Bath and Salisbury: The Arrival of Chad!

After Paris (and a few panicked days of last minute essay work/cleaning), the next leg of the Easter break journey began. What could be the best way to kick it off??? Well, if you can't tell by the photos, yes, that is another USA with me-- in short, Chad, who literally lives 3 minutes walking distance from my home in Kentucky, is studying abroad in Spain for a semester. Spain didn't have enough tea, so he decided to pop over to Bristol for a short while before we took off. It was AMAZING to see a Ft.Thomas face!

In an effort to impress, I started us off at the Roman Baths again. Sadly, it's gotten too warm now for it to be steaming the way it was the last time, but this is still one of my favorite places to visit around Bristol. I  love that it combines that fantastic sense of ancient mysticism with the simple humanity of the people: the bath house was, in a sense, a local hang out.

The other thing that is so cool about this place is that you can literally see how time has moved around it, each generation having adapted it slightly for their own purposes. The water level has risen and fallen, and the marks still remain on the bath walls. New decorations have been tacked on, like the sculptures and fencing that you can see around the top of the columns in this picture (19th century). The history even goes all the way back to the Celts, who worshipped "Sulis" at the holy spring- the Romans merged this goddess with their own, hence their "Sulis Minerva."

 This time, much thanks to Chad, I actually discovered a few more smaller baths that I hadn't seen before. We also actually went up into the "Pump Room" (fancy restaurant tacked onto the baths) and tried some of the water from the hot springs- haha, I hadn't gone in last time because I figured they'd charge me extra for it. Back in the 17th century, this stuff was all the rage- doctors had patients chugging gallons (pints?) of it everyday. It's got 43 different minerals in it (in comparison, tap water has about 6 or 7)... mmm, tangy.

Chad is now immortal. 

While still in Bath we decided to pop over to the Royal Crescent too. To me it looks like a charming half circle of apartments with a lovely view, but it's actually one of the UK's finest examples of Georgian architecture, built in the 18th century. Since then it's housed a number of sort of B-list celebrities over the years (ie: Marie Antoinette's hand maid, etc).

After Bath we moved on to Salisbury to check out the cathedral there. Legend says that the original bishop of the area, as he pondered where to build his fancy new church, decided to just shoot an arrow in the general direction that he was considering. The arrow hit a deer (hopefully not grazing any peasants on the way), and so the bishop followed the animal until it collapsed and died on this sacred spot.

Now, the MAIN attraction here is that the cathedral houses the best of only four existing copies of the original Magna Carta (how cool is that??). Tragically though, what we found out in the last 25 minutes of the cathedral being open was that they close the wing with the document in it... 30 minutes before the cathedral closes. Ridiculous.

This cathedral has the tallest spire in the UK! We were both a bit on the
exhausted side though, so we had to pass on climbing this one.

Fortunately though, the cathedral had several other items of interest, so we did more than just press our noses against the windows of the chapel where the Magna Carta document was kept. Observe: Chad standing in front of the oldest known working clock in the world (AD 1386).

Hey Chad, what time is it? Hu,hu,hu...

Also, they had several interesting (if not necessarily recognizable) characters buried here too: a prime minister, plenty of bishops, and here (below) was one of the women from history class who I'll never forget... because her life story is just too freaking depressing. If you look at the sculptures on this memorial, notice that the image of her lying down is actually raised, higher than her husband's. Why on earth is that, you ask? Well, she had some royal blood in her, just enough to make her technically a legal heir to the throne, and therefore more than enough to ruin her life.

All the rest of her family was on bad terms with the queen, especially her older sister, who was queen for about two weeks before Elizabeth quickly *ahem* "disposed" of her. Catherine's first husband (who she was married off to at 13 years old), panicked when this happened and, like a truly loving and supportive spouse, kicked her out of the house and had the marriage annulled, washing his hands of the business.

Yet, despite all this, Elizabeth still took something of a liking to the girl; at one point rumors were flying that the queen might even adopt her to groom her as an heir. All this changed, though, when Catherine met Edward Seymour. She and Edward Seymour took one look at each other and fell completely in love and, unable to wait or think for two seconds, ran off in the chilly winter to be secretly married in his home. For a few blessed weeks, I like to think Catherine was happy. Especially since after that, it all started falling to pieces.

Edward is sent away by the Queen to improve his education, and he leaves Catherine a precious document which can prove their marriage; in case anyone in his family dies, this document will allow her to inherit everything. Of course Catherine loses it, so when her good friend/Edward's sister dies, they get nothing. In addition, while she is still trying to hide the wedding, she also realizes she is quite pregnant. Eight months later, she starts desperately asking trusted allies to talk to Elizabeth for her (who STILL doesn't know). The first one panics and tells her to get lost, the second jerk panics and goes straight to the Queen, spilling the beans in the most indelicate way possible.

Naturally, Queen Elizabeth is furious. First of all, she wasn't big on Edward to begin with, and secondly, the girl had actually married him without her permission! Most importantly though, she was pregnant... which meant a potential son or, in other words, a very competitive heir. Elizabeth, in her infinite patience, reacts with what is technically restraint for a monarch: she has them all thrown into the Tower of London, and walks away hoping this is over with.

However, here's the glorious punchline: far from it being over, instead, a few months later, Catherine winds up pregnant AGAIN... with another boy. I'd hate to be the guard who had to share that news with the queen... Obviously, at this point, Elizabeth blows a gasket and has Edward and Catherine placed under house arrest on opposite sides of the country, and (just for good measure) has the Archbishop of Canterbury annul their marriage and declare them both (hahaha) "fornicators for their carnal copulation."

Catherine never sees her true love or oldest son again (until their family reunion in this memorial grave), and eventually dies of either consumption or misery (they can't be sure). And with all that in mind, ponder this: Catherine's sister, Lady Jane Grey, caught it ten times worse. I won't go into that though; way too wretched to tell.

Finally, I also just wanted to point out the Amnesty Candle, which sits at the front of the cathedral. No crazy story here, but even though it was just a simple gesture, it also struck me as a poignant piece. It specifically serves as a reminder of all those who are imprisoned or held hostage, and burns constantly to represent the continual prayers of the church for them. The harsh, black iron and vicious barbed wire surround the warm candle in the center: it is a small and simple construction, but very expressive.

Also notable:


When we grabbed lunch at a "family" pub in Salisbury, sitting in the table central (just to the right of us) was one of the most appallingly obnoxious families I've ever seen... and I'm from the States. For at least an hour, the parents let all three kids sprint in circles around the tables, screaming, pushing, shoving, staring at customers, thinking they were the cutest things on the planet the whole time. Finally, some customer, a weird looking old dude by himself (thankfully on the opposite side of us), says something to the kids. Admittedly, I don't know what it was- it could have technically been inappropriate (though if he'd given each one a smack, they would have earned it).


Well, crazy dad hears and FLIPS OUT. "You can't talk to my precious little angels like that!" It escalates until dad is shouting unbelievable things at this guy, "You're so ugly, there's not a girl here who would go out with you, etc." Kids are still running about totally unaffected, idiot mom is laughing like they're all having a good old time, and (I guess) the dad's brother is interjecting an insult every once in awhile. 

The restaurant finally sends somebody over who the dad proceeds to completely stomp on, since this guy can't break out of the British politeness/is kind of a push over anyway. Long story short: the stupid family got their way, and arseholes unfortunately exist everywhere.

Another artist to know: Antonio Canova

Realize first! Canova (early 19th Century) came long after Bernini (early 17th century). Styles had changed-- for Bernini, Baroque was the style, and it was all about intense detail and twisting movement, passion and bulging veins! For Canova, it was Neoclassicism. While passion still technically figured in here, it was the beautifully restrained kind, a sort of loving sensuality to be captured by clean lines and perfect execution; delicacy and grace were the words of the day.

Unfortunately, much of Canova's best work is in Russia (I've no idea why, since he was intensely Italian), and I am not very likely to get all the way over there anytime soon! However, what I have been fortunate enough to see is worth sharing.

Eros Reviving Psyche

This is the piece that really got me. It sits in a corner at the Louvre, a good corner, but a corner nonetheless. The result is two-fold: first, you can actually really look at it. No bumbling tourists milling around, trying to keep their kids from poking the centuries old masterpieces. Second, is that the sun from the window creates a beautiful scene, the light like water on the soft curves.

The subjects Canova chose seem to capture such great intimacy- don't ever let it be said the Neoclassicists were stuffy or stiff! Case and point, this is a scene from the final moments of one of the sauciest, steamiest myths the crazy ancient Greeks had to offer. Doubtful? Know this: During one of the many (many, many) times Eros and Psyche *ahem* get together, she conceives their daughter Voluptas... goddess of sexual pleasure.

In my abbreviated version, the story goes like this: Aphrodite, as usual, got jealous of a beautiful mortal girl; this time she was named Psyche. Being the conniving ~censored~ that she is, she tells her son, Eros, to go shoot Psyche up on love juice via his arrows. When Psyche wakes up, Aphrodite will be sure to have the ugliest creature she can find there for her to fall in love with. Eros, who admittedly does arguably have the worst mother on the planet, finally caves and flies down, making himself invisible so he can sneak into her bedroom. 

However, then comes my favorite part: as he's leaning over her, admiring her beauty, she suddenly wakes up and *girly squeal* looks straight into his godly eyes despite the invisibility. He is so startled that he accidentally pricks himself with his own arrow, and BOOM: the god of love is tripping hard.

Much chaos ensues, but eventually he gets her in bed, the one stipulation being that she can't ever turn on the lights- long story short, she has no idea who she's sleeping with, and he wants to keep it that way (kinky). Of course this doesn't work out, she eventually peeks, and it all goes to shit. Aphrodite, beyond a doubt now the worst mother in law in the world, tries everything she can think of to get Psyche killed, culminating in sending her to underworld to fetch some beauty-- apparently she'd actually lost some of hers caring for Eros, who is throwing the most unnecessarily melodramatic tantrum eeeever (...I guess the god of love can probably make it worth while to put up with his mood swings, though).

Of course it's a trap, Psyche peaks in the box, and eternal sleep suddenly jumps out of the box and melts all over her body. It is at this point that Eros decides to grow a pair, get over what I guess are body image issues, and finally stands up to his mom and goes to save the girl.  

This is the moment at which, having fully forgiven her (and hopefully feeling pretty sheepish after all she went through thanks to Aphrodite), he wakes her up- it's the first time they've seen each other in ages. To get back to the sculpture, I have to say this Canova is one of the most beautiful expressions of love in stone that I've ever seen; the incredible interweaving of the arms says it all. Bernini focused on myths of abduction and violence; Canova (and the Neoclassics in general) express real romance, moments of intimate reflection, and tingling potential energy.

 ~
The second Canova I've seen while traveling (and chronologically the first) was back in Rome, at the Borghese Museum, where they also had so many of the Bernini sculptures. Haha, this one, besides of course being an incredible rendering of a reclining female, also has a great streak of sass to it, both in the work itself and the story behind it.

Pauline Bonaparte as Venus Victrix

Reportedly, when the obnoxiously over-conservative ladies inevitably asked, appalled, ''How could you have posed for this sculpture wearing so little?" Paulina apparently replied that it had not been a problem, as there had been a stove in the room as he worked (essentially the clever 19th century version of "shove it.").

Technically though, they're not really sure if Paulina did in fact pose nude for the sculpture since, while the face is a "slightly idealized" portrait, the body is clearly a neoclassic ideal. Essentially, this seems to me a polite way of saying, ''yeah, Paulina was really attractive, but have you seen the body on that sculpture?? Daaaaamn." 

Overall, the whole piece does speak of supreme beauty though- there's no doubt Canova wasn't paid well for this! Because the marble is of such fine quality, and thanks to the tedious waxing process the sculpture underwent after, her entire body shines with this beautiful, warm luster. In her hand too (it's a bit difficult to see), she is also holding an apple to emphasize that this is Paulina as Venus, the apple here being proof that Paris chose her as the most beautiful of the three bickering goddesses. 

~

The final two Canova works I've been fortunate enough to see are actually in the V&A Museum in London- the work of great artists always is always so dispersed. I can't decide if that's a tragedy or a necessity, since so many obstacles would stand in the way of bringing all the sculptures together (politics especially, I'm sure!). At any rate, this sculpture was his career launcher in Rome.

Theseus Vanquishing the Minotaur

 At first, it seems so odd to see a sculpture not of the battle itself, but of the aftermath. And then, it seems even odder to not see Theseus in some kind of "HELLS YES" position, or at least in some sort of stance that would indicate he could walk away from an explosion wearing nothing but jeans, a black tshirt, and sunglasses. That's what I love about Canova and usually the other masters in general: they have a gift for capturing the moments that often do not get attention-- this is what is happening here.

The myth this time is fairly straightforward, and one you probably already know: The King has been sacrificing young men and women to keep the monster he created happy, but when Theseus arrives on the scene, he slams his fist down on the table and exclaims that he won't allow this to keep happening. Ariadne, the king's clever daughter, falls for his nobility right off the bat, and lends him a few life-saving trinkets.

The catch though, as you also probably already know, is that the Minotaur is kept in a massive labyrinth, and what Ariadne gives him is a special ball of string so he'll be able to find his way back out. Now, because we know the story so well, it's easy to become desensitized to what is really happening here. Think about it: You're Theseus. You have volunteered to go slay a super-powered mutant monster that has no problem eating children, and nobody can really tell you what to expect because it lives at the center of an incredibly complex, pitch black maze. As you stand at the entrance, barely able to see in past a few feet, Ariadne runs up. "It's dangerous to go alone! Here, take this." *ball of string*

Keeping this in mind, back to the sculpture: What Canova shows is a unique way of demonstrating the incredible nature of this epic battle. This man is exhausted, shaken, the seething adrenaline still tingling in his system. He has staggered backward to shakily sit on the fallen body, and looks down in something like awe at the monster, its dead muscles still bulging and solid. It is an angle of a hero we rarely ever see or even imagine, and somehow seeing this moment makes his triumph all the more awe-inspiring.

Finally, like I said, the V&A also has one other Canova. Although this one does not have quite so much of a myth behind it, it is conveniently enough the last piece he ever worked on.

Sleeping Nymph

Because she is simply meant to be a random sleeping nymph, the sculpture is now free to become only about the art and execution itself, and is therefore a great example of Canova's paradoxical style. She seems stiff for a sleeping figure, over-posed, and yet there is still such an alluring softness about her body. The V&A website describes her as both cold and ''drained of blood,'' yet still ''intensely erotic,'' and I have to agree.

 Again, there is a beautiful shine to the marble, and this seems to add to this sense of heady sensuality somehow presented in chill stone. She is both vulnerable and untouchable, presented as in that middle realm between life and death: sleep.

These are, to my knowledge, the only pieces of Canova's I've been able to see so far. 

There is a curious story about one of his most famous pieces, The Three Graces: Essentially, the original and best wound up (again) in freaking Russia, but a Duke of England fell so in love with the sculpture he commissioned Canova to make another. This one, though not quite as masterful, is also beautiful, and so a few decades after the Duke's death and some intense legal battles, the V&A and the National Galleries in Scotland teamed up to buy it. Now it spends three years in one place, then the three years in another, and unfortunately, it seems I just barely missed it. Maybe I'll get to see them in Scotland??

Overall, Canova's other work is surely worth a google image search- although of course we have artistic masters of our own day and age, and I do believe they are doing work that is equally as impressive, I also believe it tends to be often expressed in new technologies and mediums. On top of this, especially as a student of the humanities, I feel like our generation is constantly plagued with the question of "is this art?" We agonize over where to draw the line, and accordingly, I truly believe we are swamped with people who take advantage of that, passing off uninspired, overpriced, shock-value creations as "pushing boundaries."

I love looking at the older, marble sculptures because it helps to put things back in perspective; pieces like these help me to breathe in the midst of what sometimes feels like impending artistic anarchy. I feel when we lose our sense of ''what is art,'' we must turn back to the masters and try again to recognize what it is in their work that inspires our respect. Whatever this tiny, undefinable seed is, it is always, always within all immortal works of any form; it is this we must try to find in ourselves, and this which we should try to discover in the sea of what is being created today.

Paris: April 9-13

Hello all! This past Easter Break I was on the road constantly, hopping from one country to another. It has, admittedly, put me in quite a tight spot with essays... however, I ultimately came to this conclusion: a few weeks of essay writing hell for the chance to see five major cities in four different countries? Bring on the hell.

I've got three 4,000 word essays due May 19. I turned in the first one already, and now I'm hoping to finish the second by Wednesday. However, at the moment, I am taking a break to do what any good English major would do while taking a break: write some more. So, without further ado... April 9 to 13: Paris! My second time in the city of lights (I visited in 2008 with an undergraduate class).

The first night, Ivo (the handsome Peruvian guy in all my pictures) and I faced all the goofy fun of traveling on a student's budget (arriving in the middle of the night, struggling to find the right bus, walking past what we're really pretty sure were two carjackers in the act on the way to our hostel, etc).

What a view! Right out our hostel window.

However, there are two things to remember while you're in Paris, number one being: duh, you're in freaking Paris. Number two is that the city is magical, and if you're traveling with somebody else who knows this (which I was), everything will work out just fine. Sure enough, thanks to several extremely patient natives, we somehow managed to arrive at our clean, quiet hostel without having spent a single euro. 

Sunday morning Paris was at its sunshiny best, and in addition to the gorgeous weather, the Paris Marathon was being held that week too. This marathon is a MASSIVE event in Europe and (especially since it's used as a fundraiser) put the the whole city into glorious festival mode for the week! Music, food stands, and incredibly friendly people were everywhere. 

~

We wasted no time hitting up the big sites! Even now, after having seen so many other cathedrals around the world, Notre Dame is still my favorite. St. Peter's in Rome is bigger, more overwhelmingly ornate and colorful, but the reason cathedrals are my favorite thing to visit is because of their personalities.

St. Peter's in Rome, for example, is shamelessly enormous, and the marble sometimes looks so white in the sun you'd think it could burn you. It sits at the head of an almost horseshoe shaped square, constructed so that the mother church can welcome her children into her arms; the ''arms'' of buildings wrap around visitors, guiding them to the entrance. While there's a warmth to this, there is also something vaguely unnerving about being enveloped and drawn into the church: essentially, St. Peter's emphasizes the mystical and unfathomable power of God as the overseer, and the fact that this power is something we should feel ashamed to ever question. While the expression of this attitude inevitably impresses, it also leaves a subtle aftertaste of pomposity. The dome too, while stately, also seemed to me like a bulbous, swollen thing; this, along with the marble and infinite detail, exists to dwarf the visiter. In short, St. Peter's works hard to make you feel tiny.

Notre Dame however, with the French Gothic architecture, has an infinitely different personality. The construction itself is both intricate and straightforward: lace cut from unassuming stone. Of course this cathedral is enormous too, but when crane your head back to look upwards in this place, it simply reminds man of humility, as opposed to demanding feelings of insignificance. One can breathe here, albeit quietly, but there still a sense of the union, of God as parent and permeating spiritual presence.

 In St.Peter's, all is bright and white, and the "God" entity seems to glare straight down through the windows of the high dome-- the light is almost unbearable at certain angles.

 In dim Notre Dame though, the light is either warm and amber from the prayer candles, or else transfigured and tinted by the stained glass windows through which it enters. To stand in the light of the Rose Window...  Notre Dame emphasizes profound and natural connection, and does so without insult to the existence of the mortal. St. Peter's was built to be a temple; Notre Dame was constructed to be a house of God. I'm so grateful to have gotten to see this masterpiece a second time in my life! 

We also passed through a crowd of marathon supporters to have a look at the Arc de Triomphe. However, when we (naturally) went to go climb Napoleon's monument to his victory at Austerlitz, I remembered it is actually harder to reach than it looks. You see the photo and think, hey, just cross the street? Nope. A sea of roundabout traffic makes it impossible- we actually had to hunt down the underground entrance.

As usual, though, the view was worth the effort.

You can see just how massive the crowd was for this Marathon! Incredibly though, nothing we went to go see was ever too packed- Paris really knows how to handle tourists effectively.

We did a combination of a hop on, hop off tour bus plus a whole heck of a lot of walking while we in the main city area. Behind me here is the Pont Alexander III bridge, generally considered the most beautiful bridge Paris has to offer. 

This particular evening I knew I wanted to return to one specific area for dinner: the square around Montemartre, where artists gather during the day and street performers of an evening.

(Obligatory)

On your way to Montemarte, you inevitably pass the Moulin Rouge- it's at the very bottom of the very, veeeery steep hill you have to climb to reach the square. But, as always, my love of climbing stuff paid off again- after we dragged our poor, aching feet up the winding hill, we were rewarded with a spectacular view of the city.

Ivo fact that I did not know beforehand: Anything taller than a certain height can only be built in one specific area, so that nothing can disrupt the perfect views of the city (hence the awkward cluster of tall business buildings).

Good grief. I am so sunburned.

And if the view alone weren't reward enough, the dinner we had that night definitely was; pretty sure it wasn't just the wine that made it feel surreal.

No, this is not an attractive picture of me, BUT if only so you can see how nice this set up was- just to my right there was a charming French man playing piano. It was such a nice, warm evening that the windows were open, and the occasional artist and street performers would come by, trying to earn some tips from the people sitting outside. (When you eat outside here, you are lined up with your back to the restaurant facing the open square.)

We had what was probably the single most stereotypically French dinner possible- haha, here's to being a completely shameless tourist and loving it! The escargot was delicious; I've had it a few times before, but this was some of the tastiest!

We also gave frog legs a shot! Ok. The meat itself is so tasty, super tender, almost sweet. However, the legs are so, so tiny that it's almost impossible to eat the meat off the bones. Ivo was able to just crunch down on the tiny little bones, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it! I've decided the solution is to just engineer frogs the size of chickens- scientists, go!

And also: duck. Again, so unbelievably good. The meat was so soft, it just fell off the bone.

We wrapped up that night by walking back to Sacre Coeur (the cathedral on top of the hill at Montemartre), and having a beer on the steps as we looked out over the city. Now that's how you spend an evening in Paris!

~

Of course we hit up the Louvre as well- our time was short and Paris is big, so this time we just headed straight for the big name masterpieces.

Through hall after hall of utterly overwhelming art and beauty... There is so much art here. I can't imagine being the one to organize all this! 

"Another DaVinci?? For Pete's sake, just, I don't know, yeah there. Just stick it there."

Winged Victory stands tall and proud at the top of the majestic staircase that leads to the section with the museum's most well known art (following shortly). She's beautiful, and the mystery surrounding her missing limbs only makes her more of an attraction. I only found out this time that the right ring is just a symmetrical cast of the left one- just like her head and most of her arms, it is missing.

The Venos de Milo comes shortly after. Apparently, thanks to rediscovered fragments, we do know the position that her arms were originally in (one lowered to hold up the cloth, the other holding up an apple up for her to look at).

My favorite fact about her though (thanks, wiki) is that her sister statue, the Medici Venus, is technically the better work of art. However, in 1815, the French finally had to return it to the Italians (since Napoleon had looted it). Instead of moping over losing the Medici Venus though, they just raised a huge fuss about their Venus de Milo- and thus, it becomes famous.

Of course we also saw the Mona Lisa (she was beautiful, as always), and shortly after Ivo made a bee line for the famous paintings of Napoleon (his personal superhero). 

Clearly, the paintings did not disappoint.

We ran by the mummies in the Egypt exhibit too (that is a real live dead body!), and finally walked through the room of outdoor sculptures before we left.

This is one of my favorites, by François Joseph Bosio- it's Hercules slaying Achelous, who is a water god and has transformed himself into a snake (naturally, it was over some chick). Coincidentally, I found out later too, Bosio also did the sculpture on top of the other Arc de Triomphe (the one that gets totally trumped by the bigger, more famous Arc).

We had a look at the less famous Arc, which is right after you exit the Louvre, and then headed onwards through the Tuileries Gardens. While it was tempting to just sit and rest there though, we summoned all our remaining strength and embarked on a final stretch of adventure for the day... to Luxembourg Palace. 

On the way, we were able to stop by this beauty too- St. Sulplice Cathedral. I'm sitting on the Fountain of the Four Bishops. Tragically, it was closed at this point, so we couldn't go inside.

We reached our destination at last though- I love how they even cut the trees to appear perfectly straight! This palace was built for the mother of King Louis XIII, and as with everything else in Paris, the scene was absolutely flawless. 

Haha, there is a picture of me sitting in front of the palace, but I figured I'd show off my photography skills instead this time. I can't imagine being able to come relax in front of something like this on a regular basis! 

Even the flowers had been so meticulously planted... that detail! It looked like a mosaic pattern, they were so perfectly laid out.

At the end of the day, although you can technically see the Eiffel from all over the city, it's really essential to go see it at night at some point. I think my favorite part this time was getting to bring someone here who had never seen this before, especially since about every twenty minutes, the tower is lit up like a Christmas tree, sparkling all over. Even though I knew it was coming, it's still an incredible thing to see, and even better is the look on a first timer's face when it bursts into lights!

~

Finally, there is Versailles. Perhaps one of the most amazing things to see in this amazing city, this mind-blowingly ornate palace looked spectacular in the sunlight.

First thing, after you wait in a massive line and get through security, you join the sea of people working their way through the palace itself. This part can be a little rough, with everyone crowding in to see the same things, or pushing and shoving to keep up with friends and tour guides. Even with that being the case though, it's hard not to be floored by the richness of every palace room and hallway.

The Hall of Mirrors- used daily by King Louis XIV.

This is one of the craziest things to see. It was from this room Marie Antoinette just barely (and unfortunately for her, temporarily) escaped the mobs who stormed the palace- there's a hidden door in the wall by the jewelry cabinet. Honestly though, can you imagine, having been forced to watch your children starve, barely able to provide the means of existence for yourself, busting down the doors into this?? I think I'd have a mind to tell her just what to do with that cake too.

Once you've seen everything in the palace, you exit out the back- it's a lot more fun to sit inside the golden gates and look out at the crowds waiting to get in!

We totally sat on the ledge at the back there and ate smuggled in Nutella and strawberries! Take that, silly security rules.

After this, though, the real attraction to this magical place begins. You round the corner, the crowds thin out and dissipate, and suddenly you are facing the magnificent French gardens of what was once the uncontested French monarchy.

French gardens are an art: paintings by Leo da Vinci, sculptures by Michelangelo, poetry by Shakespeare, gardens by the French. It's not about just slapping down some flowers in a patch of green-- everything is precise, defined, absolutely intentional and often even highly symbolic.

The pictures speak for themselves, but honestly, once you got back into the winding mazes of gardens, white wish seeds and petals floating through the air... As you wander, ''miniature'' gardens like this appear, each one with a story or theme. This one was my favorite- it features a rebellious giant (Enceladus) being cast back down into the Earth by (I believe) a thunder bolt.

We ended the day with another illegal picnic- ha, the benefits of carrying around a large purse. You really can't go wrong in Paris with food. Literally everything you buy is absolutely delicious, the food from the grocery store next to our hostel included.

Baguette, hams, cheese, and pâté (spreadable duck liver??) while we sat by the main stretch of water in front of Versailles.

This was the last photo we took before the camera we had finally died- haha, I'm glad he got it, even though I look like a hair monster from the wind.

 All in all, the palace gardens are breath taking, and absolutely worth the train rain out of the main city. It seems entirely possible that just from breathing the air here I've developed some sort of magical abilities... and if not from the air itself, then definitely from all the little fuzzies that floated their way into my ice cream as we were walking through the garden maze!

~

Our last day, even with our flight at 2pm, we had one final place on our "must visit" list: Napoleon's tomb. So that morning, bright and early and fully packed, we checked out and headed over with intentions to just take a few pictures and then bolt.

"Coffin? Coffins are for pansies. I want a giant sarcophagus."

However, the tomb (above) turned out to be right next to a massive museum... with a sweet armory collection. You might be able to guess where this is tragically going...

Yes... it happened. After an all out sprint to the airport in a desperate panic, we were informed that we had, in fact... missed our flight. Needless to say, I was miffed. In the end, though, I decided it was just Paris working with the universe in general to get us to stay and continue one of the best weeks I've had the pleasure to live- looking at it that way, I can deal with the tragedy of missing a flight... and simply resolve to never, EVER do so again!

One of the best things about this trip was being able to go with someone who had never been to the city before. Secretly, I've always thought that revisiting a place simply wasn't practical when there is SO much to see while abroad. It's an attitude I've always suffered from: I don't reread books, I don't play games twice, and there are even only a handful of movies that I'll watch more than once! However, I am happy to have been proven wrong once again. Paris became more for me this time, the new mingling with the old, and because of that, I appreciated what it had to offer all the more.

I think this city will be one of my resolute favorites, for its spirit, its food, its history, and its art, and now too for all the wonderful memories I've made while exploring here. I can't wait to show my family around this incredible place- I know they will love when they come to visit me in June!