Au revoir mais pas adieu

Isabella’s last day, a Monday, was a glorious one. We spent the morning at Sainte-Chapelle, one of the true wonders of Paris. It was commissioned by Louis IX and consecrated in 1248 to house the king's favorite relics, including the Crown of Thorns. It was once part of the royal palace that occupied the heart of the Ile de la Cite, but the chapel is all that remains of it. The second floor is the spectacular part - it is in the dizzying rayonnant Gothic style, with glorious stained glass windows 50 feet high covering every wall. Lunch couldn’t be anywhere else but Genia, and we took our formules to a bench in Square Rene Viviani, across from Notre Dame. Later, I sat in the Jardin du Luxembourg and watched the (apparently famous) team of beekeepers in impeccable white uniforms and bee hats tend to the hives. Eventually we moseyed over to Saint-Sulpice, where we stumbled upon the Marché de la Poésie (the Poetry Market). Every publisher of poetry in France it seemed had a booth with beautiful special editions, mostly of contemporary work. I can’t really imagine anything like this in the US drawing such a huge crowd. People of all ages were poring over the thick pages with great purpose. We strolled to Saint-Germain-des-Prés, one of the oldest churches in Paris and an oasis of calm in the center of the city. Apparently, there has been a temple on that spot since Roman times, and it became associated with Saint-Germain in the 9th century, becoming a powerful Benedictine abbey in the 11th. Later that afternoon, we had smoothies at Paradis des Fruits and reconvened for our last hurrah at Point Bar near Place de Clichy.

Sainte-Chapelle


With my last CUPA friend gone, I turned to wandering the city on my own for a few days. I said goodbye to team CUPA (Mary Ann, Cecile, Claire, & Nathalie) and brooded in the Cemetery of Montparnasse, where Baudelaire, Sartre, and Beauvoir are buried, among others. Sartre and Beauvoir's grave was strewn with the flowers, notes, and talismans of their devotees. One evening, after the Odilon Redon expo at the Grand Palais, I met up with a friend from my Berber anthropology class, Lyes. He took me to a creperie in Montmartre run by Kabyles (Algerian Berbers) like himself and then to a salsa bar in Saint-Michel. I was really happy that I had finally succeeded in making a French friend - even if he wasn't actually French - and it was very satisfying to spend a whole evening speaking about politics & culture and all of that in French without having to simplify my thoughts or pause a lot to ask if I was being understood.

The next day, Lena arrived on the overnight bus for a whirlwind 2-day tour of Paris. In addition to being lots of fun to get to see her again so soon, it gave me a chance to see the top sights one last time before heading home. We walked up the Champs-Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe, then went over to the Eiffel Tower (although so glad I went up with Oren in March since the lines were insane). Then off to Notre Dame and a lazy hour lounging by the Pont Neuf. For lunch, we went to Genia, who gave me a warm hug and a bise since I told her (her name isn't actually Genia, that's her niece) it was my last visit. On a walk around my neighborhood I read the plaque on the building across the street from my apartment and discovered that Stendhal wrote The Charterhouse of Parma there in 1838. In the evening, we sat on the steps by Sacre Coeur and contentedly listened to the mediocre guitarists. It was good to know I'd been keeping important company. The next day we had a picnic in the Bois de Vincennes, which was sadly parched because of all the beautiful cloudless days we'd been having. Then we walked a lot, seeking out a fromagier on Rue Mouffetard along the way so I could pick out some choice morsels to bring home (and was told by the helpful merchant how to hide it from Customs). We sat some more by the Seine, past the Louvre, through the Tuileries, and over to Laduree for a last macaron. Lena took the bus back to Braunschweig that evening.

At the Tour Eiffel with Lena

With my host mom, Brigitte, in the salon

I already wrote an entry my last night describing my feelings as I prepared to leave, and my last dinner with Brigitte. The next morning, June 4, she helped me take my bags to the RoissyBus stop next to the opera and quickly said goodbye, telling me: "Très vite au revoir. Je déteste "au revoir"." So I sat tearfully on my mounds of suitcases, bound for the banlieues and the airport, when the bus happened to circle past my host mom walking to the store and I had one more wave goodbye. Soon recognizable Paris disappeared and we were on an anonymous highway. And in a few hours, I was home in the United States, where everyone and every portion seemed ludicrously large and people were - very strangely it seemed - wearing shorts and tennis shoes.

The last picture I took in Paris, coming out of the metro late at night at Madeleine. Seeing the glowing red sign and the French flag was one of those comforting sights that had become quite routine but never ceased to be beautiful.