Adam, Tiffany and I spent this past weekend walking, eating, shopping and soaking up the atmosphere in downtown Paris. I’ve been to the city twice before but with my parents, so it was exciting to go with friends and do whatever the hell I pleased. I took quite a few pictures and will put them up on my pictures website when I am coordinated enough to do so after returning to the States.
An opportunity to visit the Louvre presented itself and I finally saw the famous La Gioconda … and the work was so terribly underwhelming. It was small and behind tinted glass (security measure) so I didn’t get to see color, texture, or anything impressive about that painting. The Venus de Milo, on the other hand, was really surprising as I had imagined it to be much, much smaller. And there she was, resplendent in her tall paraplegic glory, shining like a beacon at the end of the grey limestone hallway. Hey, give me a break. I am now in Noordwijkerhout, Holland (read: bumfuck nowhere) and just came out of a very draining day of lectures – this is about as poetic as I can get right now.
The highlight of Paris was our spontaneous trip to Le Pantheon where Victor Hugo, Emile Zola, and the like are entombed. It is also the home of the famous Foucault’s pendulum. Tiffany and I are into Umberto Eco’s eponymous book and the Knights of St. Templar – Rosicrucians secret society myth (two hyperactive imaginations who read too much medieval history, science fiction, and fantasy as kids) and I saw two very strange indications of Le Pantheon being a Masonic meeting ground or shrine. Randomly placed by the pendulum is a cat, but not just any cat. It is the Egyptian cat goddess, Bastet, who was revered by the Masons. Also, I was staring up at all the limestone cornices (wonder that my backpack, a.k.a. my tumor, and I didn’t fall backwards rendering me a helpless turtle) … anyway, I was examining the cornices when I found one that was styled as a cross with roses surrounding it. The only such cornice of its kind in the whole place. Significance? Cross with roses. Rosy cross. Rosicrucians! They were there … they may still be there. We will never know. You may be one of them and you would be bound not to tell me.
I know, I am getting carried away, But, I loved it. Over a glorious cup of coffee at a small neighborhood bistro, I noticed it in the guidebook and it was only a few blocks away from where we were sat, waking up to breakfast. Walking around the place awestruck, I thought, “Life led me here and it is gorgeous. There are some things in life that happen, no matter how much you plan. And what are the odds that I have the book “Foucault’s Pendulum” in my backpack this very morning?” I know what you’re thinking, “This girl needs to get her head examined.” It was so much cooler than the Louvre. Really. Of course, we didn’t get to go down to the crypts because Adam is a big wuss and doesn’t like graveyards. Diaperpants.
Famous Paris is very nice, if one disregards the swarms of Japanese tourists who are decidedly a plague upon this planet.
