Day 68: Sacrebleu!

Listening to: Godspell - New Broadway Cast Recording (2011) by Stephen Schwartz

Seriously. I must've listened to this album five times today alone. There was a lot of back-and-forth on the Metro, after all.

SO. Today. It was kind of crazy. It might take me awhile just to remember everything.

I was supposed to get an early start today, but we all know what happened even before I've typed it: I slept in. Still, I was out the door by noon, which is kind of a feat in this apartment. (We're in college, after all.)

I had originally planned to set out early because Montmartre, the neighborhood I was heading to, is pretty damn far. After consulting the map, I finally realized that I live in the middle of nowhere in Paris--and actually, that is a thing. Because there is nothing nearby that is even the tiniest bit well-known. No parks, no memorials, no statues--nothing. So that's southwest Paris.

Northeast Paris, however, is Montmartre, where all the bohemians flock to. It's where the Sacré-Cœur Basilica sits on top of the hill. Fanning out from that are several interesting sights--"interesting" here means "inappropriate." Because it's just weird to walk ten minutes from a church and suddenly be surrounded by sex shops.

Sex shops?! 

Yep. But we'll get to that. So hold onto your horses.

Actually, the Metro ride to Sacré-Cœur was easy. The hard part was the hill, which honestly sounded really daunting in my guide book. However, the hill to Sacré-Cœur was fine--even the steps actually leading up to the church itself weren't terrible. 

Now, I thought Notre Dame was crowded. Um, no. This place is swarming. The best place I can compare it to is Rome--Rome, actually, and New York. Because there are guys everywhere selling touristy trinkets. My first problem was when I walking up the hill; one guy tried to pull me aside, but I shoved him off and walked away, utilizing my natural resting "bitch face" (as I've been told before by friends) to my advantage for once. 

This was definitely a place I was worried about getting robbed. I think that's why it was so hard for me to enjoy the Sistine Chapel, as we were constantly warned that by looking up we were sitting ducks to pickpockets. But that just meant I clutched onto my wallet so tightly that my fingers wouldn't uncurl. So that wasn't fun. Similarly, it's not fun to have to check your bag every five seconds because someone brushed up against you.

I figured the church would be better. Now, I knew from the website that photographs were not allowed within the church--and I'm totally okay with that. First of all, they had a nice big sign right on the door before you entered, so you didn't have to be yelled at. Secondly, the no-photo thing was actually for a good reason: people go there to pray and attend mass, and I can imagine that doing those simple things is very distracting with flashes going off around you.

So I tucked my camera away--but no one else seemed to. All around me, tourists were taking pictures of the inside--even with flash! I found this not only stupid, but audacious and completely disrespectful. It sounds quite funny from me, I know--I'm the one who doesn't go to church. I should've burst into flames upon entering, if you listen to what some people have said about atheists. 

I guess I should finally explain my views. I'm probably going to start a flame war, but this is my own experience; I can't change the past, and that's mostly what's shaped me.

I think the lessons the Bible teaches can be important, especially all of the advice Jesus doles out. Jesus never says anything controversial: he just gives solid advice. I believe in doing good things. But that message seemed to have gotten lost on the many people I spoke to. And I'm not saying I think religion is stupid; I think religion is the best thing to help someone through a hard time. But religion has to work with other systems, not just be the exception and the sole controller.

I was especially upset when several of my ex-friends (I don't feel bad for saying this because I don't think I talk to any of them anymore)--not all, but some--cheated on their confirmation exam. Well, now, that seemed like a strike to me. But when I mentioned that, you know, cheating is wrong--not just in church, but definitely in that setting--they were quick to retort that I didn't know anything and I was already a sinner by not going to church. Whoa. That's why I don't talk about this stuff--because no one thinks I can know anything because I've simply admitted that I don't believe. But I try to know the Bible's stories, as I've said countless times. I try to be conscientious to religious rituals people take part in. But I want to know about all the religions too. 

Even if I lost some of you there, I just had to say it. I want to prove that I'm not just someone who says a "radical" position just because I'm young and don't know any better. I've given it a lot of thought; it's something that should require a lot of thought. And, like with everyone else, I know I am pretty set in what I believe, although I do like hearing about what other people do/believe. Otherwise I'm just ignorant--if I didn't want to listen, then I would definitely think I was a bad person.

The basilica was beautiful, but you could tell it was very worn down. This was made even more obvious by the numerous signs asking for donations--in any currency, they claimed. I understand donations, and I don't mind making them, but I think some of the donation signs were just placed in the wrong areas.

For instance, there was a section describing Christian martyrs. I almost walked by, but then I doubled back, causing the herd to grumble, but I didn't care. The poster I was looking at was of a village of Chinese men grinning wickedly, as one Chinese man raised a scythe, preparing to cut off a Christian missionary's head. The missionary looked quite pious and at peace with himself. Good for him. And maybe this did happen--but natives don't just start beheading people without reason. I'm just saying, Captain Cook, that maybe the Hawaiians took your stuff because you kept taking theirs. And the Native Americans would've had no problems with Christianity if it could coexist with their beliefs. 

So the poster made me mad, and then walking down, I saw within the vicinity a collection box. And the sign above it was written in Chinese! My blood was boiling at this point. All of my feelings of excitement and bewilderment built up by the Godspell soundtrack and the beautiful views vanished. I was so mad. That was just bad taste. How could they not see it? Then yet another poster showed a Chinese man who had converted to Christianity, putting him on a pedestal as the "good" one. Yeah, no.

I left the church feeling slightly affronted, but I tried to calm down. All of that missionary crap was in the past. (Well...) Anyway, I had a dome and a crypt to visit.

Unfortunately, the dome and the crypt weren't free--I didn't even get a student discount. However, the eight euros was well worth what I got by entering the crypt: complete and utter peace. 

Finally all the crowds and yelling were gone. And it wasn't as dirty down there, surprisingly. I mean, the stairs leading down the crypt were scary as hell, as there was a sleeping bag, and that always sets off my hobo-murderer alarm. But the crypt itself was a sanctuary. I jumped every time I heard a loud bang, but other than that, I was really grateful for all the space.

It felt good just to wander--and to take pictures! Because I wanted to remember the crypt, as it's not really advertised anywhere I've looked. But it was fascinating. It's a large circle with prayer alcoves and statues of saints. And in the center is a little chapel. It was stunning and very ethereal. 

If an area wasn't roped off, I was free to go into it. It's awfully confusing, as so many people don't because they're frightened, but once I went, say, down the middle of the aisle of chairs or up on the dais where a large statue was positioned, other tourists seemed okay when they saw that I hadn't been struck by lightning (well, wait, that's Zeus) or set off any security alarms. Thank goodness I didn't see any bones, though. I don't think even I could've handled that. It was bad enough that there were these box things containing Fitzgerald-only-knows-what. 

Now, the dome: it was spectacular. It's definitely a steeper climb than Notre Dame and much, much narrower. It's not for everyone. I mean, after you leave the claustrophobic stairs, then you step out onto a narrow stone path. You're surrounded by dirt and dust and pigeon excrement. It's disgusting. I felt the need to jump into the Seine after going up the next set of stairs, and we all know that the Seine is not pure by any means. 

Luckily, the actual dome at the top had a stone bench to sit on and wonderful views--and it was clean! I could've taken pictures forever. I mean, I did end up taking pictures for two couples. Thankfully, though, I wasn't the only one who went up solo, so I didn't feel like a weird (2n+1)th wheel (you know, an odd number). 

The dome was peaceful, although not nearly as much as the crypt was. In fact, even up above, we could hear these musicians who were down below playing Bob Marley. Naturally, then, when I went down, I had to see what was up face-to-face.

Well, now everyone was gathered on the steps, looking down at two guys playing guitar. When I arrived down there, they were just finishing up "Let It Be." Always a crowd pleaser. Next, a girl volunteered to sing with them. I don't know what she sang, but I got a video, and I'll post it here. She was quite good. We all applauded. And now I liked the crowd spirit, as it was joined together making for a fun occasion. It especially got fun when a guy went up and asked us all to sing "Happy Birthday" to his wife, which everyone did with (maybe too much) enthusiasm. 

There were other performers as I headed down. Unfortunately, I got accosted again, but I also brushed them off with a patented Katie-Willard-death-glare. This time I was heading to Place du Tertre, which is described as a gathering-place for bohemians and artists and people looking for food. Sounded like my scene. Apparently, artists like Picasso hung around there--and their houses were nearby as well. 

The square was very crowded, but I was able to find some solace in a restaurant called...wait for it...La Bohème! Like La Bohème, the opera by Giacomo Piccini that I saw this past November. Like La Vie Boheme, the song in Rent that pays tribute to its source material: the opera La Bohème. So great.

Even better was the meal. I finally ordered what is considered a Paris standard: moules frites, which means mussels with fries. I don't know why I haven't ordered this before. It's on every menu, and it's sooooo New England. When he brought out the mussels, I scarfed them down. It was very not-French at all, but I couldn't help it: in New England, if you don't eat your seafood fast enough, someone will take it from you. Trust me. So mussels, fries, and a nice alcoholic cider. Lunch was quite yummy.

I cut dessert out (boo) so I would have time to visit the Montmartre Museum, which supposedly recreates the Montmartre area in its heyday, filled with cabarets and such. But I say "supposedly" because I couldn't get into the Montmartre Museum: the credit card machine wasn't working, and I didn't have any cash. (I don't think it would've been a good idea to have a lot of cash on hand in that neighborhood anyway.) Luckily, I could just shrug this one off, as there were many other things to see.

Out of curiosity, I stopped by le mur des je t'aime, which translates to "The Wall of 'I Love You's'." It's in a rather unextraordinary park, and the wall itself isn't worth going out for solely, but it was a nice side trip. I looked forever for the English "I love you" but could not find it anywhere. Of course, one of you will probably find it instantly after I post the photo.

Head's up: NOT the original Le Chat Noir cabaret. Though this might be on the original site? I'm not entirely sure. It wasn't very clear. Cabarets don't really keep up their websites.

And because I felt obligated to--and it was still daylight--I ventured down to the Moulin Rouge. And yeah..that area. I now know why no one went to New York in the 80's. I think every other store on the street was a sex shop. And the stores that weren't sex shops were porno theaters or strip clubs: it was a sex overload. 

Well, this wasn't a sex shop, but yeah...

And yet again I got accosted, this time by a group of men. I had earbuds in, but I could tell they were shouting, "Ni hao!" at me over and over. I made a face and twisted out of their reach. Then I heard one of them say, "Elle est japonaise." At that point, I actually stopped walking and threw my arms up in the air. 

WHY DOES NO ONE THINK I'M AMERICAN?

I'm not ashamed to be American. We have a lot to work on. But I hate the stereotype! I mean, even Americans sometimes don't think I'm American. It's annoying, though, to have the first thing people say to you be "ni hao." They don't even try "hello." It's infuriating.

Not that I would've answered them if they said "hello" and gave my ethnicity the benefit of the doubt. Oh, speaking of which:

Willard's Golden Rule That Will Help Every Boy Out

If a girl is not responding to you, it doesn't mean she can't hear you and that you should talk louder. She's just IGNORING you. Just accept this. Please. It seems so obvious to us, but the fact that just smiling at someone is a come-on in this day and age is just sad.

At last I reached the Moulin Rouge. And it was appropriately underwhelming. I wasn't even expecting much--I've never seen the movie, and I'm not a huge fan of the cancan dance. Its charm is certainly diminished by all the obviously modern-and-yet-still-out-of-fashion sex shops surrounding it. Well, at least I can say that I've seen it. Luckily, there was a Metro stop right nearby, so I could scoot out fast.

Since the day was still fresh, I decided, Hey, if this Metro line is on the same one as the Arc de Triomphe, I should just go there. Then I remembered that the Arc is most beautiful at night, and it still wasn't close to sunset. THEN I remembered that the Changing of the Guard happens at 6:30 pm, as the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and its Eternal Flame are in the center. I thought that would be worth seeing.

Now, I have to check if there were any foreign dignitaries in France today. The whole thing took over 20 minutes, which it certainly never does in DC. And frankly, France is kind of a hot mess when it comes to their Changing of the Guard: it is so damn meticulous at Arlington, and everyone takes it very seriously. These military guys were carrying McDonald's, walking through the tourists to grab things they forgot, and generally not doing a terrific job at turning sharply. Oh well. I certainly couldn't do what they did, so I'm not a good judge. I'm just saying, even as a biased American, I think we're winning when it comes to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier ceremony.

Stood outside for so long... Then went upstairs to see that you could watch from above. In the warmth. Urgh.

Of course, I think it only lasted so long because something just seemed off. People were shaking hands with each other, and various children and grandparents were laying flowers near the flame. These people all appeared to be civilians, and I've never seen civilians do anything with the Tomb at Arlington. 

The one exception that caused the ceremony to last forever and for all the tourists to become antsy and really rude was when Prince Harry graced Arlington with his presence. That's why I'm thinking it was a famous foreign leader at the Arc. I wondered if it could be the President of France, but I figured there'd be lots more security. Then again, the security for Prince Harry wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Americans just have a problem with over-protection.

I had stood still recording the whole damn thing for so long that I actually had to shake out my legs and my arms. I must've looked so foolish. I don't know why I focused so much on capturing everything this one time--the Arc is free for students, it turns out. So that felt really good.

Climbing inside the Arc was yet another test of claustrophobia and thigh muscles. Everyone was stopping and panting--and these were people my age and younger. I refused to stop: I know when you stop it's hard to get going again. (Cross country teaches you a lot.) When I finally reached a landing...it wasn't the top. It was a middle floor. 

It was very museum-like. There was a touchscreen map of all the different Victory Arches located around the world. I thought the map only showed Europe, but when I finally was able to monopolize the screen, I discovered that there are five arches in America. One, obviously, is the St. Louis Arch. Well, I say "obviously," but it was kind of a surprise to me: I didn't realize it fell into the same category as the Arc de Triomphe.

The St. Louis Arch is notably different than any other arch you look up.

There is another arch in San Francisco, and three on the East Coast. One in New Jersey, one in a town called "Newport News" (which frankly should've just been labeled Washington, DC, as I'm pretty sure most Americans don't know what that town is), and the famous Washington Arch. Now, I say famous only because the Washington Arch is in Greenwich Village, right outside NYU--it's the only way you can find NYU in the urban jungle of Greenwich Village. Since NYU could've been my current college, I exclaimed, "Cool!" when I saw the arch appear on the screen. Everyone looked at me; I think they thought I had never seen an American arch before. Urgh.

There are also arches in Africa and Asia as well. I was able to see pictures of arches in South Africa, India, Laos (urgh, the Laotian girls at our middle school seemed to think it was funny to call themselves the bad word for a Chinese person--and they weren't even Chinese!), and Vietnam. However, the ones for China, Japan, and--biggest surprise of all--North Korea (I mean, what???) wouldn't appear, no matter how many times I tried pressing the screen with each finger. And now it's really going to bother me: why the hell does North Korea have a Victory Arch?

After that frustration, I headed up the next flight of stairs...which just led to another floor indoors. That's where the gift shop was. But luckily, the next flight of stairs actually led to the top. Wh-hoooo! It was perfect. Just amazing. I couldn't believe I got to see the city during the day and at night, from completely different points of view, no less. 

Amazing day. 

Heading down the stairs was terrifying, of course. I hate going downstairs, and all I'd have to do is show you the faint scars on my knees and elbows from tenth grade cross country practice for you to understand. Falling down is how you really get injured. Going uphill is a bitch (you can say that when you've actually had to crawl up a dirt hill during a race, or when you've climbed a 2-mile-high mountain), but you won't really get terribly injured.

I am completely winded, but I actually have to make an effort to get up early tomorrow. You see, I'm going to Mass! I think my mom may have just fainted from surprise, but it's true. You'll see...