Tourist Overload

Valuable lessons learned this week:

1) Packing all of your Paris tourism into four days under the influence of jet lag is never a good idea.

2) This much tourism will probably require multiple blog posts. Bear with me, folks. 

This is my "I hate being a jet-lagged tourist face," approximately one hour into our visit to the Louvre. Already my soul is dead. Raphael is also waning. Bury my body under the masses surrounding La Jaconde.

Where do I possibly begin? I still feel like I'm dreaming. Every perfect Parisian street corner that I turn, every crepe-induced pound I've already gained... I'm dreaming right? Extra Nutella, please. 

In spite of my ramblings and complaining, I really have learned and experienced many incredible things so far in this jam-packed week of tourism. 

The first morning I woke up in Paris I definitely felt like my body had been dislocated from my brain, but I made the most of my second cloudy, drizzly, heavenly day. Roland wanted to take me on a tour of some of his favorite parts of the city, and naively I agreed. Hours of searing leg pain later, I'm still trying to decide if that was a good idea. 

Our first stop on the map of tourist attractions was la Sainte-Chapelle. I really don't think the heart can ever fully be prepared for a first sighting of the magnificent stain glass windows of its interior. Roland guided me by the hand through the winding, narrow, claustrophobia-inducing staircase, telling me to close my eyes until I stood in the very center of the room. I really can't describe the sensation that occurred when I lifted my head and opened my eyes, but I am 90% sure my heart skipped a couple beats. 

No camera lens can behold this scene the way that the eye does. It fills the very soul with color and unadulterated energy. 

The fact that this magnificent gothic structure is still in tact astounds me, and I don't think my remaining days on this earth will ever introduce me to something more exquisite than this celestial chamber of colored panes. Roland and I discussed why France surrendered during the war, largely in part a sacrifice for the preservation of these precious buildings. I am grateful this holy structure is still standing. 

Soon after the peaceful spirit of la Saint-Chapelle wore off I realized that I was hangry and tired of speaking non-stop French with Roland, so I insisted we stop at a delightful Tibetan restaurant near the Sorbonne. It was invigorating to walk the Latin Quarter, and I imagined what it must have been like to be Simone de Beauvoir stalking the very same streets. Heaven.  

We wound our way up to Luxembourg Gardens eventually, wind and cool rain running across the tendrils of our hair in a sea of green and gray beauty. I fell instantly in love with the gardens, immediately drawn in by the rows of statues honoring queens and countesses, women in positions of power spanning a range of time periods. 

You go, girl.

As is not hard to guess, my favorite feature of the gardens was definitely the Medici Fountain. It's fascinating to encounter the Renaissance architecture and Italian influence in France from the 17th century--and it's all over the place. One of the things that I find truly intriguing in Paris is the patchwork of different cultural influences and architectural styles from a range of time periods. The fact that these structures have been preserved turns Paris into one grand, almost timeless history book. Every corner reveals the past, every corner has a story. 

 Beauty worth aspiring to. 

After we moseyed around the gardens for a blissful afternoon we made our way back down to St-Michel to behold Notre Dame--definitely my woman crush of all the cathedrals. Touring Notre Dame turned out to be one of those rare, peaceful moments that you seldom experience in the din of Paris. The afternoon was waning as we entered that beautiful, cavernous exterior. The windows revived my spirits after a long day of walking, but perhaps what was most rejuvenating was the half hour of calm in which I napped on Roland's shoulder. No judgement--I was incredibly jet lagged. There is definitely a spirit in those cold, Gothic walls, and one that inevitably puts me to sleep. 

I realize that I have taken enough space here, and will probably continue to document my remaining days of non-stop tourism in a new post. I just don't want to exclude a moment of what I have learned and felt while taking Paris in for the first time. My pilgrimage (perhaps not an appropriate word to use as I describe in my next post my trek to Moulin Rouge) is only just beginning, and I cannot wait to let this city's beauty wash over me. 

The end.