2. Parvis de Notre Dame

(walk towards the Cathedral) 

 

A parvis is the plaza in front of a church. The one in front of the Notre Dame is now about four times the size of what it was in medieval Paris.Try to ignore the ugly display they've put up for the 850th anniversary of the Cathedral (I've cut it out of the photo because I feel it ruins the sight). Hopefully it'll be gone by next year. 

Make your way down to the Cathedral, elbowing through the multitude of tourists, and look around on the ground for a little bronze plaque that says Point Zero.

This is the official centre of the city. When you look up a distance to Paris, they're telling you the distance from this point. I was so fascinated by this that I kept stepping in and out of it, until I noticed people giving me funny looks.

You'll probably notice a large statue to your right, of Charles I "The Great" or Charlemagne. Most kings after Clovis weren't particularly impressive, and were given titles like "The Stammerer", "The Simple", "The Do Nothing", "The Mad", or (my personal favourite) "The Posthumous". Charles stood out, as is reasonably clear.

Charles, standing out.

His empire didn't last too long after he died. His grandkids divided it and apparently that was the foundation of Germany. At the time, the capital of the empire wasn't Paris, it'd been shifted to Aachen - closer to what's now Germany. Paris was still, however, a well known Cathedral town (it had both the St. Denis and the Notre Dame, impressive even now, so I'm not surprised). Through his many conquests, Charlemagne was apparently exposed to so much culture that he forced all churches to give lessons in reading, writing and basic arithmetic. All cathedrals, on the other hand, had to provide higher education: physics, theology, the lot. Much later, it was a bunch of teachers whose teachings got a little too radical for the Notre Dame that crossed over the river and founded the St. Genevieve university: the starting of what is now the Sorbonne.

If you're lucky - and you probably will be, if it's summer - you'll get to see people busking. Not all of them are good, I have to admit, but even so. This particular chap was from Spain (or so I gathered, given that he kept changing the lyrics of Englishman in New York to "Spanishman in Paris"). Towards the night on the walking bridge just behind the statue of Charlemagne, you'll probably see people roller-blading or - as I did in one rare occasion - people in afros dancing to Chaiyya Chaiyya.

Crossing over the square to the other side, you can get a view of the Hotel Dieu, the first hospital of Paris (in fact, if you read the Wikipedia article, it actually says it "was the first hospital in Paris until the Renaissance", which has left me a little confused). 

Constructed in 660 A.D, when poverty was a problem, the Hotel Dieu was very useful to the rich - who were faced with the awkward situation that the very things that had gotten them rich (or that being rich let them do) would also be responsible for their eternal damnation. So, supporting the hospital became a form of penance: buying your way into heaven, that sort of thing.

Interestingly, the view towards the poor soon changed, and by the 17th century, hospitals had turned into a sort of place to confine the poor and stop them from generally going around and showing people how poor they were. In fact, it was only by the 19th century that the place even started practising medicine, but hey better late than never.

A woodcut of what it must've looked like inside. Check out the dude using his mobile on the right. The sisters don't look pleased.

(Go back to the front of the Notre Dame and look contemplative)

Taking to the Streets

I really should get my act together, I said to myself, and so when Ritwika said she was coming over to Paris, I decided that whether she liked it or not she was going to see an interesting side to the city. Not, of course, that the city in itself wasn't interesting, but that in a sense Paris is overdone even before one's begun visiting it. Everyone's seen the Eiffel Tower, everyone's heard of the Notre Dame - even if, like me, your image of it was based on gargoyles and men with hunched backs jumping on bells - and thanks to Dan Brown everyone knows about the Louvre.

This was something that irritated me a bit, when I first got to the city. It seemed that the only interesting things were the things that were overdone. Also, while beautiful, it seemed at the time (wrongly, I might add) that the city was a little too homogeneous for my liking. The same type of buildings: nothing old, and more importantly, no contradictions. And it is from all this that I decided to do a little bit of snooping around to find stuff. So I'd like you to follow me on a little (preliminary) walk around Paris, with lots of (possibly erroneous) historical facts.

Look out for the little signs :)

1) Le Petit Pont  

(get off at the St. Michel-Notre Dame RER station and walk towards the Notre Dame)

This tiny bridge was probably one of the most important sites of Paris, back when crossing the river wasn't quite as easy as today. Being the narrowest point in the river, it wouldn't be too far-fetched to assume that the city grew around it, so to speak.

Paris started off as a village of Gaulish fisherfolk, called the Parisii, the earliest traces of whom date around 250 BC. They lived relatively blameless lives, until the Romans - doing what they did best - conquered them. The Romans set up a garrison camp (if you're imagining something out of Asterix, you wouldn't be too far off mark) which they called Lutetia (again, ring any Asterix-y bells?). The place evolved from a simple camp to a center of culture, with baths and temples and even an amphitheatre. This lasted for another 500 years or so, until the Germanic tribes from the north kept raiding the place and the Romans lost their stronghold. Towards the end of the Roman rule the city reverted to it's 'original' name, Paris.

So around the fifth century-ish, Paris was under the aegis of a germanic tribe called the Franks. Interestingly, the Hindi word Firangi - used to mean foreigner - comes from the Persian Farangi, in turn from the Arabic Faranji which can ultimately be traced back to the word Frank. (Apparently the "fr" sound isn't allowed in Arabic, and the -i was a sort of suffix to describe different ethnic groups.)

Clovis (the first) was the first King of the Franks. Up until it then the Franks were a bunch of unruly tribes, headed by their chieftains, until he unified them. He was also, interestingly, a Roman Catholic. He supposedly converted because his wife forced him to. Interestingly this helped him stand out from the large proliferation of other kings who seemed to be popping up everywhere. Back then Catholicism was a minority religion, and most Christians were Arian Christians. I hadn't heard about them before, but as far as I can tell, they separate Christ from God, and thus get rid of the idea of the trinity (you know, the father, son, holy spirit thing).

Clovis' legacy is an interesting one. Being not only the founder of Paris, in a sense, but also of a Catholic Paris. Interestingly, the name Louis, a modification of Clovis, was used (as I'm sure you know) by 18 kings. So he's done good, I'd say.

(Cross over the Petit Pont and walk towards the Notre Dame)

The Walk to Barneville-Carteret

The course was good, things were plodding along with the sort of drab day to day certainty which - while reassuring at first - soon tends to end up with you wanting to throw something heavy at someone. A change is always welcome, and for me that change came in the way of an extremely overambitious undertaking - walking forty kilometers to the commune of Barneville-Carteret. 

Why this town and no other, you ask? Well, I looked at a map and tried to find things that were around 40km away and I couldn't find anything interesting except this place. Apart from that, there was a picture of a very old church from the twelfth century on the beach, and I immediately knew I wanted to see it. 

The walk itself was rather fun for the first 20 km. I started at 6 in the morning, and took a detailed set of roadmaps, but in fact all I ended up using was Google Maps on my phone. Very useful, that thing. The French countryside in the early morning (or indeed, at almost anytime when you can see it because there isn't any rain) is beautiful.

The next 10 km were a little harder than I'd expected, but after that it became really horrible because I'd hit the main highway by then and there really wasn't anything to see at all, except for the road and not really anywhere to sit either. And, being paranoid that I would die of the cold, I had taken more warm clothing than I'd needed, so my backpack was really heavy. 

As if this wasn't bad enough, I realised that even once I *got* to Barneville I'd have to walk around to see things! I never realised how dependent I was on the idea of a rickshaw: somebody who, for not too outrageous a sum of money, would take you places. Anyway, Barneville was practically deserted, but it's a good thing I went there because I managed to get a map and directions from the office of tourism. They gave me a map and told me how to go to Carteret. The walk would have been pleasant, if it wasn't for the feeling that my legs would fall off. I decided I'd walk up to the cape of Carteret, for no real reason.

On my way, though, I did run into a curious piece of history. I took a wrong road, and then tried to correct myself by taking a small by-lane Rue Franklin Bouillon. I paused for a minute to catch my breath when I noticed a plaque on the wall to my right. Figured it was Latin, and that was odd enough, so I clicked a picture of it, and of the largish house behind it. Googled when I got back, and found a rather interesting story: only one site online had anything to say about it.

The plaque reads: JOVEM OPTIMUM MAXIMUM ET DIANAM HABEAT IRATOS QUISQUIS HIC MINXERIT ANT CA­CA­VIT. Or in English, He who urinates or defecates here will incur the wrath of the great and mighty Jupiter and Diane.

  

Not an altogether strange message, but writing it in Latin is not exactly the most effective way of getting the idea across.

The Château, called the Château des Sirènes, was constructed by a painter, Adolphe Lalire who had visited Carteret in the late 1800s and fallen in love with it. Interestingly enough, he was called La Lyre, and he painted a lot of Mermaids (who are known to play the lyre to attract unwary sailors to their deaths). Another curious, though perhaps far fetched link is this: Nero was also famous for playing the Lyre while Rome burned. Interestingly, a similar plaque existed outside Nero's home in Rome. Make what you will of it.

The Cape itself was fantastic: I got a very good view of the islands of Jersey and Guernsey, as the sun was setting on them. There was a rather precarious path along the cape which was a little dangerous, but very beautiful. In all this walking, I'd forgotten all about the church that I'd set out to see, so it came as very pleasant surprise when I turned a corner and bang! there it was in front of me.

The entire walk along the cape was damn nice. Tiring as hell, though. The last (well, it was also the third) bus from Barneville back to Cherbourg was at 6 in the evening, so I decided to give myself one hour for the 2 km stretch. Made it just in time. There were three people in the bus: the driver, her grandson and me. I was so tired I slept through most of the journey. When I got off at the stop near the institute I was staying, I realised I hadn't eaten for nearly the whole day. Walked to McDonald's (yes, I know, horrible) and then walked back. A walk that would have otherwise taken me ten minutes took me over an hour. Interesting, the next few days it wasn't my legs that were complaining so much as my back. Note to self: never pack too many warm clothes.

The Interlude

I tried desperately to write about something after I got here, but somehow or the other nothing really worked out. I will probably add to this post slowly, in the future, as I think back on my first few days in France.

Cherbourg welcomed us with sunny skies - quite a welcome change from the all permeating grey of Paris, but also a very deceptive one. It wasn't too long till we realised that it was all a clever ruse to get us to stay.

The course is damn good, but the fact that the sun rises at 9 and sets by 4.30 and that *we* begin classes by 8 and have them to 5, sort of means that we have very little daylight time at all.

The List

The List: before

Oh how I hate shopping. It is, of course, a good idea to do it before the first week of

August, because you'll get a lot of cheap clearance sales going on after the Winter.

And as for warm clothes, I have the misfortune of living in Chennai. Over here, most people laugh if you ask them if they have warm clothes. I asked this shop chap for woolen socks and he showed me 'women' socks. I explained the concept of wool and he didn't know there were socks made out of them. If you're from the North, chances are you'll find some places with good warm clothes. 

Now, I've heard that we shouldn't buy warm clothes from India because they're usually very bulky and are made for the Indian weather - so that if our pesky sun decides to show up unexpectedly, the wearer won't die of suffocation. This sounds sensible.

The List: after 

I've got one good jacket, though, after much searching. I managed to find one after a lot of searching at Woodland. It's this really cool jacket that can be split into two, so it's easy to pack, looks cool, and can be used as a wind-cheater as well. And, it was on a 50% sale! I also found the best (read only) place in Chennai to buy warm clothes, Joonus Sait and Sons (all five generations of them). Chaps have been around since 1905 as their card proudly reads. Look them up.

Also, I'll be going to Cherbourg soon (that's in Normandy, where I'll be spending most of my first year) and apparently the warm clothes there are cheaper than in Paris even though there isn't so much of a range. Of course, this is all hearsay, and I'll definitely write a post about this once I get there. Keep an eye out, I'll put a link to that here when I write it.

The Introduction

I'm writing this blog  in the unlikely event that one of my juniors decides to ask me for 'advice' about going to Paris. It's intended to document my many misadventures in the process, and possibly - just possibly - it might be a half-decent guide to the city. I've always regretted not starting something like this when I entered Stephen's: if only to keep track of all the nice (and cheap!) eating joints I'd been to.

This is a very fluid introduction. When I get something better to say (i.e, when I am actually an Indian in Paris, perhaps I will say it). In the meantime, I will leave this thread hanging: