To think of the world without our mark upon it threatens our vision of ourselves and our assumed immortality. Maybe it’s our hubris. But, the reality is that our buildings, statues, and artifacts are just as mortal as we are. They too can be tarnished with the passing of time, or—to our horror—brought down in a single, tragic event. There may be no better example than the recent damage to Notre Dame.
I had never been to Paris. On my list was all those emblematic tourist spots, including Notre Dame. It was a cold, but sunny, day in February and I had only a critical few hours of sightseeing crammed into the afternoon, as I was leaving for Austria the next morning.
Getting off the metro at St-Michel Notre Dame, I felt the excitement grow as a cold, fresh breeze welcomed me back up to the street level. I caught my first glimpse of the iconic towers as I strolled across the Rue de la Cité bridge onto the Île de Cité. First up was a stroll through the interior of the cathedral. I meandered around the massive stone structure, eyes peeled upwards, barely avoiding crashing into the swarms of other tourists. In square, I gazed upon the medieval French kings that stood on guard, watching all who crossed over the threshold and into the sacred space of the church.
I was astonished with the grandeur of the place as soon as I crossed the threshold into the cathedral. We have this preconceived image of Notre Dame brandished into our brains but until you see those grand, gothic ceilings and the glittering stain glass, there is no way you can understand just how beautiful it actually was. Wandering through the hallways, I stopped at every alter, every plaque. I lit a candle for my loved ones and listened peacefully to the mass being held in French. For over an hour, I wandered, head up, wondering at the marvel of the architecture and art.
Exiting the cathedral, I headed towards the electronic kiosks where you could purchase tickets for the arduous climb up to the tower. Much to my annoyance, there was no immediate spot available. The next opening was three hours later. What was I going to do for three hours in February with a chill in the air and limited daylight? I canceled the transaction on the kiosk and got out of line. I thought to myself I didn’t have enough time. I had seen the pictures already anyways. Plus, it would be there later for me to try again, maybe the next time I was in Paris. I had recently started dating a gorgeous man in Austria and figured out that the cheapest way to get to him was a flight into Paris, and so I was anticipating more visits in my future—but that’s a story for another time.
As I began to walk away, I hesitated. I stopped in the middle of the tourist chaos of the square and looked up. There were the notorious gargoyles looking down at me, mocking me for my impatience. Screw it, I thought, as I got back into the kiosk line. I looked through my emails and realized I also had tickets to the Sainte-Chappelle and the Conciergerie, so I had something to do until the appointment. Of course, by the time I got back to the kiosk, the next available time was even later. Whatever, I guess I could throw in a visit to the Crypte Archéologique for good measure. Turns out, Sainte-Chappelle is one of my favorite sights in Paris now. And the Roman ruins and artifacts in the Crypte were just up my alley as a history geek with experience in archeological digs. Each worthy of a visit in and of themselves and a great use of my afternoon that chilly February day.
A half hour before my scheduled time for the tower, I made my way back through the square. It felt oddly familiar. Even though I had only seen the building once before, there was a sense of nostalgia that I felt upon returning. I knew exactly where to go this time and I gladly got in line for my epic journey up the 387 steps to the south tower.
The view was worth the wait. The city sprawled across the horizon in a maze of decorative streets and alleyways. Across the Seine in the distance I could see the Eiffel Tower piercing the hazy afternoon sky. There I was, eye to eye with those gargoyles that had beckoned me from above while I hesitated in the courtyard.
I can’t help now but look back at the scaffolding surrounding the spire that would later lead to the tragedy that would happen only two short months after I was there.
The only constant is change. What we know and take for granted today will not last forever; it may not even be there tomorrow. When you have a spur of the moment idea—when that wanderlust creeps up on you—don’t put it off. There are always ways to fund the trip and always ways to find the time off. What will not always be there are those sights, both manmade and natural. In a world of constant evolution and climate change, we can’t take anything for granted. Book that trip to that far away place you have always dreamed of visiting. Live and travel like tomorrow is not guaranteed.
Now, I don’t plan on this blog to be so serious all the time. But, I wanted to kick off this experiment with a nod to this experience. I almost missed my chance to walk the top of the cathedral before tragedy struck. I know that it will open again. Yet, it will never be the same; and honestly, who knows how long the restoration will take.
Comments