A day in Paris (aka T in Anna Oliphants footsteps)

Both Jeannie and I are massive Stephanie Perkins fans. We love the swoony-ness of her books and can't wait to *flail* over Isla and the Happily Ever After once it is out next year. Back in March we even managed to visit some of the places in San Francisco that are mentioned in Lola and the Boy Next Door.

So when I made plans to go on a daytrip to Paris (it's only 3hrs by train - Europe is awesome) for the Marc Jacobs Exhibit I was also thinking of visiting some of the places from Anna and the French Kiss.

Below the cut you'll find a massive picture spam from my time in Paris. If you have NOT read AatFK yet, be warned, you might get spoilt. Enjoy!

The city is pearl gray.The overcast sky and the stone buildings emit the same cold elegance, but ahead of me, the Pantheon shimmers. Its massive dome and impressive columns rise up to crown the top of the neighborhood. Every time I see it, it’s difficult to pull away. It’s as if it were stolen from ancient Rome or, at the very least, Capitol Hill. Nothing I should be able to view from a classroom window. I don’t know its purpose, but I assume someone will tell me soon... 

 We’re standing in front of an absolute beast of a cathedral. Four thick columns hold up a Gothic facade of imposing statues and rose windows and intricate carvings. A skinny bell tower stretches all the way into the inky blackness of the night sky. “What is it?” I whisper. “Is it famous? Should I know it?”

“It’s my church.”

“You go here?” I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem like the church-going type.

“No.” He nods to a stone placard, indicating I read it.

“Saint Etienne du Mont. Hey! Saint Etienne.”

 

 We turn a corner and—there it is—the River Seine. The lights of the city bob in the ripples of the water. I suck in my breath. It’s gorgeous. 

And then, as we’re turning our attention back toward the river, I see it.

Notre-Dame. 

I recognize it from photographs, of course. But if St-Etienne is a cathedral, then it is nothing, NOTHING compared to Notre-Dame. The building is like a great ship steaming downriver. Massive. Monstrous. Majestic. It’s lit in a way that absurdly reminds me of Disney World, but it’s so much more magical than anything Walt could have dreamed up. Mounds of green vines spill down the walls and into the water, completing the fairy tale. 

I slowly exhale. “It’s beautiful.”

 

We have a perfect view of the entrance—hundreds and hundreds of tiny figures carved into three colossal archways.The statues look like stone dolls, each one separate and individualized. “They’re incredible,” I whisper.

 “Not there. Here.” He points to my feet.

I look down, and I’m surprised to find myself standing in the middle of a small stone circle. In the center, directly between my feet, is a coppery-bronze octagon with a star.Words are engraved in the stone around it: POINT ZERO DES ROUTES DE FRANCE . 

“Mademoiselle Oliphant. It translates to ‘Point zero of the roads of France.’ In other words, it’s the point from which all other distances in France are measured.” St. Clair clears his throat. “It’s the beginning of everything.” 

I look back up. He’s smiling. 

“Welcome to Paris, Anna. I’m glad you’ve come.”

St. Clair gestures around in an exaggerated circle, clearly loving this. “Paris … is the film appreciation … capital … of the world.”
I stop dead. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.You’ll never find a city that loves film more. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of theaters here.”
My heart feels like it’s falling inside my chest. I’m dizzy. It can’t be true.
“More than a dozen in our neighborhood alone.”

It starts drizzling, so we pop into a bookshop across from Notre-Dame. The yellow-and-green sign reads SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY.

Inside, we’re struck by chaos. A horde of customers crowds the desk, and everywhere I turn there are books, books, and more books. But it’s not like a chain, where everything is neatly organized on shelves and tables and end caps. Here books totter in wobbly stacks, fall from the seats of chairs, and spill from sagging shelves. There are cardboard boxes overflowing with books, and a black cat naps beside a pile on the stairs. But the most astonishing thing is that all of the books are in English...

....He holds up a collection of poetry. Pablo Neruda. “Have you read this?” I shake my head.
“Good. Because I just bought it for you.”
“What?”
“It’s on our syllabus for next semester in English.You’d need to buy it anyway. Open it up,” he says.
Confused, I do. There’s a stamp on the front page. SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY, Kilometer Zero Paris. I blink. “Kilometer Zero? Is that the same thing as Point Zero?” I think about our first walk around the city together.
“For old times’ sake.” St. Clair smiles. “Come on, the rain’s stopped. Let’s get out of here.”

sadly, it's not allowed to take pics inside so this is the only one I have

  Le Jardin du Luxembourg, the Luxembourg Gardens, is busy today, but it’s a pleasant crowd. Everyone is happy because it’s the first warm day of the year.We haven’t seen sunshine in months.

Etienne and I are sprawled before the Grand Bassin, an octagonal pool popular for sailing toy boats. Meredith is playing a league football game in an indoor field across the street, and Josh and Rashmi are watching. We watched, too, for a while. She’s fantastic, but our attention to organized sports only lasts so long. Fifteen minutes into it, and Etienne was whispering in my ear and prodding me with lifted brows.I didn’t take much convincing. We’ll head back in a bit, to catch the end.It’s strange that this is my first time here, because the garden rests against the Latin Quarter. I’ve been missing out. So far Etienne has shown me a beekeeping school, an orchard, a puppet theater, a carousel, and a courtyard of gentlemen lost in boules, lawn bowling. He says we’re in the best park inall of Paris, but I think it’s the best park in the world. I wish I could take Seany here.A tiny sailboat breezes behind us, and I sigh happily. “Etienne?”