What do six Southern women of varying ages and a heat wave have in common? They all land in Paris, France at the same time! And I don't know that France will ever be the same.
2017 was a tough year for our family. In the midst of the turmoil, a plan was hatched to give us all something to look forward to - a European river cruise. Somehow we manage to sync our schedules and put this trip together with our motley crew consisting of my mother, my two aunts, my sister and an unwitting friend. We arrive in Paris, jet lagged and loopy during an historical heatwave - the second hottest on record. But the heat does not deter us; it merely makes us hydrate more with wine.
I have a plan. I always have a plan. Everything I have read on the internet and every person with whom I have spoken about Paris has advised - no commanded - that I must see Sainte Chapelle. After we are dropped off at the statue of Winston Churchill, next to the Petite Palais, we set off on foot with the Seine as our guide. "Oh, it's just down this way" we are told again and again. "Take a left, then a right, and it will be right there." And we believe them because they speak French and we are in search of something wonderful to behold and did I mention they speak French?
The problem is, it's 95 degrees and 2:00 p.m. in the afternoon. The heat from the concrete slaps us in the face, as if to say, "You stupid Americans! Please leave us alone and return to your home country!" Parched, we press on until we find respite in a shady French cafe where we order Pschitt (pronounced exactly the way you think it is) and chocolate cake. Who doesn't love chocolate cake and Pschitt, especially in Paris. It sounds so wonderful in French!
I drag my family on more lefts and more rights. We are walking, no slogging through the streets of Paris. I not only feel the burn of the scorching sun on my neck, I feel my family's eyes boring a hole in my back until, voila! The entrance to the Sainte Chapelle appears before us. It does not look promising and I'm beginning to wonder if this was all a giant, cosmic hoax. Could I have been misled by friends and the internet alike?
Upon entering the chapel on the first floor, I am not impressed. I'm sweating - not from the heat of the day but from the heat I feel emanating from my traveling companions. "Ah, there are stairs! Let's go up!" I try to keep the mood light and hopeful.
When we reach the second floor, it's as if heaven opens up and throws me a bone. It is, in short, spectacular.
No comments:
Post a Comment