In the Grace of the Sun King

To Whom it may Concern,

This post is late, and for that I apologize.  Paris is a wonderfully huge city, but just as in any place, walking is tiring.  I didn’t really have time or energy to complete my posts on time, but I will do them in retrospect and here’s day 4, Wednesday, June 11th, 2014. 

We had a bike ride planned, one that would tour the greatest palace the modern world will likely ever see.  Versailles, built by Louis XIV to isolate him from the Paris he cared little for, and to house the nobility, so that he might keep them in check. 

A word comes to mind when you’re at Versailles: grandiose.  It was certainly true for us, when, with our bike tour, we came across the first of the buildings associated with the chateau.  These were Enlightenment style buildings, two or three stories high, covering an amazing number of square feet, with gilded window sills and gates.  These were the stables.  And there were two of them.  Why do horses need two stories? Who knows?  But that question, in essence, encapsulates the whole of Versailles.

Why the extravagance? Why the size, the grandeur? Why are there 80 million euro worth of gold leaf in the palace?  Why a room for everything?  Why a farm and a separate small chateau for Marie-Antoinette?  Why a grand canal spanning over a mile and a half of space?  And why are there statues to every single god of antiquity surrounding a massive fountain to Apollo?

The answer: Louis XIV.  The egotistical “Sun King” wanted everything, but he was also a brilliant statesman for his time, and in order to keep his nobility in check so they may not plot against him or terrorize the citizens of his beloved France, he had to occupy them, and he did so with lavishness, clever tricks, and force.

This didn’t work for too long, as his descendant Louis XVI lost all of this due to that very same lavishness.  Note to all the politicians in reading: if you spend all your money on the rich, the poor will revolt.

Nevertheless, tourists and the Citizens of France may visit this monument to the achievement of the 18th century French wallet today and stand themselves in the Hall of Mirrors, as if in the grace of the Sun King himself!  But, it makes one reflect on the choices that we make regarding such material, and indeed the excess shown here. 

Jeff, being a modest stoic didn’t agree with the extravagance.  My mother, being the student of France her whole life, loved the architecture, the artwork, and most importantly the history.  Colin and Sarah loved the magnificence of it all, and while on the grounds, plotted mischievously as to what they might do with such a place to themselves.  

As for me, I just loved the bike ride.  To ride along the roads of this palace as the kings might have done, and to eat along the grand canal as the nobles were ought to do gave me a thrill of experience.  But, that’s all it was for me, a short thrill, not long overcome by feelings of tiredness and aches.  I could see how it would be fun for a while, but I do think there are better ways to spend ones money, and I do feel as though there are better ways of managing your state. 

In the end I held the same convictions I had coming into it; that wealth in excess is ripe for corruption and eventual misery.  It buys short term happiness and indeed, when isolated as Louis XIV was from Paris, surrounded by your enemies, and constantly needing to make political maneuvers in your own home, I could see how one could find it lonely.  It actually makes me empathize with Louis XVI, who never wanted to be king.  He just wanted to be a farmer, but expectation and a heavy burden got the better of him — they even got his head. 

Sincerely,

G.D.S. O’Toole

P.S. I’ll post the other days soon, as I can, and then move onto another blog.

Standing, Standing, Dead People, and MORE Standing

To Whom it may Concern,

It had so much promise, so much to look forward to!

Our third day was chocked up to be excellent, with Les Catacombes, Le Tour Eiffel, et Musee Rodin.  The Eiffel Tower doesn’t interest me much.  Sure, it’s big, and seeing it is great, but seeing it up close tells me nothing about the city or the people who choose to call this place home.

Les Catacombes was to be a journey into the historical culture of Paris, as well as an exploration of architecture.

The Catacombs are a mile and a half of 6 million bodies, all compiled from other cemeteries around the city.  And I, being the philosophical sort, was eagerly awaiting what metaphysical conclusions I could come up with about this particular instance of death.

“But wait, let’s take this slow shall we?” is what the world says to my family and I.

The problem with Paris is that it is a very, very large city, with lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of tourism.  But, the Parisian government is generally pretty good about setting up expedient exhibitions and getting things moving so as to not suffocate people within their own crowding.  For example, Colin, Sarah, and I were only standing in line at Notre Dame for about 20 minutes.

Les Catacombes are where the Parisian government takes all the angst they’ve developed toward their number one money-making industry participants and show it right back to them.  And in particular, they hate our knees.  It is truly an abhorrent thing for someone to do to you.  No one.  And I repeat, NO ONE should make almost 300 people stand in line for upwards of 3 hours waiting to see dead people.

I get it, the bones are fragile and it’s dark down there and you don’t want people to crush the bones or slip and fall.  Make people get tickets for certain times!  Have a building outside where people watch a video about the site!  Anything really!

But, worse, by far, was that our good friend La Pluie realized he’d forgotten us the day before and decided to make up for it by pouring on us all day…Holy hell, I hate him.  We and the other masses, huddled under our minimal umbrellas, just awaiting the glorious moment when we got to go inside and be “warm” (the temperature at that depth is 54 degrees F).  Even the few times we got to move up a significant amount seemed like respite.

At the breadth, we stood on Parisian concrete, knees trembling, feet aching, squats here, squats there, anything to remove the unbearable discomfort we were all experiencing.

Standing is great. standing isn’t sitting.  Standing gets the blood in the brain.  Standing opens the lungs.  Standing is what separates us originally from other primates!  Standing for that long is unfair.  It’s unfair to the feet being stood on.  It’s unfair to the ground being stood on!  The Warden of the Guantanamo prison complex should study and document what goes on outside the entrance to the catacombs for future torture practices!

Just to pass the time, we began to bet on how long we’d continue standing there.  And the worst part of it all was what was to come next.

Finally we get in, and of course just inside the complex is a 19 meter descent into darkness, followed by 1.25 miles of quarry, tunnel, and bones.  It’s as if the Parisian government wanted to make you think, “are these all the people who were standing in wait for this thing before?”

I, of course, enjoyed it regardless.  I loved the symbolism of it all.  “Memoriae Majorum” posted above the entrance to the main tunnel, as well as dozens of other Latin inscriptions to translate.  The whole thing is very impressive and I dove straight into my own philosophies.  I won’t get into them here for personal reasons, or if it makes you feel better, I don’t want to upset anyone.  But once we were back outside, 19 meters again to the top, La Pluie greeted us with a wet but hardy “…and now the rest of your day is gone.”

And that was it.  All we had left to do for the day was a wine tasting at O’Chateau, and that was magnificent.  Nothing takes the hurt of your legs and feet away like 6 glasses of wine.   A lot was learned and now I can be even more pompous about my drinking than ever before (though I will try to keep that light).

Admittedly a good end to a long day, but in the whole spectrum of the thing it was as if Paris really wanted to take this day from us.  And the horrid part of it all was that we practically let it.

O’Chateau was our redemption, but we fell horribly to that characteristically human stubbornness and pride.  Have you ever stood in line for food only to decide you want the thing at the store next to you, but their line is also really long, and so you just decide to get the thing you don’t want because you’ve committed to it?  Multiply that times a thousand and you got our situation.

It is a flaw of our evolution which will eventually be worked out.  It’s nice to be reminded that its there, because it means that we are incomplete, but we never want to see it in ourselves.

I just can’t help but feel sorry for the 295 other people in line, and the multiple thousands of people who went through the catacombs that day, because they probably didn’t have a wine tasting to go to after it was all over, or this good of a family to do it with.

Cheers,

G.D.S. O’Toole