Bittersweet Return

Already missing the streets of Europe

Nostalgia, that bittersweet feeling of missing the past, comes from the Greek word nostos meaning "a return home." Appropriate, I think. Homecoming is something we all long for, yet I'm not sure many of us ever achieve it. I'm not sure it's even possible to achieve. Home is a mental construction more than a place or even a set of people. Going home is the illusion of perfect belonging, and it always proves false once we arrive.

At least, that's how it is for me. At 8pm on August 30, I stepped off an airplane onto American soil (well, onto American carpeting at least). I was thrilled to be "home." After a long stay abroad, I was ready for barbecue and drip coffee and shops that open promptly at 8am and stay open until 10pm, even during lunch time. I had a new apartment to look forward to with new furniture and a walk-in closet where I could hang - actually hang! - far more clothes than could ever fit in a suitcase. I could go months at a time without worrying about catching a plane to anywhere. It was good to be back.

Ten days later it's still good to be back. I'm struggling every day to get more of my life together: reactivate my American cell phone, get internet service in my apartment, assemble my new furniture. I'm eating the foods I missed and buying Three Buck Chuck (a relief after dropping $25 on that Chateauneuf-du-Pape). But the real question is, did I come home? Did my nostalgia go away?

And the answer is of course not. I'm just nostalgic for my other homes now. Every day I think of something I miss: the wide, empty spaces of the Sardinian landscape, the gorgeous views along the Amalfi coast, the urban nightlife of Florence, or Paris's cafes. If I scratch below the surface of my most recent trip, I find I continue to miss places I lived many years ago. I miss the friendly pubs and fabulous whiskeys of Ireland. I miss the civilized urbanity of bike transport in the Netherlands. I miss the cool Troodos Mountains in Cyprus and I even miss - and I never thought I'd say this - the wonderful, polluted chaos that is Athens, Greece.

So even though I'm back in the land of my citizenship, I'll never quite settle in. There will always be that bit of nostalgia for the way things are back home.

Copyright 2010 Sara Harding

Sacre Coeur

Copyright 2010 Sara Harding

A Final Stop: Montmartre

The Abbesses stop, designed by Hector Guimard

Yesterday was my last full day in Paris. It was cool and sunny (for the most part), and I decided to finally see a part of Paris that I had heard about but never visited: Montmartre. Montmartre is famous for its nightclubs - like the Moulin Rouge and Le Chat Noir - and as a neighborhood where numerous late 19th and 20th century artists lived and worked. Reading their names is like a role-call of the important painters of the last hundred-some years: Salvador Dali, Claude Monet, Vincent van Gogh, Henri Matisse, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas... and the list goes on.

I got to Montmartre from Montparnasse by taking Metro line 13 to Montparnasse-Bienvenue and then switching to the 12 and taking it all the way to the famous Abbesses stop with its original art nouveau sign (only three of these are left in Paris). I climbed the long spiral staircase - the stop is 36 meters underground - and stepped out into the beautiful arrondissement of Montmartre.

Artists' kiosks outside a cafe in Montmartre

The streets of Montmartre are charming, overflowing with cafes, creperies, corner markets, and enticing boutiques. It was a pleasure just to wander, but the real fun began when I climbed up the stairs toward the basilica of Sacre Coeur and found myself in a square filled with artists. Charles Aznavour may lament that Montmartre may not be the artists' colony it once was, but the place is still full of aspiring artists practicing their crafts among the crowds of tourists. Some of them are quite aggressive as well - I stopped to watch as one artist cut a little girl's silhouette out of paper in a matter of seconds and before I knew it he was cutting mine as well. It was such an unusual souvenir that I ended up buying it from him - at the somewhat expensive price of 15 euros. I don't know how many customers these artists get during the day, but it's clear that "starving" is no longer an appropriate epithet for the Montmartre artists.

Rue Chappe

After seeing the impressive basilica of Sacre Coeur, I wandered the picturesqu streets looking for the one souvenir my dad wanted from Paris - a photograph of the Montmartre steps that appear in the famous photograph by Brassai. I knew only the photograph and had no idea what the name of the street was or where to find it. I had thought that such a long flight of steps would be somewhat obvious, but what I hadn't realized was that all of Montmartre is a big hill and long flights of steps are everywhere. I finally found a postcard of the same spot and bought it. It had the name of the street on the back - Rue Chappe - and I stopped in a boulangerie and then a mini market showing the postcard around and asking where I could find these particular steps. The second attempt led to success and I spent ten minutes taking shots of the stairs from all angles.

My last stop was Cafe Chappe at the bottom of the stairs. After walking up and down a hill for several hours, I was in need of some refreshment, so I ordered a glass of wine and indulged in that most Parisian pastime - watching the world go by through the window of a cafe.

Copyright 2010 Sara Harding

Saying Goodbye to Paris

The Eiffel Tower at night, taken from a Seine riverboat

I leave Paris tomorrow. It seems like I've been here such a short time, but it's already time to go. Seeing this famous city has been an amazing experience. There are a hundred things I wish I'd had time to do and never got around to. I'll have to content myself with the thought that they'll all make great reasons to plan a second Paris trip as soon as possible.

Leaving Paris also marks the end of my stay in Europe. I fly to Rome for a single night, then back to the good old US of A. And do I ever miss it! Whenever I leave America for a long stay overseas, I "say goodbye" to America by enjoying all the things I know I won't have for months to come. Now, I'm practically ecstatic about getting back to them.

Today I'll spend my time walking around Montemartre, a historic neighborhood in Paris that I haven't seen yet (it's where the Moulin Rouge is). Then I'll come home and pack, and tomorrow morning I'll be on my way. It saddens me to say "au revoir" to this beautiful place, but I try to remember that "au revoir" literally means "til I see you again."

Copyright 2010 Sara Harding

Doing My Cultural Duty at the Louvre

She's back there somewhere...

It amazes me how some things become cultural icons. I can only imagine there's a certain amount of path dependence in this. Someone - an important critic, a fashionable taste-maker, a high-profile political figure - likes something and bam! the rest of us like it too, for centuries to come.

What I'm going on about, of course, is the absolute pain in the ass it is to see the Mona Lisa in the Louvre.  I'm not big into painting, as I've said before, but I felt that it would just be weird to spend a day in the Louvre and not see the Mona Lisa. I could imagine people back home. It would be the first thing they asked and I would have to admit "no, I didn't see the Mona Lisa" and suddenly my whole level of cultural sophistication would come under suspicion.

So I decided to do my cultural duty and see the thing.

I have to admit, I never did see it well, because what I encountered when I walked into the famous painting's gallery was a mob of unruly, camera-wielding tourists all eager to do their cultural duty, too - and have digital proof they had done it. I thought for a brief second about trying to elbow my way through, but I rapidly decided it wasn't worth it. I stood on tip toe, looked enigmatic Mona in the eyes, and then took a picture of the frustrating crowd, almost all of whom were using flashes despite the signs forbidding flash photography.

The Louvre contains hundreds of masterpieces, my favorites being in the sculpture sections - the Nike of Samothrace, the Venus de Milo, Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss. At none of these artistic marvels did I find myself wishing for a SWAT team.

I don't mean to imply that the Mona Lisa doesn't deserve its hype, but at the same time, why the Mona Lisa? Why do some things fascinate us and feed our imaginations while others are just... cool? I doubt I'll ever understand. But at least when I get the inevitable "did you see the Mona Lisa" I'll be able to answer "yes."

Copyright 2010 Sara Harding