Archive for the 'adventure' Category
Getting Lost in Paris
Author: Nina Munteanu02.05.2008
On my third day in Paris, I got lost. I didn’t mean to; it just happened.
I’d started early and joined the morning crowd at the Musée d’Orsay. After a breathtaking journey through the visions of French Impressionists, I ventured by bus to the Champ du Mars and climbed the Eiffel Tower to see Paris from the perspective of the Gods: a wheeled mosaic of art, magic and scene. Then I decided to walk home from there. I thought my adventure was over; in truth, it had just begun…
As I wound my way down a tree-lined street, the flower blossoms rained down with the fragrant breeze, painting the cobblestones in pale shades of diaphanous pink. A young couple sat wrapped around each other on a bench, kissing.
It suddenly struck me that I was in Paris in the springtime; and I was alone. It was just an observation. It didn’t make me sad or uncomfortable; I’ve traveled a great deal on my own and have enjoyed the edgy play on my mind and soul that solitude in a strange place brings.
Philosopher Mark Kingwell wrote, “travel is a drug, and not just because it can be addictive. More because it alters consciousness, dilates the mind and maybe even rewires the cerebral cortex…going somewhere different from home [is] the best way to challenge your habitual ways of thinking.”
I’d come to Paris to research the current book I was writing—ironically about a young girl who can alter history. Why ironically? Because, somehow, I firmly believe that my experience in this beautiful and evocatively artistic city has altered my “history”. Certainly my perspective. Paris, with its Neo-Classical architecture, quaint cobble streets, and stylish Parisians, lends itself to a wandering eye and finally to introspection. For Kingwell, “somewhere beyond the contrived, comfortable cityscapes, we’ll encounter a potentially more profound version of ourselves.” Paris, l
ike the Parisians, is a seductive dance. It is so attractive to view. But ultimately one must participate to fully experience it.
ike the Parisians, is a seductive dance. It is so attractive to view. But ultimately one must participate to fully experience it.
I don’t know when I finally noticed that I had no idea where I was. It just happened. Along one of Paris’s charming narrow cobble streets as the Hausmann-style buildings blushed in the sunset, I found myself utterly lost.
The sky’s light shades of peach gave way to a deeper shade of ochre as I walked on, feeling more and more a stranger and more and more self-conscious that I was. I wasn’t dressed fashionably. Oh, I had the obligatory scarf and stylish leather jacket; but I lacked the finesse of these Parisians who glided confidently along the darkening streets that were familiar to them. The sounds, sights and smells of this foreign city heightened in a frisso
n of increasing tension. I refused to let the darkness take me, though, and let my feet lead me on, confident that I would find something. This was Paris, after all…
n of increasing tension. I refused to let the darkness take me, though, and let my feet lead me on, confident that I would find something. This was Paris, after all…
“Not to find one’s way in a city may well be uninteresting and banal,” wrote Walter Benjamin. “It requires ignorance—nothing more. But to lose oneself in a city—as one loses oneself in a forest—that calls for quite a different schooling.” A school for questions, not answers, says Kingwell. I’d come to Paris with questions, many questions; some of which I would not answer. Perhaps the most important ones. I’d come with the hubristic ambition of defining Paris. But I humbly discovered that to define Paris is to define life…and oneself.
Paris unfolds like an impressionist canvas, to be interpreted through experience. She is an aria, both exquisite and haunting, like the lingering aftertaste in the back of my throat of a complex bitter-sweet Bordeaux. I lost myself willingly to her mystery. “Real travel,” says Kingwell, “means we must surrender expectations and submit to chance, to challenge our desires, not merely satisfy existing ones…Leaving home ought to be, above all…that plunge into otherness. Becoming strange to ourselves is the gateway to seeing how dependent on strangers we are for our identities…Getting lost to yourself might be the best way to find out who you are.”
Mark Kingwell’s latest book is Concrete Reveries: Consciousness and the City.
read users' comments (8)Paris Tour—Part 1
Author: Nina Munteanu19.04.2008
Bonjours de Paris, La Ville-lumière. I’ve dropped by momentarily to give you a little report of my research progress on my current book, a historical fantasy about a girl, Vivianne, from medieval Prussia, and a boy, François, from modern-day Paris (see my previous post).
Toulouse and I settled in very nicely in a little apartment on Rue Princesse, just off Boulevard Saint Germain in the 6ieme arrondissement. Once the hangout for bohemians and intellectuals, this neighbourhood underwent gentrification and is now newly chic, with upscale boutiques, art galleries, and restaurants. The 
part Toulouse and I truly appreciated, though, was the boulangerie and patisserie (rolled conveniently into one) just around the corner from our place.
part Toulouse and I truly appreciated, though, was the boulangerie and patisserie (rolled conveniently into one) just around the corner from our place.
A short walk away, we found ourselves strolling along the Seine towards Ile de la Cité. This splendid island in the middle of the Seine is a trove of historical treasures, including the Conciergie, Palais de Justice with associated Saint Chapelle, and, of course, the Notre Dame Cathedral. The Conciergerie was the gloomy prison that incarcerated over 2,000 victims of the guillotine, including Mar
ie Antoinette. We focused on the two churches, the Cité Metro Station, and the walk along the Left Bank, as these played a key role for Vivianne and François in my book.
ie Antoinette. We focused on the two churches, the Cité Metro Station, and the walk along the Left Bank, as these played a key role for Vivianne and François in my book.
Toulouse and I started off by taking the métro to the Cité “Metropolitan” Métro Stop, part of Vivianne’s first experience with underground transportation (remember, she’s from medieval Prussia). The Cité Station is a funky place, darkly lit with metal retro-futuristic walls, complete with rivets, and iron spiral staircases. The elegantly curved ironwork canopy of the entrance i
s one of the last surviving pieces of the 1900 “Art Nouveau” Paris métro design. We scaled the stairs, buffeted by a rushing wind, and emerged in a flower and plant market on Place Louis Lépine. From there, we made our way along Rue de la Cité, past the Prefecture de Police (where Inspector Clouseau of the Pink Panther used to work). As we rounded the corner of the Hôtel Dieu Hospital, there—magnificent behind the horse-chessnut trees in full bloom—stood the masterpiece of Notre Dame. Dedicated to “Our Lady” (Notre Dame), Mother Mary (you can see her cradling Jesus in the centre rose window), this massive structure was built in stages over two hundred years from 1163 to its completion in 1345. Toulouse and I walked the Place Parvis to get a better look at the cathedral and the statue of Charlemagne, whose coronation as the first Holy Roman Emperor
in 800, marked the birth of modern France. My two heroes barely avoid some Black Knights (Nazi police), by skirting around the side of the gothic church and crossing to the Left Bank.
s one of the last surviving pieces of the 1900 “Art Nouveau” Paris métro design. We scaled the stairs, buffeted by a rushing wind, and emerged in a flower and plant market on Place Louis Lépine. From there, we made our way along Rue de la Cité, past the Prefecture de Police (where Inspector Clouseau of the Pink Panther used to work). As we rounded the corner of the Hôtel Dieu Hospital, there—magnificent behind the horse-chessnut trees in full bloom—stood the masterpiece of Notre Dame. Dedicated to “Our Lady” (Notre Dame), Mother Mary (you can see her cradling Jesus in the centre rose window), this massive structure was built in stages over two hundred years from 1163 to its completion in 1345. Toulouse and I walked the Place Parvis to get a better look at the cathedral and the statue of Charlemagne, whose coronation as the first Holy Roman Emperor
in 800, marked the birth of modern France. My two heroes barely avoid some Black Knights (Nazi police), by skirting around the side of the gothic church and crossing to the Left Bank.
The walk along the embankment below the Quai de la Tournelle reminded me of the pivotal last scene in the 1998 film version of Les Miserables, where Jean Valjean is finally set free by an act of self-immolation by his pursuer. The Quai on the Rive Gauche bustles with the green metal stalls of bouquinists–used book stalls– and artists with their paintings and sketches lined against the walls.
My characters cross the Quai into one of Paris’s oldest surviving medieval parts of town, untouched by Haussmann’s renovations, past the Old Shakespeare & Company Bookstore, and finally at the fountain of Place Saint Michel, where they meet François’s eccentric uncle at le Café Fontaine Saint Michel. It is here that our heroine’s pursuer through time catches up to her and the ensuing skirmish reveals her extraordinary powers.
Eager to research another scene, in which François takes Vivianne to Saint Chapelle to atone for his previous injustice to her, Toulouse and I joined a line-up to enter the secured grounds of the Palais de Justice, where the chapel resides. This turned out to be, perhaps, the most awesome and memorable part of my trip; despite my previous research, I was unprepared for its impact…Here’s how the two characters in my book reacted:
~~~~~
T
hey entered through the dark entranceway of the thirteenth century cathedral into the lower chapel and the girl seemed to instinctively know where to go. She led them up a spiral staircase where the smell of candles, smoke and incense pervaded. When they entered the sanctuary, the girl drew in a breath of wonder. The tall and elegant hall was bathed in a rich colorful light; it resembled a giant lantern. The girl made the sign of the cross over her breast and bent briefly on one knee with her head bowed. François stilled his breath and stared at the enormous panels that seemed to float in the dark of empty space, like holograms animated by the light that streamed through them.
hey entered through the dark entranceway of the thirteenth century cathedral into the lower chapel and the girl seemed to instinctively know where to go. She led them up a spiral staircase where the smell of candles, smoke and incense pervaded. When they entered the sanctuary, the girl drew in a breath of wonder. The tall and elegant hall was bathed in a rich colorful light; it resembled a giant lantern. The girl made the sign of the cross over her breast and bent briefly on one knee with her head bowed. François stilled his breath and stared at the enormous panels that seemed to float in the dark of empty space, like holograms animated by the light that streamed through them.“Light shines through it like God’s grace, creating lanterns of divine light,” the girl whispered, her voice echoing in a hollow reverberation, as if it too floated in the air. “…God is light.”
He glanced briefly at her and found her smiling tenderly at him. It drew a smile from him and he returned his gaze to the rose windows, feeling a warm glow surge through him. François almost believed her. He’d never been inside this place and now that he was, François exalted in its unearthly splendor and felt deeply humbled by it. This place was built by those who believed in something. François recognized the girl’s description of the interior as he gazed from the arcades of floral ornamented arches, spandrels filled with angels and colonettes from which projected the twelve Apostles to the vaulted ceilings and tall jeweled windows of light. Everything in this place pointed upward, toward the heavens. Toward God, the girl would have said. Finding her eyes still on him, he turned back to the girl.
“Danke,” she said softly. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
For a brief moment, he felt like her hero and basked in the exultation of the sensation. The place reminded him of a vivid yet disturbing dream he’d had two nights ago, of a medieval knight, wading through a swamp with the spoils of war scattered about on the rocks, but no bodies…The knight was himself. Above him towered the vaulted ceiling of an immense cathedral with eerie light bathing down through its translucent walls and straight ahead a great ball of light…He’d woken in a sweat. François wondered that he’d only now remembered the dream that he seemed to have forgotten until now. And odd that he’d dreamt of a medieval knight the night before the girl, dressed as a knight, had swept into his world.
She leaned close to him and whispered, “This place reminds me of a vision I had. Of a knight wandering on a quest through a swamp…He encounters a cathedral of heaven and stands, sword in one hand and shield in the other, mesmerized by its utter beauty.”
François stared at her, blinking. That was his dream!
~~~~~
…More on Paris in my next post (like Montmartre, le Marais, the Eiffel Tower and more…)
Paris: City of Light–Friday Feature
Author: Nina Munteanu11.04.2008
Today’s Friday Feature is Paris, the City of Light. I’m heading there with my friend, Toulouse (napping on my shoulder in the photo below). He isn’t too excited because he’s, well, French. But it’s my first visit to this splendid city and I have to admit to you that I am randy round the bend ecstatic. Paris is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world, with over 30 million foreign visitors per year. And for good reason.
Paris has been a beacon of culture and art for centuries, long considered a world capital of art, fashion, food, literature and ideas. Paris is a symbol of all the fine things human civilization can offer. Says Rick Steves, “Come prepared to celebrate, rather than judge, the cultural differences, and you’ll capture the romance and joie de vivre that Paris exudes.” He adds, “Paris offers sweeping boulevards, chatty crepe stands, chic boutiques, and world-class art galleries. Sip decaf with deconstructionists at a sidewalk café, then step into an Impressionist painting in a tree-lined park. Climb Notre-Dame and rub shoulders with gargoyles. Cruise the Seine, zip up the Eiffel Tower, and saunter down the Avenue des Champs-Elysees.”
Paris is known as the “The City of Light” (La Ville-lumière), from its fame as a centre of education and ideas and its early adoption of street lighting. “Modern” Paris is the result of a vast mid-19th century urban remodelling. For centuries the city had been a labyrinth of narrow streets and half-timber houses, but beginning in 1852, the Baron Haussmann’s vast urbanisation levelled entire quarters to make way for wide avenues lined with neo-classical stone buildings of bourgeoise standing; most of this ‘new’ Paris is the Paris we see today.
I’m actually going to Paris to research my latest book, a historical fantasy, about a young girl from medieval Prussia who learns that she can alter history (which is partly why she ends up in slightly future alternate Paris). The day is June 14th, 1411. It’s Vivianne’s 14th birthday and she’s been promised to this nasty foreign dude 30 years older than her and who she’s never met; the day is also the eve of one of medieval time’s greatest battles, “The Battle of Grunwald”. 
(This battle between the arrogant Teutonic warrior monks and the peasant Lithuanian and Polish armies should have been an easy victory for the Teutonic knights, who were far superior in weaponry, tactics and ambition than the peasant rag-tag armies. It wasn’t; they were all but wiped out. But, what if they hadn’t been?…)
(This battle between the arrogant Teutonic warrior monks and the peasant Lithuanian and Polish armies should have been an easy victory for the Teutonic knights, who were far superior in weaponry, tactics and ambition than the peasant rag-tag armies. It wasn’t; they were all but wiped out. But, what if they hadn’t been?…)
It’s still the eve of the battle and, after being hunted as a witch for being “different”, young Vivianne flees through a time-space tear into an alternate future Paris…one in which—you guessed it—the Nazis currently rule (because they had the chance to evolve sooner, thanks to the survival of the Teutonic Order in a world where intervention—involving Vivianne—allowed them to prevail and see-in an early Germanic Nazi regime).
So, here I am… heading to Paris to see what Vivianne sees. Oh, and to drink and eat too! Ah, the wine… the cheese… the bread… You know what the French say: “Du pain, du vin, du Boursin…”
I’m not sure if we’ll have time to post. So I will leave you with a short story. But either Toulouse or I may come on with an update of our rigorous research. Otherwise, see you in two weeks! Come back tomorrow to read my short story.
I’m not sure if we’ll have time to post. So I will leave you with a short story. But either Toulouse or I may come on with an update of our rigorous research. Otherwise, see you in two weeks! Come back tomorrow to read my short story.