Thoughts from Notre Dame

It's been a long time since I've been to Paris for more than a travel connection; it's been a long time since I've left the metro/airport/train station. Wednesday night from the taxi, I saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time since 2012. A welcome sight.

When my friend, Melissa, suggested that we meet in front of Notre Dame for coffee, I didn't really think anything of it. Convenient meeting point.

I left the hostel early, unsure of how long it would take to get there (especially lugging around my suitcase). I ended up being a half an hour early for our meeting and stood in the light rain, marveling at « Our Lady ».

The sight of Notre Dame when I surfaced from the metro was like staring into the face of an old friend.

For me, Paris begins and ends at Notre Dame -- historically fairly accurate since once the entire country of France was housed upon that little island in the middle of the Seine. I also pinpoint my time in Notre Dame as the moment I fell irrevocably in love with France.

/Cue flashback

Nearly 10 years ago, I was a (rather surly) teenager picking out classes for my freshman year of high school. Language mandatory. Spanish is for the popular kids. German? Yuck. Friends taking French? French it is! Just like that. One happy little accident.

It's fairly obvious that I fell in love with the language (a mild statement really). What most people don't know is why. Usually I go with some generic variant of « It's the culture! » or « Have you tried the food?? » Both of those are true. But neither really gets to the heart of it.

Nearly 10 years ago now, I sat down in my very first French class. When the teacher asked me « Ça va? » I stared blankly. No French experience outside of a two week intro course 3 years earlier. (Not much stuck, it seems.) The teacher translated and I noted down « Sava = How are you? » (This was later corrected to « Ça va »

A little while later, a young blonde girl walked in. I think I recognized her from middle school but we hadn't really talked -- only seen each other around.

Later that year, we sat next to each other. She became my best friend and remains one of my oldest and closest friends. (Later this year we'll take Paris by storm together.) The next year, my teacher announced that she'd be taking a group of students to France in February. I'll admit: I begged. I used lines like "This might be the only chance I'll ever get to go to France!"

I think it's safe to say that that trip changed my life. I shared it with my mom, which was an experience that I'll treasure forever. For her, going to the top of the Eiffel Tower was the realization of a lifelong dream to travel to Paris. I will always look back fondly at the moments we spent at the top of the Eiffel tower, looking out at Paris all lit up at night. But that isn't when I fell in love.

The « coup de foudre » occurred at some point while I wandered inside Notre Dame, marveling at the age and the architecture.

I spent the trip using my broken, second-year Franch to get « Nous cherchons pour un jersey de Zidaine ». I was so proud of my grammatically incorrect sentences with my horrible American accent. But they understood me all the same and even responded (slowly) in French.  Consider the passion inflamed.

I came back and could only think about studying abroad. I even found a program to study in France for a few weeks during my senior year. My parents objected (given that I would still be under 18). I sulked. They said I could study abroad in college.  And so I waited 6 long years. (Nearly 7.) Too long. Too long.

Finally I arrived back in France. We went to Paris. Climbed the towers of Notre Dame. And the magic returned. A second «Coup de foudre ». My city. My home away from home. My love.

And it starts and ends at Notre Dame. « Our Lady » indeed. My Lady. My one and only true love. There is something profoundly comforting about standing in her shadow. (A comfort, I believe, that has nothing to do with a deity.) Notre Dame de Paris -- the church, the building, the men and women who lived and died building her, Vitor Huge (the author who saved her), her bell tower, her gargoyles, her statues, her age, her beauty. These are my religion.


For most, the Eiffel Tower is the symbol of Paris. For me, the Eiffel Tower is the friend who picks you up at the airport screaming « I missed you!! How are you?! » while hugging you and jumping up and down with excitement. And that's beautiful. That friend is a great friend. (And there is definitely a time when excited screaming and jumping is warranted.) I love that friend. But Notre Dame is the friend standing quietly beside the Eiffel Tower. She doesn't yell; she just smiles. You don't need to say anything to each other. Everything can be said with a look. She's there, silently taking your backpack because she just knows your back hurts, offering to drive because she knows you're exhausted.

Even in the midst of Parisian bustle, Notre Dame is calming. Thursday morning, when the sun was yet to rise, my only company the Lady herself, a few runners and the rats that live in her gardens (a new discovery), I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. This place, this building, this city, this language has shaped my life, given me purpose. The beginnings of it all came back. All the things that French has given me: starting with a best friend and ending with a life purpose. I am forever in the debt of my Lady. The building that started it all. My home away from home; my calm in the storm.

I needed her that morning. After Wednesday's craziness, mishaps with printing, and all the rushing to come, I needed my calm. I needed the reminder of why I'm here, of why I'm going through the stress of grad school applications, why I'll dedicate the next chunk of my life to the careful study of French literature, why I'll spend the rest of my life a slave to students and the American university system while weathering the Pressure to Publish.

Paris begins and ends at Notre Dame; she is my true love. No one will ever hold me like she does. And I'm glad she reminded me. I've spent the last week and a half re-centering myself -- starting with Notre Dame, my family, my friends. Who knows what will be next.

I leave for Paris tonight, and my only regret is that I won't have time to go visit Her until April. Until next time, my Lady.