Je Taime Donne Moi Ton Coeur Ce Soir (European Vacation Part I)

I recently had the good fortune of going on a vacation to Europe. I say good fortune in a mixed way. It was good because it was my dad's idea and he paid for pretty much everything. Can't turn down a vacation like that. Granted, the only way he really had the money to pay for this was because of an inheritance from his parents who passed away last year. My dad says he always wanted to go to Paris, and this was how he accomplished it, and I was fortunate enough to go along with him, my mom, my sister Jackie, and her boyfriend (well, now fiance) Sean. The trip was actually two parts - Paris and Barcelona. I'll write about Spain later. This is all about the city of light, the city of romance, Baltimore on the Seine.

After we got to the airport, got our luggage, met up and got to the hotel, we realized that we should fill some time instead of taking a nap. Our hotel was a short walk to Notre Dame, a large cathedral on Ile de Cite. It was a perfect way to start. A beautiful day, a massive European church with amazing stained-glass windows, huge vaulted ceilings, and enough oohs and aahs to keep us all awake. My mother and sister went in for Saturday evening mass. I wasn't quite sure why, since it would be in French and all. However, we did attend an easter mass in 2005 when we went to Italy, and despite it all being in, ya know, Italian - I still understood what was going on. Really, Catholicism can be like McDonalds. You might be in a foreign land and confused by all the weird words you see before you, but a McNugget is a McNugget. Not that Catholicism is chicken parts, but you get the idea. My dad, Sean, and I decided to wait in line to go to the top of Notre Dame. The view was simply stunning. You could see across what seemed like the whole city, all the way to the Eiffel Tower, down the Seine, and down the way to where "historic storybook" looking Paris turned into "modern city" looking Paris. Just cool. Look below for pictures of that.

I'm not an art guy. But hey, we were in Paris, and ya gotta go to the Louvre. It's a giant museum, possibly larger than Nebraska, but with a lot more Chinese tourists. Speaking of which, those people are mean (the Chinese, not Nebraskans). They don't give any kind of universal "excuse me" when they plow right through you. They're everywhere. And some have questionable grooming habits (which is saying something when amongst the French, while we're playing into stereotypes). My sister, the art chick, did a good job of steering us around the massive Louvre to get to the must sees. Saw the Mona Lisa (it is awfully small), the Rubens Room (lots of fat chicks), the Venus de Milo (chick without arms), and Winged Victory (wings, no victory). But my favorite is the picture you see here - Psyche Revived by the Kiss of Eros. Go ahead and click on that link there to read all about the story of the statue and the mythology and all that. To see the statue in person was simply amazing. At first glance, I somehow got a really good look at the faces of both statues. They have looks of utter and amazing adoration, love, awe, and devotion. On stone statues. Centuries old. At the risk of sounding totally, cheesy, I felt overwhelmed by emotion. The statue was a love song and a poem. They say you could spend roughly nine centuries looking at everything in the Louvre. But if you go, you have to see this. Screw the Mona Lisa.

One of my must-sees was Versailles. So we hopped a train and went about 35 minutes out of Paris to the town famous for a big-ass house. The house is big-ass. Opulent, over-the-top, and gaudy don't even begin to cover this place. But with the exception of the Hall of Mirrors, the place seems really repetitive in its opulence, over-the-topulence, and gaudiness. The backyard (to the right), however, is a sight to behond. This is a picture of the backyard. See the horizon? Yeah, it goes to there. And well off to the right. And left. And probably a good 1/4 mile behind the picture too. The grounds are amazingly maintained, with incredibly groomed hedges, bushes, and flowers. I would have liked to have seen the place with the fountains on. But I realize that powering and feeding all of those fountains probably would cost a lot of money, and I'm sure the French surrendered all their money, just out of habit. We walked maybe 1/3 the distance from the palace to the end of the backyard, and it was easily close to a mile round trip. This place is ridonkulous. The bitch of it is to get into the palace was something like 10 Euro (equivalent to $512), but the gardens - the most amazing part - was absolutely free. It is also what Pierre L'Enfant used for the basis of his design of Washington, DC. Neat, huh?

To sum it all up, I really enjoyed Paris. I can't say that I had an amazing desire to go, but I'm glad I did. It lived up to every storybook and stereotype you can imagine it to be. The place was just beautiful and romantic and poetic. I get it now. I get why it's Paris. There was so much to see and do, although I may have been equally happy sinking nutella crepes and sitting on a sidewalk cafe each day. In the next post (eventually located above, in this reverse linear world), I'll compare Paris to Barcelona and post some pictures from there.

A FEW FINAL PHOTOS, IN ORDER

1. A dusk shot along the Seine. We took a nighttime cruise. It was amazing.

2. Your author, on top of the Eiffel Tower, along with the guy who made the trip happen. Neat structure, great view, long long long line.

3. Les Deux Magots, a famous Hemingway haunt from his days in Paris. Neat to walk by, expensive and stupid to eat in.

4. The view from the top of Notre Dame.

5. The Great Canadian Pub, at the corner of St. Michel and Git-le-Coeur. My hideaway in Paris, and they even spoke English. No Molson on tap, though.

6. A quick video clip of a guy on the train from CDG to the hotel. It set the mood just right. I tipped him some random number of Euro

Please note: I'm still trying to figure out Blogspot. So if the formatting is messed up, sorry.

Title is from the song "Don't Talk to Strangers" by Rick Springfield, and it means roughly "I'd love for you to give me your heart this night."