How Getting to the Airport is Basically Hell

I wrote this at the airport right before our plane took off from Paris but never published it here. But it explains so much, and the actual logistics are so much a part of traveling, I thought it would add it now. Enjoy!

I woke up this morning at 6:23, seven minutes before my alarm went off, to Sydney saying that her alarm had failed to go off at 6. When I looked over at my iPod and caught the time, I tried to manage ten more minutes of rest. I had totally packed the night before, but I got together my computer and charger, put away my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and ate some raisins I’d been saving with the lactose-free milk Darian left in the small refrigerator. There really wasn’t anything else to eat. We hadn’t wanted to leave any leftovers in the fridge when we left. I started the overfull dishwasher and washed my milk cup (which was actually a mug, since all the cups were in the dishwasher) by hand in the sink, dried it, and put it away in the cupboard. And I sat around, dreading the journey between the apartment and the airport.

I enjoy traveling. I like visiting other places, cultures, homes. I both hate and love getting there. Airplanes especially give you the time to meditate on your experiences; that you’ve had or that are to come. Your body is stuck in your seat, usually between two objects, so you can let your mind wander. But airports are Hell. Getting to the airport on Paris public transportation: also Hell. Add baggage, lack of sleep, and small hallways. Hell.

We left the apartment and made it down the block and down the stairs into the metro station. We bought special tickets for the trip to Charles de Gaulle and barely managed to slide my purse, laptop bag, Rick Steves tote, and rolly suitcase through the turnstile and doors. We ran down the stairs to the catch the train that had just arrived. We transferred to another train, going through the Strasbourg/St. Denis stop, which has the most ridiculous roller-coaster of stairs: you go up flights of stairs, then down stairs, then up stairs, for no plausible reason whatsoever. But, a kind Parisian man carried my bag up two of those haphazard flights of stairs. I thanked him profusely, but he just smiled politely and walked on his way. Don’t let people tell you Parisians aren’t nice. They’re not friendly, but they really can be very nice.

After we got onto our second metro, we transferred to the RER B (one of the commuter trains that goes out to the suburbs of Paris–Île de France) to Charles de Gaulle. At that time in the morning, there really weren’t any open seats, so I wriggled my way with my two bags, my oversized tote, and my suitcase into a foldable seat next to the door. The poor woman sitting in-between the wall and I made the effort to shrink herself considerably. Let’s keep in mind, this is still the Paris metro system. After I had juggled my luggage into this metal trap car, I continued to sweat from the repressive heat and claustrophobia that characterize the metro. And, of course to add to my discomfort, I get terrible motion sickness.

People started to get off as they went to work, and the metro became less crazy. One we got to Charles de Gaulle, the metro dropped us off right in the middle. So, we didn’t have too much trouble following the signs to the Delta counter. For those who haven’t been there, GDG airport was designed in an X pattern with circular terminals at the end of each X. This makes it one of the most confusing airports in the world! You can wander around in circles within a terminal and between terminals and not find where you’re supposed to go for hours.

We got on our delayed plane and took the half-day plane ride home. After the metro, I was happy to sit on a plane!

A Week Plus

I’m staying a week after the European Quarter group in Paris with Sydney and Lainey. Sydney’s mother, Bobby, and her boyfriend, Brian, had flown into Paris a few days before and we took the opportunity to not only hang out with them, but also to get free housing by sleeping on the couch in Brian’s sister’s apartment. The apartment is small with one bedroom, one living room, one bathroom, one shower room, and one european kitchen. There is also a small, white balcony from the living room with french doors leading onto it where two bistro chairs and a table fit comfortably and looks out over a little courtyard to the side of the building and onto the road lined with other white apartment buildings with wrought iron balconies. Although the apartment is small, it’s very comfortable. The couch is a super comfy hide-away and there is a little cot and a queen bed. The kitchen is long and skinny but had great appliances, including an espresso machine and an induction oven. There is also a small elevator to take us all the way to the 4th floor, although more modern than the elevator in Rome. It’s quite small and, to quote Audrey Hepburn from Charade, it’s a “nice place to make friends.”

Since Bobby and Brian had recently gotten here, we went around Paris with them and saw sights. I finally saw the Arc de Triumph and the Champs Élysées. We also went around to the Pompidou, the Orangerie, the Louvre, the Palais Garnier, Printemps and Galleries Lafayette, and the Eiffel Tower. I didn’t go into any of the places I’d already been since it cost money, but it was fine to visit the outside of them again.

On Friday the 10th, Bobby and Brian left early in the morning to fly back to Seattle (with a layover in Iceland: enough time to visit the mineral baths!). On the same day in the afternoon, Michel arrived. He is backpacking around Europe this summer with his brother and flew in a couple days early to spend time with Sydney, since they’re close friends. We don’t have many plans except to be enjoy being in Paris until we leave on Tuesday the 14th!

Museum Marathon: Versailles

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I’ve visited Versailles twice in the past week; once on Saturday the 28th and once on Tuesday the 7th. The first time, I went with a larger group of students on the European Quarter trip. I’d already seen the Chateau and it was really expensive (I think because they’re restoring it), so Ruth, Jill and I bought tickets only to the garden and walked around for several hours. The gardens were originally designed by Louis XIV when he built Versailles into the massive royal complex it is. The gardens were laid out on a 8 mile plan, with the Grand Canal (modeled after Venice) in the shape of a Greek cross running straight out away from the palace, and across the woods after the planned gardens.

On Saturday, the sun was high and bright and all the fountains were on and, in some groves, classical music was playing. We walked through the little square patches of planned gardens, although not all of them since that was a little ridiculous to do. There were so many benches in shaded corners and around random corners, it was hard not to imagine the trysts and intrigues that took place there. After walking for several hours and still not reaching the ends of the gardens, it was no wonder that the people who lived there never left. They lived in a separate world that supplied everything they needed. And, if they wanted more, it was brought to them. They had no reason to leave. It was no wonder they had no idea what was gong on in the real world and how to run their country.

On Tuesday the 7th, I went with Lainey to visit only the Trianon, the Petite Trianon, and the Hamlet that was built for Marie Antoinette. Seeing that made it even more ridiculous. We had visited Disneyland the day before for Sydney’s birthday, and the comparison was undeniable. I had thought that Disneyland outside of Paris would have been like exiting one of the cultural centers of the western world and entering a black hole of culture. I was both right and wrong. Disneyland was a block hole, but one like in the new Star Trek movie; the kind that transports you to another time and dimension. We were no longer in France, nor in America. We were not in any one culture. I had thought that, in Europe, Disneyland would have drawn much more on the culture, architecture, and history of Europe since so many of their stories originate there: Cinderella, Pinocchio, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, etc. But, no, they were just as idyll as in California. The little hamlets and villages had architecture that made no useful sense, with slanted floors and random staircases: nothing functional, but very much like a fantasyland. It seems people from all over enjoy a fairytale. Marie Antoinette’s hamlet had the same feeling, It was not based off of any realistic town anywhere. There were spiral staircases outside, beautiful towers attached to milk houses and barns. The houses were crude mud and straw on the outside, and beautiful painted wood and brocade and polished floors on the inside. It was total fantasy.

Versailles showed such alienation of the upper class from the people. I read from Rick Steves that by removing the court to Versailles, Louis XIV effectively halted any political competition. He alienated rivals from the people who could revolt, and reduced them to simply courtiers who played games and paid attention to clothes, instead of political rivals to the throne. However, they ended up so alienated from society that they had no idea how people lived (and the Hamlet is evidence of that), which doesn’t make for very efficient rulers.

Museum Marathon: The Louvre

On Friday the 27th, we took the opportunity to go to the Louvres for free. Every Friday night, the Louvres is open for students for free. We mapped out a route and stuck to it! However, the Louvres is ginormous. It still took up half an hour just to navigate down stairs, up stairs, through hallways, around many corners and pillars and sections to finally get to the rooms we wanted. Even then, as we made our way with an hour and a half to spare, we still didn’t make it to the rooms of Northern European art. As Jill finally got to the room she had been waiting weeks to see, the metal door slowly closed in front of her.

I’ve realized and been reminded over and over again why I so dislike the Louvres. As first. I simply disliked France hoarding this magnificent artwork. It should be displayed and distributed for all people all over the world to see and admire and learn from. Then, it made me so upset that some of the most famous artwork on the planet is stacked on top of one another. How can you appreciate beautiful, meaningful art when all you see is the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo and the Winged Victory. Art should be displayed as it was meant to. It should be put into the social, historical, and artistic context so the viewer can really appreciate it. It shouldn’t be stuffed, packed, crowded into never-ending hallways with no context that kill the attention span and give you ten seconds to fully comprehend all appreciation for this one art piece. The art deserves more.

Although I’ve retained these opinions, I have another more practical addition. The Louvres is big. Very big. I can’t walk half an hour in that building without being utterly exhausted, let alone completely confused. There are some staircases that only go up on floor. Others that only go down two floors. Sometimes, you have to walk across the entire building to get simply to the proper staircase to get you to where you want to go. Not only do I hate how the art is displayed, I hate this building. It makes perfect sense for socially divided French royals in the fifteenth century: you could live all your life there and never run into someone you didn’t want to. It makes no sense for an all-encompassing art museum: you could be there all day and never climb all the winding stairs, confusing hallways, to the art you wanted to see. It’s physically exhausting. A couple days ago, I was in the Louvres Carousel (the underground shopping area with the inverted pyramid) simply trying to get to the metro station. And I still got lost. We had to consult a map to find the entrance to the metro! While walking and walking and walking–not even in the museum but in the carousel–and every step I’m reminded that I hate, hate, hate this place! Luckily, I’m not required to go back again!

Museum Marathon: Pompidou Center

On Thursday the 26th, we visited the Pompidou Center. Our group reservation (they do this to make sure not too many people are in the museum at once, for a better experience) was later in the afternoon, so we enjoyed a Paris in the morning and then met up at the Center at 18h00. Ruth and I were having tea, and the clock at the café said we had half an hour to get to the museum when we left. But, inexplicable, a time warp occurred. We came to the Centre Pompidou an hour and a half after the group arrived. However, we just explained to the ticket people that we were with a group that was already inside, and they let us in!

Walking up to the Pompidou is an experience. You walk along the cobblestone streets and the 18th century apartment buildings with french doors and decorative iron balconies and, suddenly, you turn the corner of your little ally and modernity appears before you. The building is several stories high and made out metals, glass, plastics, and concrete. The tube exterior escalators make it look almost like a blown up version of the  complex maze that children build for their gerbils to play in. In contrast to the elegant, decorative architecture all around, it’s ugly.

Once inside, the architecture is part of the art. It displays the modern art in a modern context that has a completely different feel from the rest of Paris. The Pompidou is not just an art museum, but a cultural center for film, visual arts, sculpture, painting, photography, music, architecture, and includes a massive public library devoted to art and culture. The architecture of the Pompidou is part of the museum as a display piece itself.

Because I arrived so late to the museum, it was almost empty, which was wonderful! Unlike at the Orsay, I didn’t have to listen to commentary from other people. I got to listen to myself in reaction to the art. Picasso, Matisse, Kandinsky. As well as new art I was introduced to. The museum was well organized, by art movement and painter. There were also very comprehensive boards around the museum and guide pamphlets explaining the different movements and the influences of the painters. A little jingle went off that signaled thirty minutes left before we had to leave the museum. I must have looked like a crazy person, staring at art as I walked in order to get the most out of the time I had. If more people had been there, I would have run into them. I wasn’t looking at anything but art in those precious thirty minutes left! With ten minutes to spare, I got to the kinetic art. It’s meant to involve the on-looker. It moves as you move, it changes as you look at it, and you experience it. To the people behind the surveillance cameras, I now became nutso. I paced quickly back and forth in front of the sculptures and artwork, viewing it from multiple perspectives. I stood in one place and moved my head back and forth, up and down to view the light differently. I walked forward and backward to see the detail and the big picture. I must have looked absolutely off my rocker.

As they kicked us out, we didn’t get to see anything else in the museum, but got great views of the setting sun over the city as we headed down the now appropriate tubular staircases.

Museum Marathon: Musée d’Orsay

On Monday the 25th, we visited the Musée d’Orsay. We didn’t have a guide, so Ruth, Jill, and I walked around the museum in chronological order: from Romanticism to Post-Impressionism. However, the museum is under renovation right now. All of the upper floors are being redone, so the artwork was moved to the lower floor, along with all the existing art that was already there. We tried to make our way through the artwork properly, but it was impossible! The halls were bursting with people walking by and pausing in front of one priceless work of art inches away from another, often stacked on top of each other on the wall.

This also made for an interesting experience as it was so crowded we could hear what others were saying as they discussed the art. Some people didn’t say anything. They just looked and looked. Others spoke quiet, quick words to friends. But the think the most I heard over and over again, from French, British, and American alike, was “Oh, that’s pretty!” I heard it while looking at the Monet landscapes. “Oh, that’s pretty!” Ok, it is pretty. I heard it while looking at the Renoir dancers. “Oh, that’s pretty!” Ok, you’re totally missing the point of the painting, but yes, it is pretty. I heard it in front of Degas’ La Famille Bellelli. “Ah, c’est belle!” No. No, no, no. Degas is a very skilled artist who painted a marvelous painting, but it’s not pretty. It’s tense, uncomfortable, dark, truthful. Without words, it does what great Russian literature tries to do; it explains the complicated dynamics and relations of a family. It’s pretty, but that’s not the point.

Yes, this was not the only time this happened: when I wanted to give them art books to enhance their life, to show them what they were missing out on. But of course, I wasn’t about to approach them all like a crazy person. I only had a few precious hours in the museum before my head would fall off my neck and my feet would compress into pancakes. They had added a new section of furniture I hadn’t seen before, which was truly interesting. I could see how the sculpture and shapes of the materials had their own form, line, and composition and I didn’t think it was a misplaced exhibit at all.

New artwork I saw and liked:

Degas: femme se coiffant

Lévy: Jeune fille in robe rouge

Rousseau: snake charmer

Tissot: Portrait de Mademoiselle L.L.

Courbet: Baigneuses

Paris: On Repeat

We have finally returned to Paris; the last leg of our voyage on European Quarter. We’ve returned to sidewalks that trip you as they change from concrete to cobblestone. We’ve returned to the sewer smells that waft from the drains in the side of the roads as you walk along in the heat of direct sunlight. We’ve returned to the sweltering, crushing, claustrophobic heat of the metro as you go through the tunnels with all of the windows open and still don’t manage to feel the breeze through the crowd of tall people around you, all in coats, as if they are impervious to the heat that you’re body is unable to ignore as you watch your legs swell, red and splotchy, while theirs remain thin in thick, black tights. But, of course, we’re returned to Paris. We’ve returned to beautiful green parks that are an oasis from the heat, concrete, and people. We’ve returned to tree-lined sidewalks and bustling outdoor cafés. We’ve returned to new experiences in every quarter and the same experiences everywhere.

We had our first full day on the 23rd. After class, Ruth, Jill, and I went to the Jewish Quarter on a journey to find falafel. We were so hungry, but we got to wander around a quarter I had never explored before, seeing trendy stores, small roads, and delicious restaurants. We followed the trail of people on the sidewalks holding falafels wrapped in tip foil and found the line outside of a to-go place. Delicious! We went and sat in a small park next to the Paris Historical Library. We were less interested in our own conversation, but instead took up serious people watching. We narrated a play by play of a couple sitting near to us. They were a boy and a girl, about high school age, sitting alone, but looking incredibly disinterested in each other. We ran through possible scenarios, what their body language suggested, what they could be thinking and saying. Ruth suggested that they were disinterested in each other because they had a third party that they were both waiting for, but weren’t friends themselves. Lo and behold! Several minutes later, a group of people walk into the park and sit down! While we finished out falafels (yum! Still delicious!), we discussed group dynamics and possible roles within the group. Then we decided to go to a Jewish bakery we had passed and get dessert.

Me as the hunchback under Victor Hugo's House

On the way to the Bastille monument, we passed through a park, where we sat and composed bad puns on a birthday card for Casey, our TA. We watched little children in swimsuits play in the fountains and sandboxes, and old men sit on benches, and mutant, large pigeons scavenge for food. We walked to the corner and saw Victor Hugo’s house, nonchalantly situated by a preschool. We walked through an open air market selling fresh fruit smoothies and amber jewelry to the Bastille monument but found no Bastille prison, which we were confused if it actually existed. It doesn’t. It was destroyed at some point.

Before dinner, Ruth and I headed over to a park near the FIAP where we tried to work, but were too entertained by people-watching again. This time, it was with three very persistent couples openly expressing their sexuality. I had an awful headache that night, so I didn’t do anything except go to sleep early.

The next day, Tuesday the 25th, I had lunch at the FIAP and went with a large group from SPU to a park on the outskirts of Paris proper where my friends, Chelsea and Rachel, were dying to take some kinds of photos with people in them. It was not the nicest park I’ve seen, with withered yellow grass and brown patches. the flowers and trees were well maintained, but everything else was kind of dead. But it was fun!

After an hour and a half or so, we left for the Mariage Frère teahouse next to the Île de la Cité and Notre Dame to meet Madame Beauclair and a group of students there. We walked into the upper level of a very old house and into a tearoom with tall, draped windows and wooden tables and old, dark wooden floors. However old it was, though, it still felt light and airy. The walls were a energetic golden cream and large bouquets of exotic plants were nested around the series of rooms. Black canisters of tea covered a whole wall in the first room, along with large maps of the tea trade routes in the 1800s. The list of tea we were presented with was incredible, with five pages of tiny print in two columns–there must have been over a hundred teas to try. I chose a white chinese tea with a little floral and fruity taste, which was delicious! It turned out to be a limited edition of their famous Marco Polo tea, which they usually only sell in green and black variety. Between the four at our end of the table, we also split a raspberry cake made with green tea and a strawberry tart made with jasmine tea in the pudding added above the crust. After we finished our pots of tea and conversation, we went downstairs into their store and into the basement for the small museum and signed the guest book.

After that, we headed over to the Eiffel Tower where half of our group was meeting friends. Ruth, Jill, Rachel, Casey, and I headed off to hunt for diner and ended up on Rue Cler! We found a happening restaurant were the pasta was comfort food! I couldn’t even finish my bowl of large seashell pasta in a thick cream and gorgonzola sauce with pears. I finished the meal with a cup of cool, sweet strawberry ice cream that made me less lethargic. I came back tot he FIAp, where I watched the final episode of the new BBC Emma with my roommate, Kelsey, and saw Emma and Mr. Knightly finally married!