It was hot down in Saint Sulpice, so I arrived all sweaty for my oral exam, more than one hour after we departed Guy Môquet. It went fine, however, with me not being too impressive. My comprehension is good in French, and my reading is fine, but I wanted to work on the oral without a ton of new stuff coming at me from all angles.
Then Kenny, Tina and I hung out in the courtyard and waited for those arriving for tests at eleven. Kenny had gone for water and Tina was taking her test when former St Mary's student and current Institut Catholique student Val appeared.
Here are a couple of views of the main courtyard.
The girls arrived in good time and we spent the rest of the morning sitting in the shade, exploring the campus and registering. I therefore registered as a student at L’Institut in three hours, whereas registering at
Everyone else (sob) had bursaries to collect so we dashed up to the finance office, from whence there was a good view of the rooftops and the central courtyard. I have a picture of Meg that looks like she’s saying, “I’m gonna learn French. I’m gonna learn it good.”
After lunch, Meg and I struck forth for Notre Dame, leaving everyone else in the courtyard. I should acknowledge that Meg has written a far more detailed description of what we saw and has put the effort into learning all the history, so for an enlightening experience, I heartily recommend her post here.
And now, I waffle. I mean, begin.
We emerged, sun lotion free, alas, from the Cité métro station into the blazing sunshine. Armed with our wits (patchy), our beauty (considerable) and our guides (Blue and Rough), we found ourselves in Place Lapine, which is dominated by the headquarters of the police, and prompted Meg to make several uncharitable suggestions as to why this was an appropriate place for me.
Avoiding a few mad cyclists, we were presently in view of Notre Dame. Or, Notre Dame was in view of us. One of those. We think we were pretty. We took pictures. I’m not going to show you mine. I will, however, show you Notre Dame.
Anyway, such is the addled brain of une étudiante etranger in
Despite the disappointment of a Quasimodo-less Notre Dame, I had to thank Victor Hugo for his impassioned defence of the eponymous façade in his novel, as its present condition is greatly improved from that of his era, and largely due to his publicising of its state (I believe he would say “vandalism”). I also read it recently on my way through the novel, so this time when I came face to façade with Notre Dame de Paris, I had a far greater understanding of the layers and alterations.
Ten years ago, Notre Dame was the first sight I saw in Paris, and while I remember extremely well the moment we rounded a corner on the left bank and straight ahead, behind several postcard stalls (by which I was, shamefully and inevitably, distracted), I remembered very little of the interior, apart from it being on the dark side.
Venturing inside, we completed a circuit of the sanctuary, while making a mental note of the treasury, as Meg’s Blue Guide promised some exciting relics including a crown of thorns and a piece of the True Cross. I loved the stained glass in the huge rose windows.
There was an interesting frieze of the resurrection appearances.
Opposite this was an intriguing resurrection scene. Is it Jesus? A king? What does the “H” mean?
When we worked our way back to the treasury, we saw a number of shiny things and appealing modern vestments, along with the occasional monstrance, but there was little sign of the promised relics. We ran into a young American who was also wondering where the cross and crown were, but none of us had a clue. On our way out, we met him again and he told us, having asked, that they were only on view on Fridays. We all agreed that it would seem more honest to give this information before enticing tourists inside with the promise of excitement in return for their €3. Especially churchy people, one would hope.
We agreed to come back some time for mass, and also made a mental note that there was some kind of sound and light show every night except Friday at 9.30 that would be worth investigating.
I was expiring without enough water, never mind the risk of sunburn, but we decided to keep going and to do the big things rather than the more obscure memorials and gardens on the Île de la Cité. This put the combined ticket to Sainte-Chapelle and the Concièrgerie next on our list. Both are part of the Palais du Justice. First, though, we stopped for a strawberry crépe and some more water. The crépe was yummy, the water necessary.
The queue for the Sainte-Chapelle was alarming, but we committed to it and Meg read from her guide about the various features of the chapel and its history. We got tickets for the chapel and the Concièrgerie in combo, which set us back €10, but was cheaper than doing them separately.
The chapel is on two levels, the lower, darker level for commoners, and the upper level for the royal household. We entered the lower level, which is painted in vivid colours and is very pretty, presumably to compensate for the designation “commoners”. It also contains an upmarket gift shop, which I would guess probably wasn’t an original feature.
Up and up a spiral staircase we climbed – up and up and up and up and… Now, I don’t like spiral staircases, and going up them is one thing, but I wasn’t looking forward to going back down this one. In any case, I – along with everyone else, thankfully – nearly fell back down it after emerging into the high Gothic sanctuary.
The walls are filled with stained glass from a few feet off the ground to the ceiling, and while of course this takes some serious pillar action, the supports between the windows are carved into clusters of thin columns, so the whole place feels delicate while of course being a substantial piece of churchery.
There was a large group of people clustered in the centre of the sanctuary, and this turned out to be the English guided tour, so we tagged ourselves on to that. It was worth listening in, even if our guide’s credibility was somewhat tarnished by her assertion that Numbers was a book of the Bible that contained many stories about the kings of
The windows, for the most part based on the Pentateuch, were interesting as well as pretty – especially the Genesis one. There was also a window containing stories of saints and miracles, and one with the story of King Louis – later
When we got down the spiral staircase without incident, and found our way out of the courtyard (trickier than it sounds), we were in the front court of the palace. The Concièrgerie was just around the corner. It was used as the palace many centuries before being appropriated as the main prison, which was then used to imprison many of those killed in the revolution, including Marie Antoinette.
I had a moment of weird realisation when I thought about the kings of
We explored the exhibitions on the different types of cell and saw Marie Antoinette’s cell, now made into a chapel.
We didn’t hang around on the steps where the condemned waited to be dragged off to the guillotine – it was just ooky.
Then it was out into the women’s courtyard, where prisoners were loaded onto carts.
By this point I had decided that as interesting as the Concièrgerie is, it was never destined to be my scene. As much as I like the principles of liberty, equality and fraternity, I have a fundamental problem with the French Revolution, which I would say hinges on the subsequent Reign of Terror and their tendency to decapitate people. In no circumstances do I approve of chopping people’s heads off, but to chop people’s heads off because they are rich – now, that I really have a problem with. Especially in the context of equality. So, in general, I found the Concièrgerie interesting but seriously creepy.
By this point, I had arranged to meet Estelle back at the flat to hand over the money, so I had to return. I found some sun lotion in our local pharmacy, but the only thing with an SPF factor on it was factor 50. So I will henceforth be well protected. Pale, some might say vampire-like, but well-protected.
After we did the money, Kenny and I decided we were beyond cooking and shopping seriously, so we decided to grab something cheap locally and stock up on essentials. Estelle left us a very handy set of detailed directions to our nearest supermarkets, boulangerie and cheese shops, etc., so we knew our supermarket was right at the end of our street, barely a minute away. Very useful.
Between the two Japanese restaurants, that will require further investigation but that neither of us felt up to handling with our ill-revised language skills, there lies a Chinese buffet place, and we gravitated to this, not least because of its cheapness. It was perfectly tasty, however, and very filling, so this got us through the shopping. We tried to control whims, but somehow ended up with a packet of cola flavoured Mentos anyway. Ah well.
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