“Valérie? Stéphane here. I’ll be bringing a VIP to the Queen’s Private Apartment. Just ignore the alarms.”
I’m a VIP? Oh my gosh! I’m a VIP!
Stéphane hung up, and we were off. We darted through the Château de Versailles, slipping behind burgundy velvet ropes and ascending marble staircases. Head of security at the Château, Stéphane gained access to secured areas by keypad, but he just as often whipped out one of the dozens of skeleton keys that hung from the jangly keychain on his hip. A little jittery, my interior prattle was steady. How can this be real? I feel like I’m in a movie. Stéphane always walks so fast.
Over the years, he had kindly given me many private tours of the Château. I’d stood alone in the Royal Opera and gazed down on the Royal Chapel from Madame de Maintenon’s oratory. Away from the crowds in the echoey palace, I’d experienced the silence of Versailles. Though I couldn’t quite conjure the people who had lived here, I could inhabit the space and remember that this overcrowded museum once was a home.
I had booked this France trip with a specific goal—to visit the library of Queen Marie Antoinette. For four years, I had been obsessed with this room. I’d discovered that it played a role in eighteenth-century French tea culture, so I read, reflected, wrote, lectured, and published about its history—all without ever setting foot in the room.
Nervous energy welled up in my chest as Stéphane and I approached the library. We stepped into a small room that served as an overflow area. The books were stored on shelves behind glass. Though there was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the room remained dim. I followed Stéphane across the worn parquet floor. He opened the cream-colored door. I placed my hand on my chest, feeling my heart race, and entered Marie Antoinette’s library.
I took stock. Two windows to my right, overlooking the interior courtyard. I had noted this in my article. High ceilings. Another chandelier, parquet floors again. There’s no fireplace. How many people have passed through this room?
As I made my way around the perimeter of the library, I ran my fingertips along the hip-high marble shelf that separated the upper and lower bookcases. The air was cool, yet stuffy. Do they air it out on Mondays when the museum is closed?
I turned to Stéphane. “How many tourists visit the Queen’s Private Apartment in a month?”
“It’s been closed for restoration for almost a decade. Once it reopens, we’ll welcome a few dozen visitors per month. We need to protect the site.”
I placed myself in the center of the library and took a deep breath. Prior to Marie Antoinette’s rein, this room was Queen Marie Leczinska’s “Laboratory” where she painted, entertained friends, made music, and sipped tea. I imagined the Queen and her ladies in waiting. In her time, the walls were adorned with panels depicting Chinese life, painted by the queen herself. She had decorated the room with chairs covered in sumptuous moiré and chintz fabrics. There had also been a Greek-inspired stool and painted curtains representing a Chinese landscape. When she died, the “Laboratory” was dismantled, its contents dispersed.
As I stood in the Queens’ library/laboratory, the centuries unfolded like an accordion. I was in Marie Leczinska’s orientalist universe, surrounded by the quiet chatter of her courtiers. I felt them sharing tea and stories. Leather-bound books from the royal collection lined the walls. While Marie Antoinette favored music and theater over reading, she nonetheless owned close to two thousand volumes. Had I been daring, I could have opened a cabinet and run my fingers along the spines of works by her contemporaries Voltaire, Rousseau, and Beaumarchais. As I drifted through the eighteenth century, I was also firmly planted in my own century, clad in a green linen jacket and Veja tennis shoes.
My rumbling tummy broke the spell, and the centuries reorganized themselves in my mind. I took a few pictures of the library, recording it in my iPhone. Years of research and reflection had already imprinted it on my soul. My quest complete, it was time to treat Stéphane to lunch at the brasserie down the street.
“I am that living and fiery essence of the divine substance that glows in the beauty of the fields. I shine in the water, I burn in the sun and the moon and the stars.” –Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)
Could you ever imagine being able to circumnavigate the city of Paris much like the 16th century explorer Magellan circumnavigated the Earth? Back in the late 19th century, such a form of transportation was made possible through the construction of the Petite Ceinture during the era of the Second Empire in France. In English, it translates to “little belt”, a connotation which rather undersells the immense scope and importance that this railway network possessed.
Deep in the heart of Paris, under the Gare de l’Est exists a perfectly preserved relic from WWII. Tucked away behind a secret hatch on the platform rests a WWII bunker completely undisturbed by time and modernization. A set of tunnels was built under the train station to help transport luggage, but when the war began, it was transformed into a safe haven. The bunker was initially created by the French government but was unfinished before the German military took over France and occupied Paris in 1940. Both the French and German government had wanted to keep the trains at this station running because there are tracks that lead into Germany.
The most macabre tourist attraction in Paris, the Catacombs, was initially a very practical solution to a serious 18th century sanitation problem. Cemeteries in Paris were overfull, so the remains needed to be moved to a separate, safer location underground. The skeletons were taken from many cemeteries around Paris, but primarily from les Saintes-Innocents, a very popular burial location for Parisians from the 12th to the 18th century.
This massive architectural wonder hides many secrets within its walls. Located in the Fifth Arondissement, the Mosque is constructed in the Moorish style, as seen by its arches, courtyards, intricate tiling, and lush gardens. The towering minaret reminds onlookers that the Parisian skyline boasts more than cathedral spires and the Eiffel tower. While impressive from the exterior, the true beauty of this structure lies within. The interior is linked by open-air courtyards surrounding a botanical garden and a bubbling fountain. La Grande Mosquée de Paris offers something for everyone: a school, library, restaurant, tearoom, prayer room, and bathhouse are all found within its walls. However, the Mosque’s worth extends beyond its physical features.
In the 12th arrondissement of Paris exists a colorful and refreshing line of English styled cottages. This line of 35 residential and private houses is located on the famous Rue Crémieux; named after Jewish lawyer and advocate for human rights, Adolphe Crémieux. Avid users of social media are very familiar with this pastel painted street as it is known as, “Instagram’s most favorite street”. With one search, #RueCremieux will locate 31,000 images that have this hashtag. Proof, this enchanting stretch of houses has captured the attention of many and has served as the perfect backdrop for an Instagram post.
Nearly every tourist in Paris plans to visit the Louvre. The Louvre is seen as one of the quintessential French experiences, even though most of the art pieces it contains hail from other nations. Yet, when approaching the Louvre, tourists seem to be focused solely on the looming glass pyramid over the neatly cut treetops of the Jardin des Tuileries, completely missing the structure to their left. This imposing yet unassuming wing of the Louvre Palace houses le Musée des Arts Décoratifs, or MAD, one of the premier museums of Paris. The Musée des Arts Décoratifs is itself historical. Opening on May 29th, 1905, MAD has seen two World Wars, the end of the Cold War, and the establishment of the European Union by the time it was renovated between 1996 to 2006.