Heaven...I'm in heaven

Vous me manquez, Paris!

Yes, I miss Paris. I miss being in love. But I decided to get over it. Move on. Disassociate the whole love affair with the city. That is why those of you following my blog are just NOT going to hear about it anymore. It is too painful to think about everyday. I need to go to other cities and other realms for a while before I have the heart to return to Paris. I hope that is okay with you all...

My mood about it all can be encapsulated in one of my favorite Elizabeth Bishop poems. If you want, you can read it here. I don't want it all to sound so tragic, but sometimes it kind of feels that way. And before you get too frustrated with my sensitivity, remember, everyone is entitled to their feelings. And how can I tell my heart to stop if it doesn't want to? So I will go back to ignoring it.
Instead, I will talk about my absolute favorite spot in Paris: Sacré-Cœur. The picture above is my sister and me, visiting the spectacular spot together.

There is nothing I loved better than to walk up those steps during EVERY visit to Paris. It made me feel like I was ascending toward something better, toward a heaven that did not seem so beyond me, here on Earth.
Though you have to walk through a pretty questionable neighborhood (you have to watch for pickpockets), and depending on how fit you are, it may be your personal hell climbing up the hills and up the steps to get to the Basilica, you will not be disappointed.

So, if you, dear reader, hunger for another romance, I will give it to you, though with a little alteration. Here is my love story with Sacré-Cœur (note: for lack of a better pronoun, I have substitutde "it" for "her" as do the French with the pronoun "elle." I am fully aware of the undertones of this, but you as my reader must try to ignore it, or not.)
My dearest Sacré-Cœur,

I fell in love with you at first sight, though I already had seen other more elaborately ornate edifices and churches. You struck some chord in me that I cannot describe, and still capture me when I think of you. The quiet simplicity you displayed, in comparison to Notre Dame, seemed to beckon to me. You are unaware. You do not know your beauty in your still white innocence and only wait patiently for the thousands that come into your doors each day, welcoming the guests with peaceful song.


There are no come hither looks from you, but only a smile with your face up, looking honestly into the sun, casting the sun's light through the windows into your dome. You only see truth up there in the sky, resting on the clouds, floating perfectly as if holding hands with some God that whispers in your ear.

I salute you, and hold your memory dear in my heart. Until next time.

Bonsoir, mon amour.
Isn't that romantic? haha. Yes, I am a hopeless romantic, but I have decided to use my energies toward something else. And I don't mean to diminish the beauty of love at this time. I only want to bring light to the beauty in other things, like the creation of this glorious building as a place to worship something higher than ourselves, outside the human realm, and supposedly more beautiful that anything on Earth. Absolute Love and Truth. Isn't it a beautiful idea?
The view of Paris from the top of the Sacré-Cœur on top, and Notre Dame on the bottom.

Comparing the two above, many people will disagree with me and feel more inclined to like the intricacy and extravagant beauty of Notre Dame. Though I cannot argue with the aesthetic perfection of Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur is my personal preference.

The Lodging Question

We stayed at the Hôtel Palma Paris, on the Rue de Gambetta near the Edith Piaf museum. It was a great location, clean, and for what it was, the price was relatively fair. Don't be surprised when the rooms look nothing like the pictures on the website. In fact, if you are on a budget, go to Paris with the lowest expectations possible and the disappointment won't be so shattering. I think it had the worst hostel selection from all the cities in Europe.

Later, I wish I had stayed with friends who were staying a stop away near Place de Bastille, at a “cozy” (aka cheap) hostel called the Hôtel Saint Sebastien off the Richard Lenoir metro. I stayed here every other time I was in Paris thereafter, after two failed attempts of tracking down anything better. The San Sebastien is a great central location to wherever you may want to go around Paris and is cleaner than some of the other places at the same price. However, if you would rather stay up all night mingling with fellow jolly travellers in a downstairs bar, then Three Ducks Hostel is the place for you. I must warn you that you will have it be at the price of sharing a room and shower with twelve people and a bathroom with two floors of gnarly, unwashed vagabonds. Therefore, a decent shower or good night's sleep are not guaranteed here. You may not party it up at the San Sebastien, but you do get a "free" breakfast of croissants, confiture, and chocolate chaud that is included in the room charge. I guess it just depends on what you are looking for.

Wandering through the streets the first night, after going to the Tour d'Eiffel, we went through the famous Bastille district,which is the trendy place to be for the youth of Paris. I was, frankly, emotionally drained out. I just wanted to sleep. This was because I had talked non-stop through dinner, rambled on straight through the crowds and up and around the signature phallic representation of France, and still persisted all the way back to our hotel. And then he wanted to talk MORE. "It's impossible!" I thought to myself, surely he had to be just as tired of listening as I was of rambling. I had nothing left to say.

Strategically, I led the way toward the Rue de Lappe, where I knew that if the conversation was lacking at some point, there was that some diversion was guaranteed here with its discotheques, bars, and cafés galore. Although I don’t remember the name of where we ended up, he chose the most quiet bar he could think of, you know, to talk, get to know me better (ha!) but I would have recommended the classic La Bastide. Not only is it reputed to have the most inexpensive beer in Paris, but it has an ambiance reminiscent of Old France.



On an evening later in the year and in a much different context, I would end up here with a ravishing half-Frenchie and half-Spaniard (my weakness) and it would tear the person who was so happily walking next to me apart. But we didn't know that now. I was nervously talking non-stop as my tongue felt dry and my throat was getting scratchy. He wasn't saying anything. Not like he had a chance...

He must have really liked me.

Salut á Paris!

Salut!

Since it is the week of Valentine’s Day, I thought I could begin only by talking about city of love, Paris (make sure you mentally pronounce this as PAR-eey for full emphasis). Not only have I had a tragic love affair with the city itself, but also a heartbreak that will forever associate Paris with a bittersweet taste. This seems only natural if you think of the abundance of inexpensive and delicious red wine at your disposal in this city!

I would wander through this city at least once a month since I lived only an hour away with the fast train--the TGV. In fact, it was exactly one year ago that I was making one of these monthly excursions.

Although each time was momentous and electrifying in its own way, this particular weekend was going to be unparalleled; I just knew it. A "special friend" from Ireland was coming to visit and I was ready for a dash of romance in my life, though I was not looking for what it would eventually become. Namely, I wanted a foreign fling during my fleeting time there, and hopefully with someone who was not going to pronounce his love for me on the first date (Oh Tomas, if only you didn’t have to be so French!) Don't get me wrong, the gesture was appreciated, just a tad bit strange for my American tastes. So, hopefully, Irish here would pick up on the alliteration and take a hint. Where better to have a rendez-vous since our first meeting in NYC?