In planning my first trip to Paris, I didn’t care about seeing Notre Dame. I’d read so many descriptions of it by the likes of Dumas, Hugo, Zola.
How could Notre Dame be so special? I thought.
We landed at Charles de Gaulle the day before Thanksgiving 2003. I was shellshocked from my very first trans-Atlantic flight. While MTM snored beside me, I contorted myself into every position my cursed economy class seat allowed. I never even napped, people, and I was pissed upon landing.
Europe was gray: overcast sky, spitting rain, bland customs agents, so-so train. We boarded with our bags and emerged from the dark tunnel onto a sunken railway line littered with trash and graffiti.
I flew all the way to Europe for this? I fumed to myself.
MTM pushed us off the train at Gare du Nord. “We’ll walk to the hotel from here. It’ll do us good.”
“I’m too tired to walk,” I whined. “Can we just find a bench and sleep right now?”
Humanity bumped past us as MTM dragged me from exit to exit, stair to stair. “What was wrong with that one?” I demanded when he backed up, stepped on my toe, and pivoted to another opening at the opposite end.
After three false starts, he finally, mercifully picked a stair and started up, with me bitching my way behind him.
The stair yawned into a park. Misty air hit my cheeks. Clouds parted. The sun came out and shined like a spotlight on the hulk of stone to my left.
“Notre Dame,” I breathed, tears coursing down my face. “I’m really in Paris. Not reading about it in a book.”
Because a few things are better than any book. Like seeing Notre Dame for the first time.
My solidarity and support go out to the French people as they mourn the destruction of Our Lady of Paris. I’m crying with you. With French will, vim, and vigor, as well as support from those of us she’s touched, she will rise again.
I may not be Dumas, Hugo, or Zola, but readers like my books. Check them out HERE, and buy them direct HERE.
12 Comments
Fun photos. Who are those kids?
I KNOW. I cannot believe we were that young.
I have been to Paris only via books, but this makes me cry regardless.
The Hunchback of Notre Dame takes you there. You can touch the walls. Smell the layers of incense. Hear the breath of the souls who’ve gone through the place.
I have always wanted to see it and now am extra sad about the loss of it
They saved the main structure. It may not be the same, but it will be rebuilt. I’m hopeful.
Hope they can fix it… and it’s wonderful, inside and outside…
They are hopeful. We are hopeful. ❤️
It’s truly tragic. If the loss means so much to the world, I can’t imagine what it means to the French. So difficult.
I have another story. Will tell it when I have time. Notre Dame will rise again. Perhaps in altered form but it needed to happen. The wood roof has been a fire hazard for centuries. They’ll replace it with less flammable stuff.
Beautiful tribute.
Thank you.
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