We boarded Air France and were on our way to Venice.  The Venetian airport was covered in enormous, sexy color photos of beautiful, half naked Italian men selling Versace and Dolce & Gabbana.  It was hard not to gawk.  The next shock came dropping 100 euros on a water taxi to get to our hotel from the airport in what could have only been a six minute ride.  It was exhilarating and somewhat unnerving to be zipping along in a vaporetto where the man literally steered with one hand as he was turned around BACKWARD chatting with us, all the while weaving in and out of boat traffic at breakneck speed and with a seemingly blind eye.  But docking right at the door of our hotel was one of the coolest things ever.  It was hard to fathom a doorway leading directly from the ocean that stepped one straight up into our five star hotel.  I chose it because of my passion for Vivaldi.  He taught there when it was a girl’s school and even performed his “Four Seasons” in it.  The building was likely first depicted in 1500 in the famous “bird’s eye map of the city” by Jacopo de Barbari, celebrated Renaissance painter and engraver.  It also boasted the largest collection of antique crucifixes in all of Italy!  I think that is really saying something given the Vatican in Rome.  I once wrote a book on Christian iconography; getting to see them up close and not even in a museum was incredibly special.  As I recall they had impressive collections of ladies’ fans and gentlemens’ snuff boxes as well.  All were in excellent condition and had exquisite detail.  The hotel was steeped in luxury and history.  In addition to Vivaldi in 1690, Freud stayed at the hotel in 1895.  Going down that proverbial waterway, I found my first visit to Italy and Venice to be laden with all kinds of sexual undertones.  If Paris was feminine, Venice struck me as very, very masculine.  There were penises everywhere, and I don’t mean just on statuary.  Vendors had them on men’s jogging shorts, cooking aprons, underwear and even on spoof credit cards that read “Mister Hard:  Accepted from women all around the world”.  As a feminist I was glad to see men naked for a change.  But this was a city I do not feel a woman should walk in alone.  The INSTANT I left my husband (we went looking in separate stores) I was hand kissed and hit on aggressively by several Italian men who did not seem to be inclined to take “no” for an answer.  The entire city carried a dirty, dark, sexual feel for me I was not expecting.  They had “living statues” of body painted people posing for Euros wearing creepy masks which freaked both of us out.  I did some research and discovered the masks originated with the plague.  Its macabre history dates back from the 17th century French physician Charles de Lorme who adopted the mask together with other sanitary precautions while treating plague victims.  The “plague doctor” mask to me looked birdlike, with a hollow beak and round eye slits.  The doctors who followed de Lorme’s example wore the usual black hat and long black coat as well as the white mask and white gloves.  They also carried a long stick to move patients without having to come into physical contact with them in hopes of preventing contracting the disease themselves.  Mass graves have been discovered on Venice’s “Quarantine Island” just a couple of miles from the famed Piazza San Marco.  The Bubonic Plague decimated Venice, as well as much of Europe, throughout the 15th and 16th centuries.  We were told that if one encountered a bird-like masked person back then it was a warning to turn around because the plague had struck.  Comic fantasy writer Christopher Moore said, “Everything in Venice is just a little bit creepy, as much as it’s beautiful.”  That pretty much sums it up for me.

It was our last day in Paris.  We decided to take it a little easier and did some souvenir shopping.  I loved that as it began to softly rain all the magasins set out umbrellas at their entrances.  I happily purchased a Chat Noir one as we went by La Madeline (the Romanesque church dedicated to Mary Magdeline).  We decided to use our time remaining visiting Paris’ second largest church — Saint-Sulpice (of “The Da Vinci Code” fame).  There were compasses and roses everywhere — in the masonry, the doors, and the stained glass.  Inside the church to either side of the entrance were the two halves of an enormous shell (Tridacna gigas) given to King Francis I by the Venetian Republic.  They function as holy water fonts and rest on rock-like bases.  In 1727 Jean-Baptiste Languet de Gergy, then priest of Saint-Sulpice, requested the construction of a gnomon in the church as part of its new construction, to help him determine the time of the equinoxes and hence of Easter.  A meridian line of brass was inlaid across the floor and ascending a white marble obelisk at the top is a sphere surmounted by a cross.  The obelisk is dated 1743.  In the south transept window a small opening with a lens was set up, so that a ray of sunlight shines onto the brass line.  At noon on the winter solstice (December 21) the ray of light touches the brass line on the obelisk.  And at noon on the equinoxes (March 21 and September 21), the ray touches an oval plate of copper in the floor near the altar.  Constructed by the English clock-maker and astronomer Henry Sully, the gnomon was also used for various scientific measurements.  This rational use may have protected Saint-Sulpice from being destroyed during the French Revolution.  While I realize this is not the best picture because of the darkness, it does serve to capture my memory of the holy mystique I felt within.  Burk wanted to see Napoleon’s tomb and then we had dinner in the Latin Quarter in the coolest looking Indian restaurant.  They had this heavenly smelling incense that was enormous and in different colors.  The sweet waiter let me take some.  He said they came from his cousin in India and you cannot get them anywhere else.  On the way back to our hotel we stopped at a little fresh fruit stand and picked up some cherries and a bottle of cognac shaped like the Eiffel Tower.  It was a lot of fun.  American poet Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr said:

“Where we love is home – home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”

Even though we were headed to Venice in the morning, I knew I had found my home.

This was our day to finally visit the Louvre.  We were quivering to lay eyes on some of the world’s most famous treasures.  As we made our way down the glass pyramid into the entrance we immediately discovered an embarrassment of riches.  Bien sûr we saw La Joconde (I overheard someone next to me whisper, “Why is it so famous?”) and walking through the Grand Gallery with all those huge Delacroix was breathtaking.  We passed the Venus di Milo and other famous statuary, visited the Egyptian and Coptic wings, saw ancient Asian art and the Crown Jewels just to name a few.  The rooms themselves were stunning works of art all on their own from their palatial days dating back to the medieval period.  It was the actual seat of power in France until Louis XIV moved to Versailles in 1682, bringing the government with him.  The Louvre remained the formal seat of government until the end of the Ancien Régime in 1789.  My very favorite was the pre-Renaissance era; I was drawn to this Tau cross and to my surprise it claimed to be the oldest known depiction of my beloved St. Francis.  I also loved Daphnis and Chloe in with the masters.  Burk really liked Napoleon’s Coronation and the huge winged bulls from Mesopotamia.  It was like the ultimate high for two museum junkies!  I have heard it said that if one paused for just one minute in front of each work of art it would take about one month without ceasing to complete seeing all the Lovre’s works.  We also went to the Orangerie so that I could see Monet’s Water Lilies.  This was vaguely disappointing (as I adore French impressionism) and I had no idea how long they were (rectangular) with essentially no detail in the middle.  I am very glad I got to see them but they did not match the images I had always carried in my mind from calendars and things that have been reproduced.  That night we ate on La Belle Sur Seine (Chinese; Burk was sick of French) and I got introduced to lychees!!!  When I told the girl I had never seen them before I thought her eyes were going to pop right out of her head.  They were FANTASTIC and tasted a little like mandarin oranges but looked like giant, round peeled grapes.  This was a romantic dinner cruise that took us around the Seine.  It was the summer solstice and I was delighted to be spending the longest day of the year in Paris with Burk.  They had live music festivals going on all over the city and we stayed out really late just wandering around listening to different kinds of music wafting on the summer’s breeze.  To my delight I discovered all the tobacconists only carried Cuban cigars!  Despite my French my naïveté marked me as American.  And the French did not poo poo smoking outdoors.  I don’t think it even started to turn dark until around midnight.  When it finally did vendors started selling lit Eiffel Towers of all sizes.  They were so cool and I still cherish my little souvenir from that memorable, magical night.  How fitting the etymological root of “souvenir” is French and means to revisit.

“Ever poised on that cusp between past and future, we tie memories to souvenirs like string to trees along life’s path, marking the trail in case we lose ourselves around a bend of tomorrow’s road.” ~ Children’s author Susan Lendroth

Reluctantly leaving Versailles behind, we headed back to Paris.  Enjoying the French beer Silvan had stocked, we found ourselves being chauffeured up the Champs-Élysées.  Proudly nicknamed “la plus belle avenue du monde,” the most beautiful avenue in the world, it did not disappoint.  Until the reign of Louis XIV, the land where the Champs-Élysées runs today was largely occupied by fields.  The grand avenue and its gardens were originally laid out in 1667 by Andre Le Notre as an extension of the Tuilleries Palace built in 1564.  Le Notre planned a wide promenade lined with two rows of elm trees on either side and flowerbeds in the symmetrical style of the formal French garden.  I loved the mix of cars and bicyclists and marveled as we made the roundabout at the Arc de Triomphe.  Gazing upward through our sunroof, sky and sculptures whirled by as we made the circle and it was another moment I will always remember.  Our last stop was arriving at the highest point in the city right at sunset.  Montmartre was teeming with street vendors and artists and we had our first portrait made together there.  We decided to have dinner in a little restaurant that had a piano player and a chanteuse.  I was so proud because they heard me speaking English to Burk and asked how a Parisian had come to marry an American!  I explained we were both Texans and they were delighted.  The man immediately launched into the theme song from “Dallas” and all heads in that restaurant stopped and turned.  The French still adore that show!  As a final tribute, they played “Deep in the Heart of Texas” while I sang along with gusto.  The funny thing was they had no idea about the clapping part.  They were so stunned it was almost comical.  We did it again so they could get the “clap clap clap clap” down.  Happily stuffing Euros in their tip glass (which we had been hoarding in case we needed them for an emergency) we set out to the summit to enter under the white domes of the Basilica of the Sacré-Coeur.  By this time my camera had run out of juice so I was unable to take a picture of the highest dome’s center ceiling.  My favorite color dark blue surrounded Jesus Christ as rays of light beamed down from his heart onto all who entered.  They were having Mass and the Priest was saying how the Church should be welcome to all.  It was a perfect ending to a perfect day.

“The Sacred Heart of Christ is an inexhaustible fountain and its sole desire is to pour itself out into the hearts of the humble so as to free them and prepare them to lead lives according to his good pleasure.” ~ St. Margaret Mary Alacoque

The third day in Paris would change my life forever.  As our wedding present, my new maternal grandmother-in-law gave us a driver to Versailles.  He was a handsome, charming family man named Silvan who arrived in a three month old dark blue Mercedes sedan with dual sunroofs and a GPS — swanky and novel for 2007!  We made it to Versailles, about 30 minutes outside of Paris, just before the gates opened.  The five hours we spent there were not enough.  A lifetime would not have been enough!  I had no idea what to expect but I was not prepared to have my heart stop for an instant upon first sight only to have it resume beating never to be the same.  For that brief second time and the very blood in my veins stood still.  They were restoring the retaining wall to the outside just as it was in Louis the 14th’s time.  I quickly discovered why he was called the Sun King.  The royal chapel was all gilt and stark white marble.  The Hall of Mirrors was partially closed because it was being restored, but for me the true beauty of Versailles was to be found outdoors.  Martha Stewart said this:

“It is hard to imagine Andre Le Notre laying out the exquisite landscape designs for Vaux-le-Vicomte, and later the magnificent Chateau de Versailles, with no high hill to stand on, no helicopter to fly in, and no drone to show him the complexities of the terrain. Yet he did, and with extreme precision, accuracy, and high style.”

We had lunch in the gardens and I drank the best fresh orange juice I have ever had.  No wonder; they came from an over 200 year old l’orangerie on the grounds.  Next we walked the Grand Canal, which Louis XIV had formed in the shape of a cross.  It is the most original creation of Andre Le Notre who transformed the east-west perspective into a long, light-filled sheet of water.  It took eleven years and was completed in 1679.  Over 5,000 feet, the Republic of Venice sent the King two gondolas and four gondoliers and since became known as Little Venice.  In summer the King’s fleet sailed along it; in winter skates and sleighs made their way over the frozen water.  As we walked along its length that day we saw couples in rowboats enjoying the magnificent views of the palace, the formal gardens, and some of the exquisite statuary found throughout.  There were also people walking dogs, riding horses, bicycling and even going around in golf carts due to the immense size of what remains of the royals’ domaine.  The enormous and spectacular fountains only run on the weekends so we did not get to see them working.  Despite the absence of their dramatic sprays, it was a different kind of delight to see the reflection of the gilt creatures rising up out of the water’s stillness.  Pictured above is the stunning Apollo fountain.  There were garden mazes, the Trianon, the Petite Trianon and the Grotto which we did not have time to see.  But I did make it to Marie Antoinette’s hamlet — her escape from the rigors of court.  This was truly the greatest experience of my life.  A quaint Parisian French countryside village greeted me, complete with thatched roof buildings, thick roses covering arbors, and winding dirt trails.  I peeked through the windows and to my shock saw nothing but all white marble.  Literally floor to ceiling, it was the ultimate mix of county charm, decadent wealth and unthinkable opulence.  I saw a goat with four horns chewing lazily on grass.  Swans and ducks were gliding serenely in the pond where a mill wheel used to turn and coos were coming from a dovecote.  I had never seen my beloved calla lilies growing over five feet tall.  They extended outward in two huge, dense lines from of one of the houses.  It was absolutely breathtaking.  I still cannot adequately convey what it was like.  I knew I was in love with Paris, but Versailles stole my heart.  And a piece of it remains there forever.

We decided to start by visiting the Louvre.  It was early in the morning and a little overcast.  The old palace grounds were exquisite, although I cannot say I cared for the modern I. M. Pei glass pyramid rising so incongruously from the center.  We happily marched right up but were promptly stopped by a gendarme holding his hand up sternly and hollering, “FERMEZ!”  Turns out their Tuesdays are like our Sundays used to be — only more so.  I learned that all the museums were closed.  So we decided to go without any real plan.  I love that Paris is such a walking city.  It is clean, delicate, feminine, and brimming with history.  Every corner holds some visual delight.  Strolling through the Tuilleries Garden, we ambled along the banks of the Seine to Notre Dame.  Nineteenth century American travel author Bayard Taylor said it best:

“Walking at random through the streets, we came by chance upon the Cathedral of Notre Dame.  I shall long remember my first impression of the scene within.  The lofty gothic ceiling arched far above my head and through the stained windows the light came but dimly — it was all still, solemn, and religious.”

Inside the cathedral it was so blackened from years of incense it took several minutes for my eyes to adjust.  I read that construction began in 1163 and was not completed until 1272.  During that time sculptors, carpenters, masons, and glassblowers all worked relentlessly under the supervision of seasoned architects.  Dedicated to “Our Lady” Mary, the Mother of God, it has been one of the main symbols of Paris and France since it was built.  Outside gargoyles served as both gutter spouts and sentinels on her edifice.  We wanted to climb the steps outside to the famous bell tower but RIGHT as we got up next in line they closed it off for the day.  I was just sick and hollered, “Sanctuary!” which no one else seemed to think was funny.  Next we passed through the Gallo Ruins, the Latin Quarter and the beautiful Luxembourg Gardens.  My good sandals were in tatters but I decided what a way for them to go … spending the day walking all over the most beautiful city in the world.

Paris!  I could not believe it.  My WHOLE LIFE I had dreamt of going and I was actually here!  We arrived early in the morning, having flown all night.  On the way over the sweet flight attendant upon discovering it was our honeymoon had given us demi bottles of French wine and champagne. That’s the first thing I learned to appreciate.  In the states it’s by the glass or an entire bottle. But like Goldilocks testing porridge, I discovered half a bottle is just right.  Smuggling my bottles as souvenirs, I was thrilled simply being in the airport.  The familiar sounds of French were being spoken all around me and a woman was broadcasting in dulcet tones over the over the loud speaker.  I recognized the exit signs; I knew what everything meant.  I felt like I was home.  In our taxi my husband of approximately twelve hours had me putting my French to use and the Morrocan cabby and I chatted back and forth with the happiness of two long lost friends.  Burk is very geographically oriented — far more than most — and my rusty abilities were struggling to keep up with his requests to our driver.  We were staying in a little boutique hotel on the Left Bank, chosen primarily for their hearty American full, hot breakfasts served each morning.  My 178 pound husband still has the metabolism of a teenage boy — and a cold Continental breakfast is an effrontery to his very being.  We wound our way up a centuries old marble staircase and I remember taking in the delicate French furnishings of our exquisite suite.  Asking where we should go first, Burk pronounced, “the Eiffel Tower!” with all the certainty of a captain leading his troops into battle.  And so we were on our way.  I am never too cool to be a tourist — even in my own city.  It was high season in mid-June and we still only had a 20 minute wait to reach the top.  It took a series of three elevators and I was amazed at the cacophony of languages swirling all around us.  The view from above helped us orient ourselves with the city; something Burk taught me.  And none of it disappointed.  Next we took a boat ride along the Seine and passed under some of her famous bridges.  The Pont Neuf is the oldest in Paris and serves as a connection between the Rive Gauche (the Left Bank) and the Rive Droite (the Right Bank.)  Its construction dates all the way back to 1578 during the time of Henry III.  The Pont Royal is dedicated to King Louis XIV, estimated to have been built around 1869.  It is located near both the Louvre and the Tuileries.  Pont Alexandre III is an ornate bridge instantly recognizable for its beautiful lampposts, cherubs, and nymphs.  Just a short walk from the Eiffel Tower and Les Invalides, it is regarded by many as the most beautiful bridge in Paris.  There is also the Pont au Double, a much smaller bridge connecting the Left Bank with the Ile de la Cité; the very heart of Paris.  Our tour circled Notre Dame on one end and the petite Statue of Liberty on the other.  Just as it was coming to a close, around 10:30 p.m. it finally turned dark.  And the City of Light became even more magical.  The Eiffel Tower shimmered and twinkled with thousands of rapidly changing colored lights, causing everyone to stop and gaze up in awe.  Afterward we had the best chocolate ice cream cone I have ever had and rode this pop up carousel pictured above near La Tour Eiffel.  American author Amy Thomas wrote:

“I guess it goes to show that you just never know where life will take you. You search for answers. You wonder what it all means. You stumble, and you soar. And, if you’re lucky, you make it to Paris for a while.”

Looking into my handsome husband’s eyes and watching Paris swirl by on that warm summer night I knew I was in love pour toujours … mes deux amours.

As we were planning our wedding Burk asked me where I wanted to go for our honeymoon.  The guy who had travelled all over was asking the girl who had gotten to travel very little where she would like to go.  I speak French (from studying in school and in college) and had always wanted to Paris.  I had also watched enough National Geographic documentaries to want to see Venice while we still could.  And so, on a question, I took a deep breath and said, “Paris?”  And he said sure; just like that.  I still never tire of saying we spent our honeymoon in Paris and Venice.  I really wanted to see Venice as well and I remember the travel agent saying, “Well, why don’t you do both?”  The thought had never occurred to me.  I cannot explain it but I knew I would love Paris; I just had no idea how hard I would fall.  For my next posts I am going to endeavor to document our honeymoon.  Sarah Jessica Parker said, “I have a fantastic husband.  Here’s the honeymoon part:  I still think he’s the funniest, wittiest, most clever man I’ve ever known.”  My husband is the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on and he is hilarious when he’s not trying to be.  He is imaginative, sweet, incredibly smart and loves me just the way I am.  We have had our ups and downs but I’m grateful to say our honeymoon continues.