Monstrous in its size and gothic architecture, Notre Dame towered over every piece of Paris. I could feel the cold front induced chill leave my body as I marveled at this majesty of history and entered the twenty-person line waiting for admittance. You could see it from the bridge of locks painted with yellows, blues, and reds, an eyesore to the locals who curse the fact that this lover’s bridge has collapsed at least three times. On a bus tour, my guide told me that most people never marry in Paris, they don’t even believe in love.
You could see Notre Dame from that white church on top of that hill people tell you to avoid because pickpockets are prevalent, a place where you can find street art splayed on the weak and wobbly cobblestones. Somehow, you still can’t see above Notre Dame, its grasp on the heavens too tight.
The gargoyles of Notre Dame are menacing. They look like pained, emaciated demons of the heavens, jealous that passersby can walk into such a holy place while they are fastened to the outer walls. The gigantic, circular stained glass lined every archway and appears much duller on the outside. Once you enter you see the glass is made up of mostly reds and purples, and that it is not filled with the darkness that reverberates outside but instead is filled with a purple aura that feels comforting and otherworldly.
I lit one of the small white remembrance candles out of respect and placed it back on its stand. I couldn’t choose only one lavish alter to respect with my flame of curiosity. You could see sculptures of Mary, Jesus, and saints holding out their hands as if in welcoming sanctuary, and as you walk down the path alongside the center that contains dark wooden pews and a baroque white cross of an altar, you do not feel separate from the worship. Their songs echo from organs and the stained glass comes to life as you walk past the green and gold rosaries for purchase.
Once you step outside, you see a line that has doubled and watch as they stare with the same awe and fascination you entered with, but now leave with an amazing calm. There’s a café next to Notre Dame, so you sit at a red booth and take in the bright golds and yellows that contrast the darkness of the cathedral. You order a strawberry macaroon and eat it as the famished gargoyles watch you from the window.
