Josh and Rachel Take a Trip

Today was the kind of day I had concocted in my mind when planning this trip. Our eventual destination was the Louvre, but we had no particular gameplan, save find the river and follow it to the museum. We found the water at Ile de la Cite, one of two islands on the river, and Rue du Temple — which just so happens to come out right at Notre Dame. I’ve seen it once before, but it was through the eyes of a teenager — it was nice to view as an adult, with a guide book giving me the skinny on the sculptures that covered the front and the importance of those flying buttresses on the outside.

Here’s a fun fact, courtesy Rick Steves. Why did they build the church? Apparently a bishop by the name of Denis was beheaded as a warning to other Christians, but he refused to take it lying down: after the swing of the ax he popped up, grabbed his head, gave it a good wash and ran off. The Parisians of the time thought this was a pretty spiffy miracle, so Christianity gained ground and they replaced the original pagan temple with “Our Lady”, Notre Dame.

From there we criss-crossed bridges, across the Pont Neuf in one direction and across the pedestrian-only Pont des Arts in the other. There were artists and kids making out, so it had a very French feeling to it.

The massive Louvre sits along the Siene for several city blocks. After passing up one entrance for another with more oomph — per Josh’s request that he wanted to see the pyramid — we came out in the gigantic square that the museum sits upon.

The glass pyramid wasn’t as impressive as he thought it would be.

Juuuust kidding! It’s pretty freakin’ fantastic.

First things first: there are two sculptures that have always taken my breath away. One of them, Winged Victory, is located in the entrance of the Louvre’s Denon wing. Ain’t she a beauty?

And at some point in my brother’s twenties, he will go back in time to ancient Rome and rule a small city-state. You can see him in his stateliness here, rockin’ a toga and some awesome sideburns.

As you make your way along this wing, you’re reminded of where you’re going. The Louvre knows their audience — there’s “Mona Lisa this way” signs in every doorway. You roll through corridors of amazing pieces until you arrive at what some would feel is the main event.

It’s funny: the first time I saw the Mona Lisa, I was completely underwhelmed. After passing hall after hall of amazing (and sometimes enormous) artwork, it’s hard to give the lady her props. On this second trip, I’d lowered my expectations so far that she actually lived up to them nicely — I guess that Da Vinci guy was pretty good. Josh was unimpressed, but there was more than enough to blow his mind elsewhere.

The thing about the Louvre is its immensity. It’s impossible to wrap your mind around its sheer size and accessibility — it’s right there. And you walk down a corridor and, oh look, inches away: there’s a masterpiece. …right beside another amazing piece of work. And there, snuggled right between them is yet another work of culturally significant artistic relevance — probably of Jesus.

Josh’s awed whispers of profanity continued to make the trip worthwhile as we moved hall to hall to hall… to hall… to yep, another hall.

We took a break for air, caffeine and Fanta a few hours later and hit the place for round two. My only other goal was to see Michelangelo’s Slaves — two unfinished pieces of the master’s marble sculptures. Having fulfilled our Louvre raison d’etre, we wandered lackadaisically, taking in the remaining sculptures and kind of looking for the Egyptian exhibit, but feeling okay about not seeing it if we couldn’t track it down.

For me, the bonus treasure we found ended up being the French sculpture wing. All were in imitation of greek and roman style and holy geeze were they beautiful. Apparently, I only need a half-clad lady made of stone or a thinking/battling/hunting god to round out my mental art euphoria.

Josh needed ice cream for his.

We left the Louvre after a rush, omigosh-we-almost-forgot-the-inverted-pyramid moment, and headed back to the smaller island of Ile St. Louis for some ice cream from Berthillon. They were tiny scoops, and our greedy American minds were disappointed at first, but not for long — it was the best ice cream ever: not too sweet or overly filling, and that tiny scoop dug it’s way down into the cone so you had ice cream until the last bite.

We got a little lost on the way home, but finally found our supermarche and got some food and wine. God bless the French and their 4 euro wine. Sure, we could have sprung for something more expensive, but wouldn’t you want to see what $6 wine tastes like? Let me tell you: it tastes GOOD.

My feet hurt and my calves ache… and I couldn’t be happier. Today was a grand success!