Paris to Normandy, Day 10 — Notre Dame & Placa de le Republique

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Photos from Day 10, Notre Dame & Placa de le République

We figured most of Paris slept this early on a Sunday morning holiday weekend, and we were right. We felt like the first intruders in the slumbering city; the only others to be walking about were the ones that hadn't yet called it a night. We wanted to be near the front of the line when they opened the doors to the top of Notre Dame, and were cautiously pleased when there was no line yet. Barb went over to read the sign by the gate and I shot the church.

"It doesn't open until 10," she said returning. WHAT?!! It was quite cold and we definitely could have slept another couple of hours, and I was furious with myself for not learning NOT to believe Misure Arno. I wanted to call him to share some of the screaming that was now muffled by my clenched teeth. Barb was frustrated to see the happy fellow she was with turn into a raving lunatic who wanted to rouse the little rodent and drag him to the highest gargoyle in the cathedral to hang until it was open to the public. I needed to walk off this extra steam, and Barb was happy, or at least relieved, to see me walking down Rue d’Arcole toward the Seine. I crossed the river and took a left onto Quai de Gesvres then back across the Pont Notre Dame, turning left again to complete the full circle around that watery block, feeling the cold take over where the anger left. If my thoughts had sounds, you could probably still hear my curses reverberating between the buildings along my route. Misure Arno slept soundly in the silence. Surely.

Although I got some nice shots of the Conciergerie en route, I wish my anger had taken a different turn and I raved on the other side of the Siene. I never did get a shot of Notre Dame from there. When I finally got back to the church, Barb was waiting with a smile and Plan B. The cafe on the corner across from where the line would start just opened, and we went in for some warmth, coffee and a croissant. When we finished, we walked across the street and stood 9^th and 10^th in line, but we still had an hour to wait for the tower employees to start their day. We warmed each other as best we could until the Sun rose higher than the buildings blocking its help.

By the time we were ready for a warm nap, they finally let in the first wave of visitors. We climbed some steps to a holding area where I think they sold souvenirs, then a guard opened the door to the top. We were among the first to enter the dark stairway. It was damp and dingy and ultimately seemed like a million miles high. We climbed the circular stone stairway and tried to keep a steady quick pace not wanting to slow down the progress of those behind us that we could hear though not see. The stone steps were worn to a slippery shine and bowed in the center from 850+ years of foot traffic. Soon my HBP meds were screaming commands to my body to rest, stop climbing, sit down for a minute or stop to take a picture. But there was nowhere to sit and nothing to shoot, so I gripped the thin iron handrail and kept pulling my bones to the top. Barb was quite concerned and I loved her attention. I wondered if we missed some sort of warning about the difficulty of the climb, and what would happen to a poor unfortunate who would fall here. Figuring that all those behind me would simply step over me rather than stop the process and likely cause some claustrophobic panic in the stairwell, I persevered. We finally reached the top and breathed a sigh of relief –well, actually it was more like a panting acknowledgment of relief.

Brian Kerr, a fellow member of the Northeast Photography Club, and his wife recently honeymooned in Paris, and he had a great shot of a gargoyle overlooking Paris. I've seen others, and wanted to get some of my own. After the long hard climb, we were expecting some leisurely moments to get to know the gargoyles by name and shoot them from many angles as we spent the morning hours enjoying the view of Paris. Not so. The meat market of visitors must move on, and the man-made configuration imposed on our movement on the roof gave us time for only a passing glance at each gargoyle along the rim. There was never any more than 3 feet between the fence that loomed between us and the rest of Paris and the wall or fence behind us. The gargoyles, too, were on the dangerous side of the fence, limiting creative compositions.

The time between photo 8 and photo 19 was 9 minutes and 9 seconds, and that was the extent of our morning spent with the Notre Dame gargoyles. If you're planning a visit to the top of this old church, here are some tips: Don't listen to Arnold (he's probably never even been here), sleep in a little, try to avoid holidays, dress warm and bring oxygen. It didn't occur to me while there or I would have made a better illustration of the passage, but here is a 100%!c(MISSING)rop showing the path of photos taken at the top. The gargoyle in 19 is the one I saw in Brian's photo. You can see that visitors enter from the tower on the left and are hustled to the tower on the right. Climbing down was not much easier on the body still reeling from the ascent, but the heart and lungs at least weren't screaming like on the way up. This time, since there wasn't such a stampede behind me, I stopped briefly to capture a window scene of Paris, photo 20. I like the distorted painterly like look through the old glass.

When we got back outside, Barb parked me on a wall and got in line to visit the money changers inside Notre Dame. After successfully shopping for some sacred soul-saving souvenirs, we grabbed a cab and headed to our hotel. We told the driver, "Placa de le Republique," instead of naming our hotel, to avoid the extra charge of taking us around that final block. Barb had her Euros in one hand and fed the other, matching the meter as it accumulated the charge to our destination.

The plan for the rest of the day was to enjoy the area around our hotel, and we carried it out beautifully. First, I stopped by to see Misure Arno on our way back through the lobby, and Barb headed up to our room without me, as if fearing there might be blood shed. I learned he was still sleeping, and joined her. On our way back out I looked for him again, and Barb kept walking toward the sidewalk. I didn't want to hang him by the gargoyles any more, and flashed him a broad smile as I approached with my hand extended in a warm greeting. I do like the guy, and he is most definitely the right man for the job. He wasn't hired to be a photographer guide. Viking still gets my vote for hiring the most pleasant and knowledgeable people. Since I was the only one on the whole trip who brought a tripod, Arnold probably rarely gets the kind of questions we asked.

"Where are you headed today?" he asked ready to help us in some way.

"We've been to Notre Dame..."

"Ahhhh," his eyes lit up. "How did you like it?"

"It was great! We had an invigorating walk, had some breakfast, got to climb the tower and shoot some gargoyles, and then did some shopping."

"Where you going this afternoon?" He so wanted to help.

"Just walking around the neighborhood... But I'm here to help you this time." I continued speaking as his wordless mouth moved up and down under his questioning eyes. "Yes. In case one day you have someone else interested in photography, you can tell them that the lights on the Eiffel Tower come on with the street lights, which last night was after 9."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said pointing in the direction of the concierge's station. "Didn't..."

"AND that the top of Notre Dame is not open to the public at 8, but at 10!"

"Ooooh," he faded, realizing the severity. "Didn't she tell us it was at 8? We went over to..."

"Yes, she did, and you can educate her, too. We still love you, Misure Arno , and you are a wonderful asset to our trip." My arm was on his shoulders as we talked and walked toward Barb on the street; he kept apologizing while putting too much effort into deflecting the blame. Barb & I thanked him several times as we walked away, and he was still trying to help us with the rest of our itinerary. We assured him we'll find it ourselves.

We walked for a bit and finally picked Le Phare Du Canal for some lunch. We stayed for a second and third drink just to relax and watch the bustling business of other folks' day. We thanked our waitress for learning English and bid her au revoir. We walked across the intersection to a small park and I brought the camera to my face to shoot a cool blue iris. Then I realized I couldn't see anything through the viewfinder. Hmm, the LCD screen worked but not the viewfinder. I tried taking an arm's length shot, but Barb finally said let's go back for your other camera. We did.

We came back and shot the blue iris with the Canon, then continued walking down the Quai de Valmy along the Parian canals. Those were the last shots I took on the trip. It was amazing how many folks just lined up on both sides of the canal for a picnic-type thing. The attraction surely wasn't about the boats that came through, because everyone pretty much ignored them and their passengers, all of whom ignored them right back.

We spent the rest of the day walking in and around the Placa de le Republique sampling beers, wines and caipirinhas, finally getting drunk enough to be duped into the most expensive meal in the area. We were sitting on the sidewalk in front of the Taverne Karlsbrau. When we stood to move on to the next unknown spot, a guy rode in on a bicycle and told us the best food in the area was at Jenny's just down the street. Jenny's? Ooo. We could pronounce that. Let's check it out. Well, it turned out to be Chez Jenny's, but she wasn't there. Perhaps it should have been called Sans Jenny. Anyway, with very little to eat and very much to pay we left hungry and broke.

We left Paris, however, well fed and enriched. Every day since we left we've been longing to return. There are so many places in the United States we have yet to visit and so many to which we MUST return, but Paris will always be at the top of that list.

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