Nothing got me more excited to visit Paris than reading Hemmingway’s A Moveable Feast, and this morning is what I had looked forward to all week: A two hour walking tour called Hemmingway’s Paris led by Paris Walks. Oh it was glorious. It satisfied every literary bone in my body. To make it all even better, the tour guide was a slightly older British gentleman whose voice puts the voices of all audio books to shame – it was so serene, and mesmerizing, yet exciting and adventurous. Throughout the tour he read little passages from classic works by Hemmingway, Gertrude Stein, and George Orwell at the most perfect moments, with the greatest timing: while we clustered in the middle of a courtyard, in front of a cathedral, walking down a winding cobblestone street…
He started off the tour with Hemmingway’s classic “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.” At that point I absolutely knew that if I were ever to live in Paris, I could call nothing but the Latin Quarter my home. We saw the two apartments that Hemmingway stayed in during the 1920’s, Rue du Cardinal Lemoine and Boulevard Montparnasse, as well as James Joyce’s writing abode and George Orwell’s residence. Perhaps my favorite quote that was read during the tour came from Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London, in which he described the buildings of the narrow alleyway in which he lived as “lurching towards one another in queer attitudes, as though they had all been frozen in the act of collapse.” What masterful imagery!
I truly loved it, and standing right there at the very spot described by one of the most celebrated authors of all time felt so surreal, fictional, like the last moments of a fleeting dream just before jolting awake. We also saw the steps filmed in Midnight in Paris where Gil Pender waited every night to be swept up into the 1920’s, as well as a side street that Victor Hugo used as the setting for one of the scenes in Les Misérables.
Our history immersion continued when we saw a corner building with three different generations of street signs; the highest used centuries ago to accommodate for the height of carriages, the middle etched in stone, and the bottom for the modern day driver. After the tour we grabbed a delicious lunch in an area that decades before was the hub of the Lost Generation, at a café called “Salle à manger”. Desert was found nearby, peach and raspberry tarts from a glorious patisserie just up the street.
I managed to grab a quick, 10 minute nap at the hotel before we headed out again and saw the Arc de Triomphe, buy macaroons from Ladurée, and visit the Louvre on the night that it is free to students. Naturally, the first thing we saw in the Louvre was the Mona Lisa. It’s one of those things you just have to see in a lifetime, so we made our way to the famous room and waited our turn to be pushed and jostled to the front of the clump of tourists lining the painting. Talk about underwhelming: Here, right across from the Mona Lisa, stands an absolutely gorgeous, floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall painting that I can’t name to save my life. And directly opposite sits the Mona Lisa, a painting recognizable by probably every educated individual in the world population, comparatively tiny in size, and covered by a think layer of protective glass that gives off a comic air of uselessness. I understand that the eyes gaze back at the observer, that the smile provides an air of transcendence, and such things, but what is it about this small painting in particular that has caused such a stir in our society? What is it about it that makes it so much better, or more powerful, or more masterfully created that every other breathtaking piece of art in the Louvre? Is it truly all that great, or have we as a society placed unnecessary emphasis on a single piece of art, creating false prestige for the sole purpose of creating something to be admired and desired?
Our history immersion continued when we saw a corner building with three different generations of street signs; the highest used centuries ago to accommodate for the height of carriages, the middle etched in stone, and the bottom for the modern day driver. After the tour we grabbed a delicious lunch in an area that decades before was the hub of the Lost Generation, at a café called “Salle à manger”. Desert was found nearby, peach and raspberry tarts from a glorious patisserie just up the street.
I managed to grab a quick, 10 minute nap at the hotel before we headed out again and saw the Arc de Triomphe, buy macaroons from Ladurée, and visit the Louvre on the night that it is free to students. Naturally, the first thing we saw in the Louvre was the Mona Lisa. It’s one of those things you just have to see in a lifetime, so we made our way to the famous room and waited our turn to be pushed and jostled to the front of the clump of tourists lining the painting. Talk about underwhelming: Here, right across from the Mona Lisa, stands an absolutely gorgeous, floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall painting that I can’t name to save my life. And directly opposite sits the Mona Lisa, a painting recognizable by probably every educated individual in the world population, comparatively tiny in size, and covered by a think layer of protective glass that gives off a comic air of uselessness. I understand that the eyes gaze back at the observer, that the smile provides an air of transcendence, and such things, but what is it about this small painting in particular that has caused such a stir in our society? What is it about it that makes it so much better, or more powerful, or more masterfully created that every other breathtaking piece of art in the Louvre? Is it truly all that great, or have we as a society placed unnecessary emphasis on a single piece of art, creating false prestige for the sole purpose of creating something to be admired and desired?
With that off my chest, I loved the Louvre. I may have loved the architecture even more than the pieces of art themselves. Every time we walked into a room we reminded each other to look up at the ceiling – adorned with molding as well as sculptures – to the point where “look up” became the quote of the day. It’s appropriate, I think, for life in general as well. Don’t forget to look up.
We got lost trying to exit the Louvre, as sign upon sign led us in a sort of circular path with no light at the end of the tunnel. We passed the ancient Egyptian tombs, which were absolutely gorgeous, and then we passed them again… and again… and again… it was certainly exciting to feel trapped in the Louvre. We were frustrated at first, until we realized that you can’t truly experience the Louvre without getting lost. It’s so massive that it is almost a given, a constant in the cultural experience. Perhaps the Louvre should invest in a motto: “Get lost and discover yourself.”
d
Dinner was simple: we stopped at a local grocery store, grabbed some quick sandwiches and snacks, and ate in the lobby of the hotel with access to an endless supply of coffee. We shared our excitement for the next leg of the journey, as tomorrow morning we are Normandy-bound. We wrote, we shared stories about our day, we broke bread together and mixed cheeses and jellies – especially appropriate since we were saying our farewells to this Moveable Feast.
Till next time, Paris my dearest.
d
Dinner was simple: we stopped at a local grocery store, grabbed some quick sandwiches and snacks, and ate in the lobby of the hotel with access to an endless supply of coffee. We shared our excitement for the next leg of the journey, as tomorrow morning we are Normandy-bound. We wrote, we shared stories about our day, we broke bread together and mixed cheeses and jellies – especially appropriate since we were saying our farewells to this Moveable Feast.
Till next time, Paris my dearest.