View from the apartment on Rue Beaurepaire
When it comes to lodgings, my family values the authentic. For a week, we lived the (admittedly more upper-class than we could sustain in real life) Parisian experience. Our road consisted of balconied-walls sandwiched together, so that when we walked down the street we were surrounded on either side by impenetrable stone. To get up to our flat, we could chose a rickety staircase or a claustrophobic elevator. Our flat was small yet uncrowded; rooms were efficiently organised and were a pleasure to exist in. My favourite element was the balcony looking out on a street with never-ending movement and life. At one end of our road was a large square, where children played every Wednesday with toys the city supplied. My brothers would have been content to stay within our road, exploring the posh stores, supermarket with an "orange juice maker machine", and creative playgrounds.
View from the apartment on Rue Beaurepaire
Despite the comfort of our apartment, we frequently ventured into the city and played tourist. The Notre Dame Cathedral was in early stages of renovation after the fire. The looming scaffolding was a somber reminder of the recent tragedy which had seemed so far removed from us when we read of it in the newspapers. Nearby was a bookstore, Shakespeare & Company, with cushions on almost every horizontal surface, literary quotes on each step in the staircase, wooden ladders, and best of all, a resident cat who slept on the roof. To be a small bookstore owner in Paris with a lazy cat would be the dream! But I digress.
Perhaps more impressively, we saw the Palace of Versailles, which was crawling with visitors. The art and architecture was overwhelmingly detailed, and all my family suffered from sensory overload, I think. I was struck by the luxury and extravagance, which was only made possible of course by great injustice and hoarding of wealth. The history of France is so grand it seems fictional, and to connect the tales to a physical site was rewarding.
Palace of Versailles
"Palais Garnier" had a similar effect, although it was less crowded. I'm not sure how to put this site to words - we spent the hours there in silent awe, craning our neck upwards to look at elaborate stone carvings or chandeliers. The maginfigence made me feel very small; not excluded, but connected to the opera's history. Great and famous people had stood where I stood, and yet we both appreciated the same art which had lived on to 2019 and maintained the same effect. It occurred to me that art is immortal, and capable of bridging generations which had nothing else in common. There is an aura to these ancient sites that have bore witness to events written in history books. They outlive us, and we are not sad about it. We have touched something far greater than ourselves.
Palais Garnier
Other notable mentions are the catacombs, which were horrifying and yet impossible to pry our eyes from, and the Eiffel Tower, which was both larger and busier than in photographs. Part of the fun was in watching the other tourists and overhearing the collage of languages.
Our lifestyle in Paris suited me very well. We had bread and cheese most lunches, bought fresh and eaten outside. When we sat at cafes, the tea mugs were small, but the waiters were kind and did not rush us. If we wanted to, we could have spent hours at a single cafe, admiring the bustle of life, the colorful architecture, the sounds and aromas. Perhaps we would have, were it not for my impatient brothers.
Model sailboat at the Jardin du Luxembourg
Paris left me with a longing to return. Of course, I lived there as a tourist, with no responsibilities except to soak in culture. However, the people in Paris I saw were friends with their neighbours; many sat by the canal sharing wine; the residents biked and walked, and spoke French made charming by the absence of the vulgar Quebec accent.
Cycling by the Canal Saint-Martin near the apartment
I do hope to return some day and refresh my memories. I suspect it is a city made for young adults, who are youthful, hopeful, able to withstand the discomforts of a large and chaotic place, and willing to stay up late, waiting for the city to unveil its hidden glories.
By Anna Berglas