Riding the Rails

The Train, Traveling from Chartres to Paris, Sept. 22, 2014

Oh, my.  I'm almost (yes, almost) speechless when I look back on this day.

The day began with a bang--or what I thought was a bang.  I was sleeping peacefully, having one dream or another when I was jolted awake by the sound of an explosion.  I hastily asked Yvette, "Are you O.K.?"  "It was just a sneeze," came back the somewhat bemused reply.  Yes, Yvette's sneeze at 6:30 this morning woke me with first a scare and then a laugh.

We followed our traditional routine, begun those many years ago when we came to Europe the first time.  Yvette was up first, showered and went down to breakfast.  I lazed around a little before hauling my own lazy ass out of bed, got ready, and snacked on a Slim Fast bar and a warm Diet Coke.  But, we were up early, and hit the rails.

The view from our window (not looking at the

disreputable sandwich shop)

We bought some Metro tickets and headed in the general direction of the Left Bank.  I say general, because I hadn't really thought through our travel plan. But, after a few missteps, we finally headed to the correct platform.  As we came down the stairs, we could see that there was a train just about to leave.  I didn't think twice before jumping through the closing doors, getting a little squeezed in the process.  Yvette, however, was not so lucky.  She remained behind.  Now, for most people, this wouldn't be a big deal--they'd know they could just get on the next train and meet me at our stop. And Yvette did that.  But not before she suffered a "Buffy and Jody Moment."  Yes, as a child, Yvette was scarred by a hellish episode of the television show Family Affair.  Apparently, on a trip to Paris, Buffy and Jody were separated from a frantic Mr. French--and Yvette never got over it.  Add "a Buffy and Jody Moment" to our own personal lexicon for this trip.

Montparnasse Tower

Anyway, we finally managed to wend our way to the Montparnasse Tower, not where we originally intended to go but where we ended up anyway.  The views from this skyscraper are amazing.  While there was some haze in the air, we could see the Eiffel Tower, Les Invalides, Sacre Cour, and what I thought was a giant parking lot.  Well, in my defense, it was a giant parking lot--a permanent parking lot--by the name of the Montparnasee cemetary. 

The Eiffel Tower

Having a good hair day!

Les Invalides--where Napoleon lives

Besides the views,Montparnasse excited us because of the guys and gals rappelling down the side.  Yes, you can rappel down the side of this 59-story building. 

Amazing!  This guys were going all Spiderman!

We then walked a beautiful pedestrian walkway from Monparnasse to the entrance to the catacombs.  The line was enormous--and as slow moving as molassas on ice.  Believe it or not, we waited for over two and one-half hours!  While Yvette stood the whole time, my legs rebelled.  So I, like many others in this queue that never ends, perched on a wire fence that ran alongside the sidewalk.  I believe that tomorrow I will find some interesting bruises on my deriere thanks to that wire fence.

Here I will break from my story to talk about music, in honor of my friend Anita.  While on the Metro, we listened to an accordian and tamborine combo play La Vie en Rose--one of my favorite French songs.  In the queue for the catacombs, a man with an electric guitar performed for all of us brave (or foolish) enough to wait in that long line.  His playlist was impressive, with tunes like "Bad to the Bone," "Knock, Knock, Knocking on Heaven's Door," and then that baffled me--"Sweet Home Alabama."  Yvette, a quick thinker, cued me in to the line "Lord, I'm coming home to you."  When the guitar player veered over to a James Brown tune, I was again confused.  I decided to myself that, like the six million Parisains in the catacombs, James Brown was, in a word, dead.

This top, corner apartment, looking down on

the lion statue, is my dream home

Initially upon entrance, the catacombs seemed a little disappointing.  It was a walk down over 100 tiny steps on a steep, curling, enclosed, stone stairwell. Once, I expected to fall to my death.  Then, once the stairway was safely transversed, the initial tenth of a mile or so inside the catacomb was a mere walkway through a long set of limestone corridors.  

Then we came to some lovely limestone sculptures.  Reflecting the French fascination with its newly acquired colonial territory, Egypt, these represented some of the sights to be found in that ancient empire.  

Finally, we saw the sign over one hallway:

That's right. We entered the city of the dead (note to Maddie Herbon and Matthew Fisher:  CATACOMBS!!!)

Yeah, I'm telling these Parisians what's what!

O.K., I'm usually a very good girl in museums and historic sites.  But, I couldn't resist.  I touched a skull!!  And I liiked it so much that I then touched another!!!  To my knowledge thus far, no spirits have attached themselves to me, nor did I, when in the catacombs, have any problem with some guilt from my past (maybe smacking my sister when I was little?) came back to haunt me.

This whole place proved hard for both Yvette and I to wrap our heads around. At first, for Yvette, it seemed disrespectful.  And I concur.  I mean, how weird is it to dig up the dead out of your city's cemetaries, separate each person's bones to be mingled with other bones of the same type, and then to make designs with them deep in an old limestone quarry?  But, when you think of it, it can serve both Christian and Enlightenment reasoning (remember, this plan was hatched during the period of the Enlightenment).  For Christians, the mortal person, the human flesh and bones, meant nothing.  This body of ours was the site of original sin, after all.  It was the afterlife of the soul that mattered.  For Enlightenment thinkers, I expect that they, too, did not find use in the physical being. For them, living in an Age of Reason, the mind was predominant.  So why not do this, make these catacombs.  These bones were buried with all due respect, and they remind us that we are, after all, mortal beings.  As we lived, so did they.

The walk through the catacombs was treacherous at best.  The floor had been worn smooth, was damp and slippery.  More than once, I had to catch myself as my oh-so-comfy Sketchers threatened to put me on my ass.  This, along with the rapellers we had seen earlier, gave Yvette and I a subject upon which to reflect.  We both agreed that this wouldn't be possible in the U.S.  Disability rights activitists would have a fit because there is no way anyone with any sort of physical disability could make it through those catacombs (I won't write about how I managed to climb up the 86 stairs at the end, but let's just say, it wasn't pretty).  And rapelling down the side of a building?  Are you kidding me?  Think of the liability!

We Americans are a litigious people.  If something happens to us, we need to have someone to blame, someone to compensate us for our misfortune.  Skyscrapers in the U.S. couldn't afford to allow rapelling due to the costs involved--one person falls and that's the million-dollar ballgame. And, while I know the Americans with Disabilities Act exempts historic sites, there still remains a lot of pressure to make everything available to everybody, no matter what.  In Paris, as far as we can see, that culture of lawsuits and accessibility doesn't exist.  Believe me when I tell you, the little cafe we stopped at for an afternoon treat (and to recover from the catacombs) had a bathroom so small I could barely turn around in it--not to mention a urinal right there by the sinks, out in the open. Thank God no gentleman felt the need to pee when I was in that bathroom.

Yvette photobombed my ice cream (which, I must

say, had the most amazing REAL chocolate

sauce)

SoYvette got her own photo

Back to the Metro and back to the Montparnasse train station.  While it was a little late in the afternoon, we decided on our trip to Chartres.  This little outing started out pretty damn funny.  Yvette walked up to the lady at the information booth and politely asked where we could get tickets to "Chartreuse." The color yellow being unavailable from this station, the lady was then asked where we could buy tickets for Chartres.  To her credit, the lady never blinked an eye, but I could tell what she was thinking--"crazy Americans!"

Once safely on the train, Yvette was like an infant in a car--zonked!  While I enjoyed the scenery of the French countryside, livestock, and some adorable buildings, she sat with her eyes closed.  Once we arrived in Chartres, though, she perked up enough to recommend that we take a cab to the Cathedral.  While for Rick Steves it might be a five-minute walk, there was no way our weary legs were going to take us up that hill.

The Cathedral was everything I could asked for and more.  I wish I could have taken some photos of the interior....

I must break here--a man just walked through our train car and farted. WTF??

....but Mass was underway.  The stained glass glimmered as though it were not 800 years old, the designs were vibrant and beautiful, and the massive arch ways and other Gothic elements made both Yvette and I feel overwhelmed.  This is one of the biggest Cathedrals in Europe, and it was well worth the hour and one-half long train ride to see. The fact that Mass was being held and we could hear the music echoing throughout just made it that much more special.  

The Cathedral, according to Rick Steves, became a hot commodity for pilgrims of the Middle Ages because of its unique sacred relic--Mary's veil.  This is claimed to be the garment Mary wore when she gave birth to Jesus.  And there it was.  Behind a locked little gate, but still right there for everyone to view.  It was amazing.  Rick says that it has been tested and is a garment from the right time. Whether it is authentic or not, its very existence makes it special and amazing.

Next to the little alter with the veil stands a special sculpture on a tall pedestal.  It is Mary holding the baby Jesus, both wearing bejewelled crowns and holding sceptors.  Even an atheist like me is not immune to the power of that statue.  Many people come to the Cathedral to seek the Virgin's assistance, and it is the custom to kiss the pedestal beneath the sculpture.  We saw a lady do this--and she had her lips there for quite a while.  While that was disconcerting, I did press a kiss to two of my fingers and then pressed the fingers to the pedestal. I mean, really, why not cover all bases?

At the Serpentine Cafe, right across from the Cathedral, we stopped for dinner.  And, true to the promise I made to myself when I planned this trip, I tried escargo.  Now, it wasn't bad, don't get me wrong. But it wasn't good.  The butter and garlic was delicious, but the snail was a little tough to chew and really tasted like mushrooms.  Oh, and it's as hell to pry the damn thing out of its shell.  Like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, I had to learn to use the holder thing--I did not toss one as she did, thank goodness.

Yvette is the witness and here is the

photographic evidence

The meal was good, the wine excellent.  

Time to stop, we're pulling in to Paris again....

Hotel Alane, Sept. 23, 2014

Back in the hotel after a quick trip from the Montparnasse station to our  home station, Gare de l'Est.  So, we had a great meal and then asked the waitress to call a cab. When we stepped outside the restaurant, both our jaws fell to the floor.  On the north side ofthe Cathedral, right in front of us, was the most amazing light show.  I mean, amazing!  Thankfully, Yvette got some good pix.

Upon returning to the hotel room, I was given my graduation present from Yvette.

So, this has been a lot of blog for one day, and it's nearly 12:30 a.m.  I'm going to finish up and then get a good night's sleep.  Art, both modern and Impressionist, tomorrow.

P.S.  Yvette says, "Lorraine tried to kill us today with her high energy; we will be dialing it down to third gear tomorrow."

P.P.S.  Lorraine says, "Just leave me in the catacombs to die."