New Years Eve in Paris, what could be better than that? From the moment the plane touched down, it was a race against time, and we had to win if we wanted to celebrate the New Year how we wanted. We had three and a half hours to make the trip into the city, take a long metro ride, find our hostel, get checked in and settled, find dinner for our growling stomachs and champagne to pop in front of the Eiffel Tower. This was going to be a memory for the ages. Because it was New Years Eve, we were pleasantly surprised to find that all public transportation that night was free, including the normally six Euro bus ride from the airport to a metro stop on the outskirts of the city. It was a nice little touch that made the city immediately feel welcoming. The metro system was gigantic just like that of Madrid, but it had more character with it's older. more rickety cars. A few transfers and over twenty five stops later, we arrived at LaMark, the metro stop near our hostel. As we emerged into the city for our first real look, we felt as though we were on a movie set. The neighborhood looked exactly how one might romantically imagine Paris to be. Dim streetlights, little cafes, beautiful buildings surrounded by trees. All four of our jaws dropped. To be honest, after all of the amazing places we had been, Paris was almost an afterthought for me during most of the trip. I kept thinking that maybe we should have gone to Madrid for the crazy celebration in la Plaza del Sol, and eaten the ceremonial twelve grapes at midnight in true Spanish fashion. My first look at Paris completely and immediately changed my mind and I was now very excited for the next few days.
To our surprise, our hostel actually ended up being in one of Paris's most famous neighborhoods called Montmarte. It was quiet and quaint, and our hostel turned out to be the same, another shock as we had literally booked one of the last hostel rooms available in Paris that night. After descending the old spiral staircase and dropping our packs in the tiny room with two bunks we asked the guy at the desk how best to get to the Eiffel Tower and set of into the night. Our first stop was the small neighborhood store that was about to close, where we picked up a bottle of real French champagne to share that night. They don't even mess around with sparkling wine there, and the cheap stuff we were used to simply didn't exist- all for the better, I suppose. From there we descended into the metro station, which we could tell had gotten significantly more crowded since we had been in there an hour earlier. Our suspicions were confirmed as moved further into the center of town, where tons of people were bustling around, bottles of champagne, wine, beer, and everything else in hand. We exited the metro stop with a swarm of people and before we knew it, off to our left appeared the Eiffel Tower, looking majestic lit up against the night sky. It was more impressive than I had ever imagined it to be, and the four of us stood in awe as conversations in all sorts of languages could be heard from passersby. As all four of us were starving, having not eaten anything since our slices of pizza about twelve hours earlier, we stopped at a very busy stand selling delicious-smelling sausages and were soon happily fed and strolling down the surrounding streets, beautiful French filling our ears and Dave's bottle of red wine sweetly tantalizing our tongues. As midnight approached, the boys and I returned to the square which offered a perfect view of the tower, squeezing and nudging our way into the middle of the crowd. Fireworks were going off like bombs in every direction, right in the middle of the crowd, and I was amazed that no one got seriously hurt. When the clock struck twelve, the tower erupted into a dazzling light show, fireworks bursting beautifully around it, and more explosions erupting in our vicinity as the crowd exchanged cheers and kisses, and we joined in the mass popping of champagne bottles. We stood celebrating with what felt like the rest of the world and even after the crowd started to disperse so we could get an even better view of the tower. We took off on a walk through the crazy streets, past Napoleon's Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile, the largest in the world, as cars raced by honking. We had a few brief conversations in broken English with drunken Frenchmen along the way, and after feeling like we had walked around all of Paris that night, decided to catch the Metro back to the hostel in the crowded cars.
As we neared the exit at LaMark station, I was approached by a French guy our age, who looked like he was returning from quite the party, and wearing thick black eyeliner. He had heard us talking, and engaged me in conversation saying his mother lived in Florida but he had spend pretty much his whole life in France. Before we knew it, he had invited us to a small get-together at his apartment, and while I was immediately a little unsure what to say, I quickly decided, "what the hell, it's New Years in Paris", and obliged. After meeting his friends, they offered us some drinks, and before long we were talking up a storm. As it always seems to happen to me this year, I was soon talking politics with two of the friends, and we traded stories about everything under the sun. It was also interesting to hear their poor opinion of Sarkozy, which at that point had never really been portrayed in the American media. It was funny to see the NYTimes pick up on it shortly after I returned to Spain after the trip. The boys decided to head back after a long while, but I couldn't bring myself to leave so soon and ended up staying for another hour or so. While I have never believed the stereotype that French people are unfriendly that seems to not only exist in the States, but in Spain as well, that night proved just how false it really is. I have never felt so welcome with a group of strangers.
After deciding I should probably try to make it back before sunrise so something could be accomplished later that day, I said my thanks and goodbyes, and somehow ended up leaving the apartment building out the wrong door, which locked behind me. There I was, stuck in some type of courtyard, which after quite a bit of searching revealed no way out. I can't imagine how ridiculous I must have looked climbing over numerous tall, cement walls, and metal gates at 5:30 in the morning, and then proceeding to wander around until I recognized a possible way back to the hostel. Without too much trouble, I found what seemed to be a logical direction, and was soon fast asleep in the top bunk above Mr. Meyers. What a great New Years...
As no one has set an alarm that night, the four of us were shocked when none of us woke up until 2:30 that afternoon. A bit irked that we had already missed a good chunk of the day, we showered and headed out to see Paris during the few hours of daylight that remained. It was nice to be well rested though, and knowing that we had sufficient time to see the city that week made hurrying not so important. In typical European fashion, there was a great bakery about 50 feet from our hostel, and we walked in to the warm aroma of fresh bread. Everything looked spectacular, as the French do best, and it took us a while to decide before I ordered a baguette filled with thick slices of fresh brie and a chocolate croissant in my best attempt at French. It was indeed a breakfast of champions. As we happily ate our breakfast, accompanied by fresh oranges from the fruit stand across the street, we took a walk up the famous Parisian hill toward the Sacré-Coeur Catholic basilica that marked its peak. Everyone was out enjoying the holiday with their families, a very talented duet was playing Beatles songs, and people were filing in and out of the beautiful church, whose structure and interior artwork appeared to be heavily influenced by Byzantine styles. This seemed rare given its construction during the neo-baroque era. I'm just guessing, but it seems possible that its construction represented a reaction to the opulence that was the baroque movement, as a sort of statement against the importance of money in the Catholic Church. Regardless, the interior was stunning, and we found ourselves leaving just as mass was starting.
As our late start to the day left us with very little daylight at this point, we decided to hop the metro down into the city center and try to see the Notre Dame. With construction beginning in 1163, this beautiful cathedral is one the first examples of Gothic architecture, and remains the world’s best example of this architectural revolution. On the exterior, sharp pinnacles pierce the sky and menacing gargoyles watch over those that pass below. The interior is awe-inspiring and haunting in the dim candle light, and its bare, yet architecturally brilliant construction was more impressive that any cathedral that I had seen in my life, which is saying something after a grand tour through Europe that included a stop at St. Peters. As was becoming a common theme on our trip, we found ourselves leaving just as mass was starting, the thundering organ only adding to the enormity of everything inside.
After a nighttime walk to admire the full exterior of the cathedral, we continued along the Siene River, which cuts directly through the city. We had a constant view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, and we set our course for the location of the night before to find something to eat. On the way, we walked passed the famous Louvre museum, touring its courtyard and imagining the thousands of priceless works inside. After baguettes and crepes for a tasty dinner, and another long walk through Paris's zigzagging streets, we decided to retire to the hostel to enjoy some of the delicious looking red wine we picked up that evening, and we spent the last few hours of our day comfortably chatting in our warm hostel beds before looking forward to the next day.
Returning to our local bakery in the morning for another attempt at our pitiful French, wide-eyed at the brand new assortment of complex pastries behind the glass, I ordered another promising baguette (you really can't go wrong) and one of the many pastries, along with another few pieces of fruit from the man across the street. Our main item on the agenda was to see the Louve, which matched my high expectations revealing a wealth of beautiful paintings, most notably a fantastic collection from the Romantic period. Of course we also saw the Mona Lisa, whose small frame stands alone on an enormous wall in the in the center of a room, protected by about ten guards and surrounded by a constant mass of onlookers. The museum also holds an impressive collection of Flemish paintings, of which I have grown to be quite fond this year. I really like the almost unrealistic amount of detail that is used, along with the symbolism and movement that the works create. When compared to what was being produced at the same time in other parts of Europe, Flemish painting was completely revolutionary and being produced with techniques unimaginable to other artists of the era.
After a number of hours and having seen pretty much everything we wanted to see, we left the busy museum to the cold Parisian air as we walked along the edge of the river once again back toward the Notre Dame. We waited shivering in line for our chance to climb to the top, and I savored every hot bite of the nutella filled crepe that gave me new life. Seriously. It was COLD. We had a great view of the city from top of the cathedral after climbing hundreds of steps on the tiny spiral staircase, but in the end, I was just ready to find warmth. We took refuge in a little shop along the street, where we picked up another few bottles of tasty looking French red, and caught the metro back to the hostel for a rest after a long day on our feet, and a much needed break from the cold. That night we took the elevator ride up the Eiffel tower, stopping on the way up to admire the view from a few different levels. The tower is much bigger than you would expect, containing a few restaurants, plenty of space to walk around, and even a snowshoe track of all things. The sea of Paris lights looked stunning down below as the wind blew sharply, and the elevator ride felt as though we were ascending into space. Actually, it made me think of the elevator from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory with how it felt like we were just floating in air hundreds of meters above the city. The symmetry of the tower is beautiful, and although it appears so simple from the outside, an up close view reveals the intricacy of all of the steel bars that went into its construction. We spent hours on the tower just walking around admiring the design and the view, and even in the cold air I knew that there was no other place I'd rather be in the world on that night. To top it all off, we indulged in another crepe on the way back to the hostel and slept wonderfully in our warm beds until morning.
On our last full day in Paris, we started off the morning at another local bakery, where I selected the most delicious quiche this world has ever known, and we proceeded to investigate our neighborhood of montmarte a bit more. It was the perfectly stereotypical Parisian neighborhood, filled with cafes, crepe shops, and squares packed with talented artists. We wound our way slowly through the neighborhood and descended the giant hill in search of the Moulin Rouge, which the movie had made so famous. To our surprise, the entire surrounding area was packed full of dozens upon dozens of sex shops that after passing I felt like I needed a long shower to feel relatively wholesome and clean again. Near by, there were stores selling wine and cheese which we spent our time perusing as darkness started to fall. We headed up the hill once more, taking our time to arrive back at the hostel, wanting to soak in as much as we could during our last day. That night, we decided that a proper French dinner was in order, so we went to one of the restaurants we had scoped out earlier that day. While we pretty much had the restaurant to ourselves the entire night, it ended up being the perfect way to cap off what had been a fantastic trip. We all ordered duck prepared in different ways, a first for me, and it was quite a treat; the richest meat I had ever tasted in my life. It was prepared and presented so nicely with roasted vegetables and after a glass of wine and splurging for crème brulee for dessert, I couldn’t have asked for a more delicious meal in France. A guitarist played what was basically a private performance for us, and the ambience was ideal for reflecting on the time we had had together over the past week. It was a time of celebration and a little sadness, as we knew we would part ways once again the next day. Taking one last walk up the famous hill to see the basilica and overlook the city a final time, and one last trip into the center to see the Eiffel Tower, we returned to the hostel to pack our things and catch a few hours of sleep before our alarm awoke us in the morning. We had breakfast in the hostel early that morning, and before we knew it, the four of us were taking our last metro ride together, saying our goodbyes as Chris and Kyle would head north to one of Paris’s airports, where Chris would fly back to England and Kyle back the States. Dave went to find a train back to Freiburg, and I headed south to the Paris-Orly airport to fly back to Madrid. What I would have given for just a few more days with those guys… I felt a sense of loneliness as I took the long metro ride to the outskirts of the city. Madrid didn’t have the same draw for me at that moment as it always had. Something felt like it was missing as I headed back, and although the sound of Spanish that greeted me at Barajas airport felt comforting and really did feel like I was almost returning home, it took me a few days in our nearly empty apartment to feel better about all the studying and paper writing I had to do in the next few weeks, as well as the coming semester in Madrid. Before too long, however, I was back in the swing of things and loving every minute of being here, but for a while all I wanted was a sunny day in Madison with my friends. What a trip!
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