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. Which ended up being mostly what my parents did, but now on my terms and with my friends. So there.
An opportunity to visit the Louvre presented itself and I finally saw the famous La Gioconda … and the experience 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. But 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 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 and 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. Waking up to a glorious cup of coffee at a small neighborhood bistro earlier that morning, I noticed Le Pantheon in the guidebook and it was only a few blocks away from where we were sat. Once there, I thought, “And what are the odds that I have the book Foucault’s Pendulum in my backpack this very morning?” 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.
