Submitted by Jules Scott on the 2024 Spring program in Paris, France…
On a busy Saturday in Paris, I understood something new about how I see the world. The day started at 6am, an honorable attempt, but was snoozed until 6:35. At half past 7:00, the tour group is expected to be across town and waiting with bells on for the buses to take us to Versailles. My roommate and I double and triple checked our outfits, our bags, the lights, and the email with instructions. We venture into a cold dark morning, walking briskly in a hope that maybe a café will be open near the rendezvous point. On the métro, I realized I forgot my phone in the apartment. It will always be the simplest thing you will forget.
The scale of Versailles is what makes it so important, I think. The history, how ornate it is, the amount of gold embellishments on the outside of the building alone are enough to take a tour. It feels self-important, like it says, “Of course you’re impressed — look at me!” Painting after painting of wealthy patrons and scenes of men, dogs, horses, women with their breasts showing, and the occasional cherub or Napoleon victory. Everyone around me looks intentionally thoughtfully at these paintings, even some nodding their heads and murmuring to themselves hoping that their friends see them as cultured and perhaps sneak an aesthetic picture — it’s so voyeuristic. For the rest of our time, I couldn’t help but see the art/viewer relationship as self-fulfilling. As a museum, Versailles is the perfect installation about ego, and the pleasure of being seen. I think it’s beautiful — while in the Hall of Mirrors, an ornate hall flooded with natural light and mirrors wherever you could want them, my friends and I huddled together to take pictures of ourselves.
From the palace we drove on French highways that looked an awful lot like home to Chartres, what I can only describe as magnificent. The town is home to Our Lady Chartres Cathedral, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that is so large you need to crane your neck to look at it properly. The cathedral has the opposite effect of Versailles — towering, stunning, humbling. Entering the cathedral quietly, you cannot believe such beautiful history still exists. Our tour was given by a soft spoken German woman who thoughtfully guided us through soaring buttresses and statues from hundreds of years ago, however the real show-stoppers were the original stained-glass windows that stretched and painted the walls, the crown jewel being the circular window on the front of the church. The end of the tour, the woman asks us, “May I sing you a bit of a Germanic hymn?” And as she does, I feel so moved. We walked together as she sang, up the aisle towards the large central window and the golden hour hit the rich jewel tones just right. I always get emotional in Catholic churches, mainly as it reminded me of going to mass as a kid. I remember I always wanted the communion crackers to have more flavor, and that my favorite part was zoning out of the sermon to study the stained glass windows. Pieces of something pretty good formed together to make a masterpiece. I wiped away a quick tear. On our way out, my friend told me that instead of Latin, her church sang songs like “Lean On Me”, which we sang together on the way out of the church — there are many ways to connect with something larger than yourself. Sometimes it’s a window, or a song.
We didn’t arrive back to central Paris until late that night, but the day was not over for my friend group. We all dispersed to put on our fineries to meet up at a bar across town to celebrate someone’s 21st birthday. All day I had spent observing and analyzing the world around me, but drunkenly sitting outside of a bar in an outfit that in retrospect definitely needed a jacket will always make me think of death the most. I sit and shiver. What am I doing here? I’m a fraud! I don’t know the language, or what I’m doing with my life! What if nothing I ever do matters, what if this is it? I look at my friend lighting a cigarette and flirting with a boy from class, and to the other glowing beautifully from street lamps, smiling and being wished a happy birthday by our chatty waiter. There is so much laughter — I look up at the starless sky. I close my eyes and feel the cold January wind on my flushed cheeks, and I think about how lucky I am. (Submitted on January 22, 2024)