I believe that I completed my last pilgrimage of the trip today in
visiting Chartres. The trip was interesting from the beginning:
partway between Lille and Paris, my train came to a stop, and there
was an announcement that it was going to be delayed. I asked the woman
across from me, the most beautiful woman whom I have so far seen in
France, what was going on. She explained that the train was delayed,
speaking too quickly for me to understand why. When she asked where I
was going, I showed her my reservation, and she explained that she was
leaving from the same station as I, only two minutes later.
"Can I follow you to the station?" I asked, smiling. I did not know
the way from one station to the other and did not want to waste time
trying to find it; I knew only that I would have to take the subway.
"I walk quite rapid," I said, and she laughed and consented to my
joining her.
This woman, Liye, and I got to talking for the rest of the ride to
Paris Nord. She said that she was going to Rennes to see her
boyfriend, who, like her, lived and worked in Lille, and his family
for the weekend; the two of them were going to be engaged. Liye was
from central China, had studied at a university in Xi'an, and had
moved to Lille six years previously via a study abroad program. She
said that it had taken her about four years to learn French, of which
she did not know a word upon her arrival, and that she had taken
intensive courses in it for a year. Although she spoke very quickly
and fluently, she also had a distinctly Chinese accent that even I
could catch.
When Liye and I arrived at Paris Nord, one of Paris' many train
stations, we rushed into the subway to try to get to Paris
Montparnesse on time. Liye could really burn rubber, unlike the
majority of Frenchmen, who forever stroll. She gave me a one-off
ticket when we got to the subway in order to speed things up, but we
got the platform only in time to see the train leave the platform.
"Are you stressed out?" I asked her. While I was sure to be able to
catch a second train if the first one left, Liye was not sure when the
next train for Rennes would depart. I explained to her my interest in
the Buddhist idea, if I am not misattributing it, of not getting angry
over things that one could not change; Liye said that I was more of a
Buddhist than she, but she did not seem too out of sorts. The next
subway train arrived in four minutes, and we got on it with little
hope of making our trains.
We just barely missed our trains, in the end, but had lunch together
outside. I expect that one joy of interacting with foreigners is their
harmlessness: lacking the vocabulary to express himself fully, the
foreigner has a sort of childlike simplicity about him (at least, I
do). I was surprised, when Liye and I parted ways, that I had just had
an entire conversation, if one in which I said relatively simple
things and occasionally needed help -- Liye knew exactly where I had
been, having learned the language from scratch herself -- in French. I
could not possibly have done that a few weeks ago; while one cannot
learn an almost entirely new language, such as German, over the course
of three weeks well enough to have real conversations in it, one can
easily regain lost skills in a foreign language that one once spoke
with some fluency.
I did not arrive in Chartres until 1:24 (or so), almost an hour and a
half later than I was originally planning to. This did not turn out to
matter, as, while it would have been nice to have a little more time
to wander around the town, Chartres was tiny. Why, one wonders, did
the French build their nicest cathedrals in rinky-dink towns?
Chartres' cathedral is spectacular. When I first saw it from the
train, I asked one of a pair of girls across from me if it was the
cathedral. They said that it was, and when I asked if it was just some
church, they laughed and repeated that it was most definitely the
cathedral. It is definitely one of the biggest cathedrals, perhaps the
very biggest, that I have seen in France (It cannot compare to those
of Worms, Speyer, or Cologne in size.); it had the thickest supporting
columns and, seemingly, the most cavernous nave of any cathedral that
I had so far visited. I do not have too much to say about its interior
except that it was opulent and had a lot of stained glass. I do not
have much to say about most of the church interiors that I have seen
so far, in fact, although they interest me in the moment. I cannot
remember what the cathedrals of Speyers and Worms looked like, in
fact, although I saw them just last year; indeed, I think that the
only cathedral whose appearance I can clearly remember is that of
Cologne. The cathedrals in Lyon seemed especially luxuriant in
architectural filigrees and religious objects of value, if my memory
holds, and one the two cathedrals in Clermont-Ferrand had very
unadorned stained glass. The light cast by stained glass is incredibly
beautiful and, based on my experience, a rather rare sight. Christ is
always depicted in poses of appropriate torment. Many cathedrals have
plaques in them commemorating important events in their history, and
some of them even have descriptions of their entire histories. The
cathedral in Clermont-Ferrand had an exposition that even showed some
of the tiles and stones that formed parts of it that were destroyed
and had to be reconstructed.
Chartres' cathedral was the first one, surprisingly, that I had
climbed on this trip. In central Europe last year, I climbed every
cathedral that had a staircase; it is one of my favorite activities
abroad, as it gives one a good view of the city in which one is
located, generates funds for conservation of the cathedral (one
imagines), and gives one a bit of much-needed exercise. In France,
however, I have often arrived at cathedrals too early to climb them
(In Lyon, Annecy, and Reins, to my disappointment), and they have
sometimes been too expensive to be worth climbing (Notre Dame de
Paris). The cathedral in Chartres was also too expensive to be worth
climbing, but its being world-famous and my not having climbed a
cathedral for awhile motivated me to do so today. I do not have much
to say except that the views were fantastic and that, despite the
stairway's having felt like tough going, I think that I only climbed
about as high as in Frankfurt and sincerely doubt that I climbed
higher today than on Prague's imitation Eiffel Tower, which afforded
one even better views. I left Chartres after only an hour and a half,
having seen a few fantastic statues, including one celebrating the
bicentennial of the French Revolution, a Sunday market, and even a
little exhibition by local artists. I had no difficulty getting back
except that the carriage on the first leg of my journey was hot and
stuffy, a good reminder of what I may face as this trip goes on and
will definitely have to face in southern Europe.
I am going to be leaving France tomorrow, perhaps for the last time;
the only parts of Europe that I could so far see myself revisiting are
Lake Konstanz, Holland, and Salzburg. I am not going to leave before
having seen a little more of Lille's city center, though. If there is
one gripe that I have against Lille -- and I may as well mention this,
as the city is wonderful enough to be able to withstand a little
criticism -- it is the number of cars in the city center. While they
do not run too many people over and often have to yield to people due
to the latter's sheer numbers, they also make walking through the city
center less pleasant, a claim that I would probably not be able to
make about Lyon if only I had been able to see it for a little longer!
All told, as much as I have complained about the strike, which is
still puttering along in the background, having mostly been quashed,
and as much as France's backwardness and expensiveness frustrated me,
I have greatly enjoyed my stay here -- at least, I think -- and owe a
lot to the railway workers, who work extremely hard to keep tourists
informed about their coming trains and are frequently quite friendly.
In fact, in Reins I saw them making jokes and -- horror of horrors, in
the very workplace! -- laughing. The French do not appear to me to be
as sour as our stereotypes make them out to be.
visiting Chartres. The trip was interesting from the beginning:
partway between Lille and Paris, my train came to a stop, and there
was an announcement that it was going to be delayed. I asked the woman
across from me, the most beautiful woman whom I have so far seen in
France, what was going on. She explained that the train was delayed,
speaking too quickly for me to understand why. When she asked where I
was going, I showed her my reservation, and she explained that she was
leaving from the same station as I, only two minutes later.
"Can I follow you to the station?" I asked, smiling. I did not know
the way from one station to the other and did not want to waste time
trying to find it; I knew only that I would have to take the subway.
"I walk quite rapid," I said, and she laughed and consented to my
joining her.
This woman, Liye, and I got to talking for the rest of the ride to
Paris Nord. She said that she was going to Rennes to see her
boyfriend, who, like her, lived and worked in Lille, and his family
for the weekend; the two of them were going to be engaged. Liye was
from central China, had studied at a university in Xi'an, and had
moved to Lille six years previously via a study abroad program. She
said that it had taken her about four years to learn French, of which
she did not know a word upon her arrival, and that she had taken
intensive courses in it for a year. Although she spoke very quickly
and fluently, she also had a distinctly Chinese accent that even I
could catch.
When Liye and I arrived at Paris Nord, one of Paris' many train
stations, we rushed into the subway to try to get to Paris
Montparnesse on time. Liye could really burn rubber, unlike the
majority of Frenchmen, who forever stroll. She gave me a one-off
ticket when we got to the subway in order to speed things up, but we
got the platform only in time to see the train leave the platform.
"Are you stressed out?" I asked her. While I was sure to be able to
catch a second train if the first one left, Liye was not sure when the
next train for Rennes would depart. I explained to her my interest in
the Buddhist idea, if I am not misattributing it, of not getting angry
over things that one could not change; Liye said that I was more of a
Buddhist than she, but she did not seem too out of sorts. The next
subway train arrived in four minutes, and we got on it with little
hope of making our trains.
We just barely missed our trains, in the end, but had lunch together
outside. I expect that one joy of interacting with foreigners is their
harmlessness: lacking the vocabulary to express himself fully, the
foreigner has a sort of childlike simplicity about him (at least, I
do). I was surprised, when Liye and I parted ways, that I had just had
an entire conversation, if one in which I said relatively simple
things and occasionally needed help -- Liye knew exactly where I had
been, having learned the language from scratch herself -- in French. I
could not possibly have done that a few weeks ago; while one cannot
learn an almost entirely new language, such as German, over the course
of three weeks well enough to have real conversations in it, one can
easily regain lost skills in a foreign language that one once spoke
with some fluency.
I did not arrive in Chartres until 1:24 (or so), almost an hour and a
half later than I was originally planning to. This did not turn out to
matter, as, while it would have been nice to have a little more time
to wander around the town, Chartres was tiny. Why, one wonders, did
the French build their nicest cathedrals in rinky-dink towns?
Chartres' cathedral is spectacular. When I first saw it from the
train, I asked one of a pair of girls across from me if it was the
cathedral. They said that it was, and when I asked if it was just some
church, they laughed and repeated that it was most definitely the
cathedral. It is definitely one of the biggest cathedrals, perhaps the
very biggest, that I have seen in France (It cannot compare to those
of Worms, Speyer, or Cologne in size.); it had the thickest supporting
columns and, seemingly, the most cavernous nave of any cathedral that
I had so far visited. I do not have too much to say about its interior
except that it was opulent and had a lot of stained glass. I do not
have much to say about most of the church interiors that I have seen
so far, in fact, although they interest me in the moment. I cannot
remember what the cathedrals of Speyers and Worms looked like, in
fact, although I saw them just last year; indeed, I think that the
only cathedral whose appearance I can clearly remember is that of
Cologne. The cathedrals in Lyon seemed especially luxuriant in
architectural filigrees and religious objects of value, if my memory
holds, and one the two cathedrals in Clermont-Ferrand had very
unadorned stained glass. The light cast by stained glass is incredibly
beautiful and, based on my experience, a rather rare sight. Christ is
always depicted in poses of appropriate torment. Many cathedrals have
plaques in them commemorating important events in their history, and
some of them even have descriptions of their entire histories. The
cathedral in Clermont-Ferrand had an exposition that even showed some
of the tiles and stones that formed parts of it that were destroyed
and had to be reconstructed.
Chartres' cathedral was the first one, surprisingly, that I had
climbed on this trip. In central Europe last year, I climbed every
cathedral that had a staircase; it is one of my favorite activities
abroad, as it gives one a good view of the city in which one is
located, generates funds for conservation of the cathedral (one
imagines), and gives one a bit of much-needed exercise. In France,
however, I have often arrived at cathedrals too early to climb them
(In Lyon, Annecy, and Reins, to my disappointment), and they have
sometimes been too expensive to be worth climbing (Notre Dame de
Paris). The cathedral in Chartres was also too expensive to be worth
climbing, but its being world-famous and my not having climbed a
cathedral for awhile motivated me to do so today. I do not have much
to say except that the views were fantastic and that, despite the
stairway's having felt like tough going, I think that I only climbed
about as high as in Frankfurt and sincerely doubt that I climbed
higher today than on Prague's imitation Eiffel Tower, which afforded
one even better views. I left Chartres after only an hour and a half,
having seen a few fantastic statues, including one celebrating the
bicentennial of the French Revolution, a Sunday market, and even a
little exhibition by local artists. I had no difficulty getting back
except that the carriage on the first leg of my journey was hot and
stuffy, a good reminder of what I may face as this trip goes on and
will definitely have to face in southern Europe.
I am going to be leaving France tomorrow, perhaps for the last time;
the only parts of Europe that I could so far see myself revisiting are
Lake Konstanz, Holland, and Salzburg. I am not going to leave before
having seen a little more of Lille's city center, though. If there is
one gripe that I have against Lille -- and I may as well mention this,
as the city is wonderful enough to be able to withstand a little
criticism -- it is the number of cars in the city center. While they
do not run too many people over and often have to yield to people due
to the latter's sheer numbers, they also make walking through the city
center less pleasant, a claim that I would probably not be able to
make about Lyon if only I had been able to see it for a little longer!
All told, as much as I have complained about the strike, which is
still puttering along in the background, having mostly been quashed,
and as much as France's backwardness and expensiveness frustrated me,
I have greatly enjoyed my stay here -- at least, I think -- and owe a
lot to the railway workers, who work extremely hard to keep tourists
informed about their coming trains and are frequently quite friendly.
In fact, in Reins I saw them making jokes and -- horror of horrors, in
the very workplace! -- laughing. The French do not appear to me to be
as sour as our stereotypes make them out to be.
 |
| Note the cathedral's asymmetry, which is unique to it. |
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