Stone and Glass and Why We Should Look at Them (and climb so many stairs)




Daddy and me (and Nip the cat, the first of way too many Beanie Babies) atop L'Arc de Triomphe

On my last trip to Paris it was 1998 and I distinctly recall my parents trying to drag me into La Conciergerie to see Marie Antoinette's cell, and me protesting firmly that I had to finish Captain Underpants instead. This trip I arrived a ravenous Humanities major, albeit with some "personal issues" to sort through. As Brookie (an endlessly perceptive and profound best friend) wrote me as I left, "Nan, things are tough and rough and I think you feel like a tumble weed, it'll be nice to see old fashioned things that have lasted through time, maybe they'll teach you their secrets and things."

So I set out to look at some old things because I love art and history and because, perhaps, in some way they might teach me a thing or two about perserverance.
At once I met with some hard blows to my idealism. I guess I never wanted to pay attention to the fact that most of what we want to see of medieval Paris has been restored, lost, changed,  and/or destroyed and/or plundered during the revolution (aka "These are not François I's bed curtains. I want to see François I's bed curtains").
The original stuff is crumbily, dirty, and graffitied, and of course I'm broadly generalizing and simplifying to make a point.

My point is this:

The beauty of Paris' rich architectural and cultural past isn't determined by how "original" the upholstery or whether the handrail was replaced in the nineties.

It lies in the fact that century after century people have worked, reigned, prayed, fought, and lived in this city, adding their own contributions with a nod, always, to those of the past. The result is a marvelous jumble of layer upon layer of stone (and now also FNACS) that coexist with the new and give little whispers of the past while reminding you that what you (I, really) need to do is think about your (my) future.

And for the record, I did't think the Conciergerie was that great this time either, but maybe mostly because I didn't find Charles Darnay on the list of the imprisoned. But then again, I've always had a hard time separating reality and Charles Dickens (or Captain Underpants).