realized that it was covered in a mosaic of Jesus, formed with tiny tiles no bigger than half an inch each.  I think that this is one of the largest mosaics in the world.  It was worth fighting through the tourism masses to see that.

  Realizing that the Eiffel Tower has quite pretty, scrolling bits of iron at its base and testing our stomachs on beef tartare, (a nicely seasoned, raw, hamburger-like patty typically topped with a raw egg), along with all of our other sightseeing could still not compete with our time spent with Josh and Lola.  One day, when we had a lazy few hours of afternoon to spend, Josh introduced Ben and me to a French plastic toy animation cartoon called, "A Town Called Panic."  Despite not being able to understand the words, we laughed until our stomachs ached for us to watch something sobering.  I highly recommend treating yourself to some giggles with this cartoon, but be prepared for strange looks when you find yourself quoting the characters out in public, clueless to the translation, but tickled by your own funny voice.

  Constructing paper airplanes under the tutelage of my enthusiastic and expert man, Josh, Lola, and I spent several nights mischievously launching our round crafts out of those high windows, videotaping and whooping in triumph as they soared across the streets.  One night, Ben and Josh created a monster plane and sent it on its maiden journey...into the lap of a bewildered gentleman!  We watched in nail-biting anticipation, wondering what he would do with this gift from the sky.  The man picked it up and placed it on the ground, as if that sort of thing happened to him every day!  We were quite disappointed but continued our entertainment, nonetheless.  Good times.

  We spent a wonderful last evening with Josh, Lola, and several of their friends, gobbling down cheese and bread and managing great conversations, despite language barriers or full mouths.  When the time came that night for Ben and me to make our way to the metro and the eventual bus journey home, I pouted that I didn't want to leave.  Ben reminded me that my feelings were the sign of a lovely visit and that we would return.  How wonderful to leave wanting to stay!  I have nothing but warm thoughts when I think of our time in that apartment. 

  Ben and I then began our 26 hour journey back to Eigg, crossing the English Channel via the ferry this time and not really minding the Megabus trip as badly.  We lugged many souvenirs back to Eigg, but the most priceless were memories.  I realize that may sound cliche, but I only speak the truth.  Truly experiencing traveling has nothing to do with how much money you spend but only what you collect in your mind's eye.

  At our return to Eigg, I spent a week packing my bags to head back to the States.  One missed ferry (due to Scotland's unpredictable weather), one missed flight, five million phone calls pleading with the airline company, and one rescheduled flight later, Ben and I found ourselves at the airport, experiencing the "hate" side of our love-hate relationship with it.  We said (I sobbed) our farewells, and I was off again on a journey, this time heading west.  Now, here I am, writing feverishly and counting down the days until Ben comes for a visit, before it's time for me to pack my pencil and paper and fly across the pond again.  This is my life.  It is difficult, taxing, and not what I ever could have foreseen, but it is mine, and I love it like Parisian pigeons love stale French bread.  And that's a lot.