01/04/2024 – Holy Week with an American in Paris

Holly asked whether I am going to church here, in Holy Week. The answer is “sorta”.

I am not going to services. The mass in French, or Latin, is unintelligible to me. I cannot take Communion. So – no.

But, we are visiting one or more churches every day. I stop in for a “quick pray” – to say “hello” and “thank you”.

I have taken to sitting, centering and saying the Anglican Prayer of Preparation, the Gloria and the Lord’s Prayer, in that order. I love the pacing of the old words and their rhythm in these ritual spaces. I am conscious, while praying, of breathing air clarified, weighted by decades, centuries, of worship.

Carey always allows me this space, pottering around the building, which is also, always, a fascinating monument. Today, for example, we visited Notre Dame du Travail. It was built around 1900, for the workers (les travailleurs) driving the industrial revolution, itself symbolised by the Eiffel Tower nearby.

Its nondescript outside reveals an inside of factory-esque iron girders. It’s breathtaking. I took the chance to refresh my Ash Wednesday cross with the holy water offered by the door. So – yes.

It's not all reverent moments. In fact, Paris with Carey is anything but! This morning, I suggested that we drink our coffee, not from our hiking mugs, but from the bowls provided in the crockery cupboard, à la parisienne. He was outraged, and I quote: “Coffee belongs in a cup. Start drinking your coffee out of a bowl and the next thing you know you’re marrying your goldfish. That’s the slide into anarchy right there.”

I suppose fish-matrimony might be a waypoint on a bowl-related spiral into degeneracy, but it’s definitely not my go-to evidence of the apocalypse…

It is also important to stop in the middle of all prestigious galleries and, with American volume, bark like a seal. Because, that’s how you say “art” when around “proper” art, (with boobs and enormous gilt frames): like a circus sea lion clapping for fish, “art… art, art”.

Obviously, we share our sense of the absurd.

Our FB friends have seen our “City of Love” montage. It includes photos of lovers’ padlocks adorning the city’s ironwork. Bridges are traditional. The authorities post futile prohibitions and are forced to employ lock-removers to avoid structural damage. We question the prognosis for the couples who felt padlocking a garbage can best symbolized their relationship…

We also wonder about the differences between the road pedestrian stop sign (calm red guy) and the tram pedestrian stop sign (starfish red guy, “STOP” – all caps). We have questions…

I still want to wrestle with the absence of purpose, direction in my Calgary life. For months, Carey has counseled me: “Give it to the camino”, creating space to be present in each day, to feel my blessings and be grateful. Now, Paris does that, presenting regular reminders of the path to come. Yesterday, we met St James-the-pilgrim in the Louvre.