Photo Credit: MEAX PROD | Unsplash
The third installment in Bucket Bejeweled (“BB”) is a new twist on an old standard – one of Paris’ most popular destinations -Sacré-Cœur. See the introduction to this series here which includes links to other installments in the series.
I am far more spiritual than I am religious but there is something about holy structures that moves me. That emotional effect is a powerful sign that the grandeur and imposing presence of such a place is where religion gives way to spirituality no matter what your faith.
For me, spirituality is conjured through vibrations. And nowhere are vibrations more powerful than in this hallowed place of continuous prayer. According to the Catholic US-based National Catholic Register, “the chain of perpetual adoration of the Holy Sacrament” at Sacré-Cœur has remained unbroken since Aug. 1, 1885, even through the worst bombing during WWII and more recently, the deadliest wave of the coronavirus crisis.
During my many years living in Africa, I often would stop over in Europe on my trips to and from the US. Paris became more of a favorite when I learned to speak French. But, alas, the whole quirky dynamic around language in Paris should be left for another BB installment!
On one Paris stopover, I was traveling with my elderly mom and a friend. I had found the most delightful Airbnb apartment in the Chateau Rouge area at the eastern base of Montmartre Hill for our one-night stopover. For Africa lovers, this neighborhood, nicknamed “little Africa,” is appropriate for anyone who wants to stay connected to the African vibe. The staccato French of Senegal wafts out from vibrantly colored cloth markets and “restos” (the French nickname for restaurant) immediately identifiable through sumptuous aromatic reminders of downtown Dakar, to many, known as the “Paris” of Africa.
Pity that most tourists who mount the hill from its south side on the “funicular” (a climbing vehicle that no longer lives up to the true meaning of its name), never get to experience Africa in Paris. Instead, tourists choose the beaten path towards photo ops in front of the Basilica and then on to the famous art colony with its classic Parisian cafes. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been on that path too. A prized painting by the famed French artist, Gen Paul, hanging in my living room, was purchased at Galerie Roussard, one of Paris’ oldest art galleries. You can’t go to Montmartre without feeling a need to take part of it back home with you.
But this time around, I was in pursuit of a different experience. My mom was about 89 at the time and normally could not be left alone in her fragile state. On top of that, our flight was to depart from Charles De Gaulle at 8:30 a.m. which meant we needed to be at the airport by 6:30, at the latest. So my friend accused me of lunacy when I suggested that I take her to see the view from Sacré-Cœur at sunrise, taking a huge risk that an incident could arise with my mom in my absence and/or that we could miss our flight out of Paris. But, my persuasive powers are legendary and suddenly, my friend, Constance, was all in!
I had been to the church many times before but only during the day when there are throngs of people getting in each others’ photos and each others’ way. Just trying to get the right backdrop when your traveling partner takes a photo of you is a struggle at that time.
Not so at the crack of dawn when amazingly, in the heart of Paris, the only souls we encountered were at the base of Montmartre Hill – a group of postmen gathered on their signature “motos” getting ready to fan out across the 18th arrondissement. They were waking up collectively over animated chitchat and coffee drained slowly from thermoses and styrofoam cups.
The scene reminded me of one of my favorite French films, Diva, an outrageously popular cult film from the 1980s where the title character is the object of the main character’s affection. He is a young postman who spends a lot of time on his moto. Highly recommended to all film buffs. The most attentive film connoisseurs may note a striking resemblance of Diva’s plot to Enemy of the State, starring Will Smith and Gene Hackman. For fun, watch the two together!
But, I digress! It was time to launch our multiple hundreds-step assault on Montmartre Hill, the highest hill in Paris, also steeped in a storied past. The name itself is derived from two sources. It was first called “Mount of Mars” named so by the Merovingian Franks from around the 5th to the 7th centuries. But then when the story emerged of a Christian bishop, Denis, who was gruesomely punished by Romans for spreading the gospel in 250AD, the meaning of Montmartre was transformed to Mount of Martyrs. Denis was named a Saint because of the morbid miracle he was said to have performed – carrying his severed head to the bottom of the hill before succumbing to his “injury.”
As Constance and I began our climb, an eerie feeling (perhaps inspired by Saint Denis’ ghost) crept over me as the view and chatter of the postmen faded into silence. The awareness of being in the middle of one of the most famously bustling cities in the world at an instant when you could hear a pin drop, was suddenly overwhelming. The two of us, ourselves, went silent as we climbed, to soak in the rarity of the moment. Then “Voila!” there was the Basilica spire.
We had made it to the lookout point where all of Paris stretched out before us highlighted by the spectacular glow of “dawn’s early light.” The vibrations of the church, the vista and the complete silence combined to form the perfect “amrit vela” moment, a Punjabi term for time of the nectar, ideal for meditation. A sense of tranquility washed over me and all my worries vanished! If there was a divine message emanating from the majestic structure behind me, it was this – Life is too short to let it weigh so heavily. Be light! Be free!
Back at the apartment, we found my mom undisturbed from peaceful sleep as if she had been with us on the silent journey. But in truth, we kept our adventure a secret and she never knew we had been gone!
