It was not for lack of trying, but today was the first day I got to church since I arrived in Paris three days ago. On Friday, I decided to revisit Saint-Pierre-de-Montmartre. When I was in Paris four years ago, I had a delightful visit to this small, beautiful, and ancient church. It was a ten minute walk from my hostel, so once I had settled in and showered I was on my way. After dodging the crowds around Sacré-Cœur, I was very disappointed to find my destination is closed for restorations. I decided to head down to the heart of the city and visit Notre Dame. It is a tourist staple for a reason. However, I had spent too much time in Montmartre, and by the time I got down to the great cathedral, the doors were locked. I got a few nice twilight photos, so after enjoying the ambience and the crowds, I decided to head back to my hostel and try again the next day.

Saturday I was up early, and after taking “petit dejeuner” at the ‎hostel, I was ready to head out. When I got down there, I noticed a small underground archaeological museum which featured layers of buildings and foundation walls dating back to the first century. And when I say it was underground, I mean exactly that. These structures had remained in place as the ground level rose around them and were only discovered during excavations for an underground parking lot. It was €7 well-spent. After over an hour, I emerged into the sunlit square and headed towards the entrance. That’s when I realised that the large group of people standing about was actually the line waiting for admission, and that this line extended to the very edge of the square and possibly beyond! On my trip four years ago, I hadn’t encountered anything like this, no doubt because I was there in early January. Shortly after I decided against lining up, I received a call from my friend Sharif, and spent the rest of the day with him and his smart and funny girlfriend.

Fortunately for me, Sharif wrote down some basic directions to his parish. I say fortunately because, although I remembered the name of the Metro stop, I would have gone to a similarly named location well south of the actual location. Thankfully, I made it to Liturgy – early even – and then headed back to the hostel to collect my jacket. From there I headed north to the Cathedral of Saint-Denis. Denis is known as the first bishop of Paris, and is the martyr whom the hill and region of Montmartre ‎commemorate. According to tradition, he was put to death by the Romans in the third century and was interred on the current location of the basilica which bears his name around the year 260. The first structure on the site was a small chapel built in the fourth century. In 775 a new, much larger basilica was built on the orders of Charlemagne, who was present at the consecration of the new church.‎ This remained a centre of pilgrimage until the 12th century when the abbot of the monastic community of  Saint-Denis launched the next great stage of building. This new church was radical in its construction and layout, being the first church in what was labelled ‎”the French style” in the following centuries and which we now call gothic. This is the structure that still stands today, although one of the towers was disassembled after being damaged by lightning in the 19th century. They carefully stored the stones in view of rebuilding it eventually. That project will probably get under way later this century.  The other notable feature is that the basilica has the remains of almost all the French ‎royalty going back to Charles Martel (d. 741). Buying a ticket to the necropolis also provides access to the crypt, where it is believed Saint Denis was buried. His relics have been transferred from the burial site and are now in a reliquary in the apse behind the altar.

The real highlight of my visit to Saint-Denis was not the beauty of the stained glass or the awe inspiring architecture, although these are certainly worth seeing. It turns out that today was the last in a series of free organ recitals played on the great organ constructed by Aristide Cavaillé-Coll ‎in the 19th century. Of the 45 minute concert, the two pieces which pierced my heart were the Fantaisie et fugue Op. 18 n°6‎ by Alexandre Pierre-François Boëly and the first movement of Mendelssohn’s Sonate n°3 en La Majeur Con Moto Maestoso. Hearing those pieces in that venue was an experience I won’t soon forget! I lingered in a side chapel for a few minutes afterwards, and when I finally left the sanctuary I saw the organist standing outside speaking with a few people. I took the opportunity to thank Thomas Ospital for a great performance. As I walked away, it occurred to me that maybe I should have asked him to autograph my programme. Now that I’ve scanned it, though, it will go into the recycling. I simply can’t carry physical souvenirs of every great experience for the next seven months.

And now it is time for me to turn in. My train to Lausanne leaves Paris at 11:57, and I want to be on it! It’s about time I started walking.

Nuit Blanche is a fun event every year in Toronto. This year I’ll be enjoying the experience in Paris! Yes, yes, I am on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, but I’m also trying to experience the cultures I encounter en route. This is a great opportunity to do just that.

http://www.paris.fr/english/english/paint-it-blanche/rub_8118_actu_148678_port_19237

My flight to Paris was scheduled for a Thursday afternoon departure. At midnight Wednesday, I had only just begun the process of loading up my belongings into the backpack that we’d finished sewing a few hours earlier. The slow and gradual process of selecting gear and clothing from the accumulated options continued throughout the night. Each item was carefully deliberated over. For example, I have a good quality compass and a good quality whistle. Should I pack those two items or the more cheaply made combo which also had a thermometer built into the casing? The expression “weighing in the balance” describes the basis of this kind of decision. By Thursday morning, my loaded pack with 1 litre of water weighed 13 kg. A little on the heavy side, but the glass bottle of maple syrup I packed will be given away very shortly.

After packing, I said one set of farewells and then headed off to church for the last time. After being anointed and prayed over, I said another good-bye and then headed off to collect my pack and catch my ride to the airport. At this point I also took the picture of my pack which I posted to my blog earlier. I got to the airport in good time and said my final set of good-byes. I breezed through check-in and security, and realised that if not for the knife in my pack and the bulk of my sleeping pad, I could have brought my entire kit for the next seven months on board as carry-on.

The flight went relatively smoothly, but I didn’t get more than ten minutes of uninterrupted sleep at any one time. I arrived in Paris on schedule, made contact with an old friend, collected my luggage, and then ventured into the fantastic world of the Paris public transportation network. I don’t think I kept Sharif waiting too long at our rendezvous‎ point. If I did, he was too polite to say so. He bought me petit dejeuner and then we headed out to find my hostel. After dropping my bags there, we wandered Paris in the warm sunshine for a few hours before having lunch. Shortly afterwards we parted and I headed back to the hostel for the 3:00 pm check-in time. By the time I finally got to my room and showered I had been sweating into the same clothes for 24 hours. The shower itself would have been disappointing if I hadn’t known what to expect of a European hostel. As it was, I felt a great deal better afterwards.

Le Montclair Hostel is on the same block as the Mairie for the 18th Arrondisement, which contains the region of Montmartre. On my last visit to Paris, I had found myself in the church of St-Pierre-de-Montmartre, where I spent a wonderfully serene afternoon. It’s not a large church and it was utterly desecrated in the Revolution, but it is small and old and beautiful‎. It took about twenty minutes to get there, and I was quite disappointed to see that its facade was covered with scaffolding and the entrances blocked. After pausing for a bit of refreshment nearby, I decided to head to Notre Dame. Although I got some pretty decent (and thoroughly pedestrian) exterior shots, I’d missed my chance to go inside by 40 minutes. After watching the crowds in the square for a time, I began to realise how long it had been since I’d had a proper night’s sleep, and also that I hadn’t eaten anything in eight hours. On the way back to the hostel I remedied the latter situation with a vegetarian platter from a Turkish restaurant, and remedied the former shortly thereafter.

It was 6:00 in the morning when I woke for the first time this morning and made the decision to go back to sleep. The hostel serves a complimentary “breakfast” from 7:30 until 10:00, so there was no point being up so early. And now here I am, fortified by a full ten hours of sleep, a few croissants, and two cups of coffee. I’m ready for what the day may bring, with no hint at all of jet lag.‎ Maybe I’ll even make it to church today! Gotta ask Sharif if any Orthodox parishes serve Vespers.