City of Light, City of Love

La Vie en Rose R us today, with a day packed with the wonders of Paris. We headed for Versailles in our Royal Coach, much as the Louis must have, making an early start to the famed palace of the last kings of France. There we encountered our pal, the French strike, with national monument workers (in snazy black uniforms and packing heat) refusing to open the chateau. The cashier in the gift shop ( open for business) thought the strike was over the decision not to replace the retiring workers, so as to cut costs, but increasing the work load. That calls for a strike, baby, oh yeah.

So we toured the gardens and fountains then played at reenactment of the troubles leading up to the revolution, much of which echoed down from the absolute reign of the Sun King, who sadly knew that he was ruining his country (après moi, le déluge) but continued his destructive ways for a 72 year reign. We Parisian poor and peasants and bourgeoisie badgered the nobility and clergy, insisting we had a right to feed our children and earn a fair wage, while they maintained their aloof and baffled insistance that we were born to be miserable and expendable as they were born to be well-heeled. It was God's will, so put up and shut up. We threatened to simply take what we needed and they reminded us that they had men at arms to stop us. We resolved our role play by deciding we should indeed "seize the chateau" and get our tour in spite of the disgruntled employees. In large enough numbers and led by the pushy oriental groups, we could take 'em. Fortunately (for them) we were allowed in at 10:30, so we got our hour of jaw dropping Baroque marvels.

We returned triumphant to the other palace of the kings of France, the Louvre, whose name may come from one of Charlemagne's castles or from a Saxon tower, or from the word meaning "red" for the soil or from the word meaning "oak" for the trees. The most likely is the root of "loup" meaning wolf, a symbol of the ferocious power of that 13th century king.




After a scrumptious lunch in the food court (where I had divine roast beef and green salade and kids had a variety of pizza, fruit, etc) we followed Amanda to the four major art works of this classical museum: the medieval fortifications (seen here to ironic perfection with not mini evil or greatly evil, but just medieval boys :-) and the famed Vénus de Milo, the splendid marble woman who along the way lost her arms coming down to us from the ancient Greeks.

The equally stunning marble figure of the Winged Victory of Samothrace, who lost her head in her daunting struggle to survive, simply seems to be poised to fly away. The wind blowing her gown seem to stir the still air as the crowds gawk in hushed awe.

Finally we took our turn inching to the front of the crowd to pay our respects to La Joconde, the Mona Lisa of Leonardo da Vinci. She is so small yet draws the crowds to her with a powerful magnetic force, shushing the murmurs into a quiet rhythm of cameras clicking.







It was 3 o'clock when we reached this point and tastes dictated that we split into smaller groups. Some stayed in the Louvre for the rest of their free time with the kind Carol of Alaska, others headed for the Nympheas of Monet or the bateau mouche on the Seine. Deb and I took Patricia and Katie and an Arkansas girl to the Père Lachaise cemetery pilgrimage, a long ride on the metro east of the city and a longer climb uphill on cobblestones in this outdoor art gallery.

My "borrowed" daughter Cornelia rode a Paris Velo (free bike for the first 1/2 hour) to meet us and joined us for the afternoon. Cornelia lived with me in the 1994-95 school year as a student from Germany, but she has lived and worked in Paris since finishing college. We paid our respects at the grave of gifted poet and troubled musician Jim Morrison, where Patricia left her guitar pick and gathered stones, lamenting the loss of such a gifted young man to the needless death that claimed him.

Following Cornelia's lead, we then placed flowers on the grave of my dear freind, Max Sarcey, who so loved my girls and so graciously permitted me to enter into the circle of friends around him and his wonderful wife, Paulette, who has born witness to my students over the years of the need for them to each do his part to tightly contain the lid on evil which so easily slips open and drips out, as it did with Hitler's horror in her youth. She was not able to meet us this time, but sent her best wishes to the students for a safe and enjoyable and educational trip.

We continued to climb, finally finding the grave of tormented writer Oscar Wilde, and the final resting place of the Môme de Paris, Edith Piaf. We stopped to read and reflect on the monuments to the dead of the death camps , placing a stone and prayer on each. We breathed a sigh of relief as we descended the cobbled drive to the lovely monument to Abelard and Heloise, the fabled intellectuals and lovers of 12th century France. She was the 19 year old pupil, a brilliant student of languages and philosophy which courses he taught at the university, though his writing many times put him at odds with the church, which burned his tracts on logic and reason. Their love affair produced a son, which so infuriated her uncle, a church leader who did not know that Abelard had secretly married her, that he hired thugs to assault the philosopher and well, prevent that ever happening again. Heloise went into a convent and he was exiled to Brittany and both entered the church, thus setting the scene for their passionate and brilliant exchange of letters which have survived. Their remains were moved to be buried together on the order of Josephine Bonaparte who was so moved by their story that she sought to reunite them in death.

We ended our stroll through this lovely tree shaded outdoor cathedral with a stop at the tomb of Frederick Chopin. As odd as it may strike you, we thoroughly enjoyed this cemetery tour, though our friend Maria and our Katie ended up barefoot for escape from painful shoes. We decided to send Deb with kids to dinner while I hustled back to the hotel to fetch my "Africa bag" to leave with Cornelia in Paris She will meet in Brussels to make the switch in July, then I will fly back through Paris in August. We had a lovely dinner again, and enjoyed meeting the President and Vice-President of NETC who had come to touch base with the groups on tour.

After dinner most of us stretched our day for one last Paris adventure, the Sacré Coeur de Montmartre and the Place du Tertre. The funicular was closed - a familiar feeling! - but there was a bus to substitute, thank heavens. Chris from Arkansas accompanied the way to energetic kids up the steps while we old folks enjoyed the winding streets of the Montmartre district. Once at the foot of this imposing Basilica, we looked out over the city panarama, then quietly made our way through the aisles of the church during a sung Mass. The harmony of the choir of nuns and the solemn responses of the congregation slowed us all down, as did the firm admonition to avoid any photography. This is a special place, imbued with the national desire for penance after the disastrous Franco-Prussian War in 1870, initiated by the French who when soundly defeated, vowed to establish this edifice in which there would always be prayer for world peace. We lit candles, sat to reflect and to pray, and moved quietly through the solemn atmosphere that caught us all in its spell.

The Place du Tertre casts a spell of its own, with the bright night life, cafés, artists, and shops. In the end, we had portraits, souvenirs, and great cup of coffee on a chilly June night simply thick with memories made to be kept. Our late night trip through the subway bolstered our confidence and took us home, having made a proper farewell to The City of Light.