Paris Day 2: morbid places, beautiful gardens, outraged cops, and the Louvre

France has a very distinctive feeling for me. As an exchange student in Chateau Gontier in 2004, an intern in Conches sur Gondoire in 2007, and a tourist in Paris in 2009, 2010, and 2014, I always wake up feeling the same way in France. Everything feels different there to me--from the beds and sheets to the showers and bathrooms. Apparently, things felt different for Brandon, as well. But their effect on him was to cause an allergic reaction. He broke out in hives while we were exploring one of my favorite Parisian haunts: Pere Lachaise cemetery. 

I have a somewhat morbid fascination with foreign cemeteries, and Pere Lachaise started it all. Aside from being the resting site for famous people like Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Jim Morrison, Felix Faure, and Moliere, the cemetery is aesthetically fascinating. I feel somewhat ashamed to admit this, but on my study abroad in Wales, I did my daily jogs in Cathays Cemetery next to our flat. And I loved it, even though it might have been insensitive of me to enjoy it as much as I did. There's something about patchy sunlight, small cobblestone paths, creeping vines, and green moss that makes me feel like I'm in another world. I was relieved that Brandon appreciated the morbid beauty of Pere Lachaise, even amidst the discomfort he was in. I could've spent hours there, but we had to rush to the pharmacy. Good thing there's a pharmacy on every corner in Paris.

Are you allowed to smile in a cemetery? 

After our trip to the pharmacy, we grabbed some bonbons (pretty typical of the trip) and headed on an aimless biking journey, content to explore the city. Biking around Paris is pretty thrilling. The streets are narrow and the drivers much more daring, but they are also much more aware, so I feel much safer biking there than in the U.S. We biked from the 20th arrondissement through Bastille area, around Ile Saint Louis a couple times, and into the Latin Quarter. We passed the Sorbonne and reached my favorite street in the city--Rue Mouffetard. I love this place.

The street is full of artisan shops--fromageries, poissonneries, creperies, patisseries, charcuteries, boucheries, boulangeries. I love it. So much. We stopped at a my favorite creperie. Five euros ($6.75) for a nutella crepe, a panini or a savory crepe, and a drink. Unbeatable. And so delicious.

 From there, we biked to the Jardin des Plantes where we were whistled down by a gendarme for trying to bike through the gardens. Run-in #1. 

Walking around was lovely though! 

Turns out there's a zoo in the gardens, so we peeped through the gates to see wallabies, red pandas, and other animals that seem completely out of place in Paris. 

   We left the gardens on our Velibs and headed out. Direction: le Louvre. We had only been riding for about 60 seconds when another gendarme started whistling and yelling at us. "DESCENDEZ DU VELO!" The French gendarmes have really nailed the outraged shout, I tell ya. Obediently, I stopped riding and dismounted my bike. I realized, however, that Brandon was blissfully unaware that he was being yelled at by the French police and had kept on pedaling his merry way down the street. The officer was less than pleased. I yelled to Brandon to get down from his bike and explained to the gendarme that Brandon doesn't speak French. "Well I hope he can read street signs!!" he said, pointing to a circular red sign with a white bar. He was going to charge us the going rate (90 euros) for riding down a street in the wrong direction. Thanks to our penitent attitudes and obvious American ignorance, he let us go. 

Here we are, shortly after our run-in with Javert, happily riding in the correct direction. 

The Louvre was lovely. It truly is a behemoth. I spent every Friday night of my internship there (thanks to free Fridays evenings  for students 26 and under) and didn't even scratch the surface.

Brandon hates museums, and he was itchy and tired already, but I insisted on taking him through Napoleon III's rooms and browsing the large galleries at the very least. 

I have an obsession with decor, culture, and fashion of the 1800's, so I love Napoleon's rooms!

We spent a good half hour in front of this statue. Originally it was an excuse to sit, but the more we looked at it, the more we were amazed at the sculpture.

And a typical shot of museum Brandon. 

 Wonderful day! It was so difficult for me to take all the incredible experiences I have had in Paris over the years and to imbue Brandon with them as best I could in just four days. But day two was amazing!

Day One in Paris

Paris is the best-connected city I've had the pleasure to step into. In the past, I was always a metro/RER girl. This time around, we decided to take advantage of the Vélib network: Paris' biking system. That might have been the single best decision we made in the city. I loved getting to know the city even better, and it made for some serious adventures; races against the 30-minute trip limit, run-ins with the cops, near-death experiences on Parisian roads, and getting lost in the vast city. High adventure, I tell ya.
After a quick trip to Monoprix, a supermarket, we packed our lunches (baguette sandwiches), and headed out for the day.
First stop: the Louvre
I had tried (and failed) to explain to Brandon just how massive the Louvre is. As much as I can appreciate the plethora of art pieces inside (35,000), I love the actual building just as much (which is nice, since admiring the outside is much cheaper).

What can I say? I'm a sucker for French architecture, and the adjoining Tuileries gardens are always magical!

Jardin des Tuileries

Fun at the Tuileries

 After relaxing and admiring the Louvre and Tuileries, we headed out to the Palais Royal. Brandon scratched his head over the purpose of this plaza, but I think it's a pretty cool place.

Atop one of the Palais Royal columns

Palais Royal

 When we headed to Notre Dame, hoping to go inside, I was blown away. I've been to Notre Dame dozens of times--during the peak of tourist season as well as during early November--and I had never ever seen it anywhere near as crowded as it was. Turns out we came on a national holiday (May 8--WWII victory day), plus they were holding the fête du pain--a celebration of the art of bread-making--in the courtyard in front of Notre Dame. It was hectic. And I hated it. We refused to stand in line, and instead took shelter from the rain under a bridge with a view to Notre Dame.

Brandon in his glorious Wal Mart poncho

Afterward, we grabbed two kebabs from the Latin Quarter. 

"Assiette" means plate in French. An unfortunate abbreviation.

 I hadn't had a kebab since my last trip to Paris (2010), but I realized that a few years is a good space between kebabs. One every four years is plenty.
Next stop: Luxembourg Gardens and the Palais du Sénat.

 This little fountain below is one of my absolute favorite places in Paris. The pictures don't even capture how green and beautiful it was.

Luxembourg Gardens

Last stop of the day: Eiffel Tower

The pretty rainbow we got to see behind the tower

 

If I look like a wet dog--which I do--I blame it on the rain, just like Milli Vanilli.

Regardless, day one was pure success!

Arriving in Paris--la Ville Lumière

After a layover in Copenhagen, we arrived in Paris late Wednesday night. We lugged our suitcases on the Orlybus to the metro at Denfert-Rochereau, on to the crazy Chatelet les Halles station, and then to Saint Paul. Even amidst the stress of squeezing ginormous suitcases through the metro ticket stalls, it felt surreal to be back in the city I regularly get homesick for. I felt anticipation but also a strange bout of nerves--I wanted Brandon to experience the Paris I love and to appreciate it. In my experience, people are usually hot or cold about Paris, rarely lukewarm. As an intern, I spent three solid months exploring the city on my own. After work ended at noon, I spent the rest of the day-- every day--visiting the nooks and crannies of the city. I loved it to start with, and it only grew on me. Sure, the metro smells like a mix of tobacco, urine, and a certain unidentifiable (thankfully) something; but the city it grants access to is chalk-full of beauty, history, and romance. As Hemingway said,

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young [wo]man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

Dang skippy, Hemingway. 

Thanks to airbnb.com, Brandon and I got to stay on the cheap in the 3rd district of the city--I took special care that we be well-located. Even though we were in the middle of the thriving French capital, we stayed with a Japanese host. Go figure.

Our host Azusa

That first night, despite the late hour, we decided to go on a stroll. Our stroll ended up being a few kilometers since I couldn't resist the pull of the city center. So we walked to Notre Dame and along the river where we saw fire dancers entertaining a group of youngens smoking and drinking the night away. As we walked down the steps to the riverwalk, I received a nice welcome surprise from Paris. And by nice I mean completely revolting. Something that felt like a wet Koosh ball hit my foot. If only it had been a Koosh. It was actually a rat. Rough start, guys. Rough start. But I brushed it off like a big girl (not really--I had periodic outbursts and shudders the rest of the night and for days to come). We braved the rodent and the party-hardy atmosphere to catch a glimpse of my favorite view of Notre Dame. I love love love the side view of Notre Dame from la Rive Gauche.  It was a magical way to start off our Europe adventure.

The Lock Bridge

Memories of Maile

I write this post for myself as much as for anybody else, because I want to remember the Maile I knew until I get to see her again down the road. I definitely didn't know Maile best of anyone out there, but I knew her enough--enough to have been influenced by her in a number of ways. Love you, mi hermanita!

I little realized when I first met her how quintessentially "Maile" our first meeting would be. Nor did I understand how much I'd come to love that Hello Kitty-adoring ball of fire and fun. Even though it was a long time ago, I can clearly remember my feelings on meeting Miles--and that's not standard procedure for me. I have an awful memory for where I met people and what their names are. But Maile made quite an impression on me from the get-go. It was at a dance, and a mutual friend introduced us to each other as we all boogied on the dance floor. We hugged, and then I said to her, "I like your earrings!" What I really liked was that this short, beautiful, spunky girl could pull off these unique, giant, silver hoops. Thickest, heaviest hoops I'd ever seen. And they totally worked for her.

Without any kind of hesitation at all, Maile began pulling the earrings off her ears. Slightly confused about the reaction my compliment had elicited, I didn't understand that she was actually giving me her earrings until she put those hoops in the palm of her hand and offered them to me with an expectant smile--expectant in that she was clearly expecting me to take them from her. Those earrings were easily the size of her palms. I felt embarrassed and flustered. It seemed to me that I had come off to this stranger Maile as one of those annoying kids who looks at you while you eat a popsicle and says, with a dramatic sigh, "I love popsicles. I wish I had one." And then the child stares you down with puppy dog eyes until you can't possibly do anything but grudgingly give them your popsicle. 

That totally wasn't what I was going for. The earrings weren't even my style. She just made them look good. But Maile's attitude in offering them to me was anything but annoyed. To her it was just natural to give me--a virtual stranger--what she thought would make me happy. Where I was used to my compliments being received with an, "aww thanks!" or perhaps a faux-modest, "oh what, these old things?", Maile was apparently accustomed to flipping compliments back around into gifts and personal bequests. All I could think was, "Who is this girl?!" and accept her offering.

I got to see a fair amount of Maile after that. Our paths crossed pretty regularly because of the time I spent around her tight-knit extended family. Seeing Maile for the second time was nothing like those awkward situations where you're not sure if someone you met once will actually acknowledge you, let alone remember you. I think the second time I saw her, she spread out her arms for a hug and said, "Maaawtha, dahhhling!" And just like that, she wiggled her way into my heart and made me feel like a long-time friend. No need to earn or deserve her friendship. She gave it without question, without requirements, without qualms. Maile always made me feel like a million bucks.

A few years later, I had another important "Maile moment." It was four years ago, and it was a bit of a humiliating situation for me--not the type of situation I'd choose to be seen in by anyone, really. Miles popped up at a moment when I was feeling like a big nothing. Someone she was very close to was doing something that was hurting me a lot, even though I was doing my best to hide how it was affecting me. I tried to match Maile's enthusiastic greeting, but without any explanation at all, she saw what was going on, understood the situation, and then proceeded to chastise that person. Right then and there. Miles wasn't one to sit on the sidelines and watch something she disagreed with. She stood up for me in a moment when I didn't know how to stand up for myself. And I've never forgotten it. When I saw her later that night, with makeup streaks on my face from some unwelcome but unstoppable tears, she hugged me and gave me a pep talk. Somehow she combined compassion with chutzpah. And it was exactly what I needed.
A year later, Maile and I went on to serve Spanish-speaking missions at the same time. I remember keeping my eyes peeled for Hermana Tua'one in the MTC and how excited I was when I saw her my second day.

Hers was the first familiar face I saw, and such a welcome one! Friends serving Spanish-speaking missions at the same time would normally seem like mere coincidence, except that Miles and I left on our missions almost three years later than most girls do. And our birthdays are just a day apart. And I mean our literal dates of birth. I always call Maile my "hermanita," or little sister, since I was born a day before her, to which she has always said, "C'mon! It's only one day!"

Regardless of who was the big sister, we were birthday neighbors, and we turned 24 in the MTC. We were "abuelitas" among all the 19- and 21-year olds. We got to simultaneously laugh and roll our eyes together at the antics of the younger elders who used bananas like telephones and made Towers of Babel out of cups. Feeling like kindred spirits and with so much in common, Maile said we were "living parallel existences." I loved living a parallel existence with my hermanita. One of the most spiritual experiences of my life was singing with Maile in the MTC missionary choir and then crying buckets together as Elder Holland spoke to us missionaries in the most life-changing talk we had ever had the pleasure of attending. I will always treasure that memory--even more so now.

My hermanita Maile and I were pen pals for those next 18 months. I loved getting her letters. She always sent me a preparatory email to let me know a letter was on its way. And those letters were not your run-of-the-mill missionary letters with a play-by-play of lessons and investigators. But then Maile has never been run-of-the-mill. Her letters were little creative masterpieces. Nothing Maile did left her without the distinctive Maile trademark on it. Her personality couldn't help but radiate through everything she did. And what a personality!

When my wedding came around, I knew Miles was genuinely happy and excited for me, but I wasn't sure that I would see her at my reception. Life is hectic, and I had always thought that on people's wedding days, they'd be too busy, too surrounded by people, too enveloped in their own happiness to actually notice who actually came to the reception. I was wrong. I remember all the friends of mine who came. Seeing Maile there with Rosemary and KJ added that much more happiness and gratitude to an already-amazing day. I didn't realize how much it would mean to me to see who showed up that day, but it sure meant a lot. Once again, Maile left me feeling like a million bucks. 

 

That was the last time I saw Maile. But Miles and I had longstanding plans, just like she did with so many of her family and friends. Miles was full of such goals and dreams. Our plan was to travel to Rome to attend the temple dedication together--Italian adventures plus an incredible spiritual experience. We won't make it to that dedication, but it makes me happy to think that she will be able to be spiritually present at the dedication when it happens next year. For now, I can picture her in her new home, walking around with a bounce in her step and that quintessential half smile she always wore on her face.

I'm sure going to miss my hermanita!