After this holiday weekend and reflecting on the sacrifices of others so I’m able to live my life how I see fit, I’m brought in memory to this place. I started to learn and truly understand this lesson when I was fifteen and went to Normandy, France. Stunningly beautiful and most of all, haunting.
Ah Mont St Michel! You are one of France’s true treasures. The first time I visited this splendid country, I hated Paris for its heat, crowds, and my jet lag. Not like Paris could have helped it, I went in the middle of summer before the natives got out-of-town for their own vacation. (Paris and I have since made up, but we keep each other at length.) Going to northern France was quite literally a breath of fresh air. The cool ocean air brought a pleasantness that can be hard to notice when so warm within the city bounds and I instantly fell in love. My particular favorite part of that trip was seeing the phenomenal Mont St Michel and climbing for what seemed like forever around packed streets. At seventeen, it felt like such an adventure. More than the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre, or the Champs-Élysées, that memory is stamped into my mind. Paris is a fantastic part of France, but this week, I would like some of that weather and thrill I found in Mont St Michel and northern France.
Picture Source: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/france/8616065/Unesco-wants-France-to-suspend-all-wind-farm-plans-on-Mont-St-Michel.html
Montmatre is my favorite piece in a little town known as Paris, France. I’ve been there exactly once, but that was more than enough time for me to fall properly in love with it. Trade secret: I never liked Paris much until I took the time to visit the area that used to host the Moulin Rouge and Monet, Dali, Picasso, and van Gogh once frequented. Its bohemian attitude still lives on today despite that none of those artists could probably afford to live in this now fairly touristy area. With the return to my fashionista side though (details to follow), I can’t help but imagine myself strolling along the briskly chilly cafe riddled streets of Paris, doing a little people-watching, instead of being stared at chopped liver, and in a delectably autumn outfit. Sixteen more months, until then, c’est la vie!
Sacre Coeur lays at the peak of Montmatre and is quite worth the hike