Basilique Saint Denis

Today I took a trip to the first Gothic cathedral, the basilica of Saint Denis. On the way, I stopped at a brasserie and had a crêpe banane-- it was almost as delicious as the café crème. The waiter as usual seemed disappointed when at first I spoke very little, and awful french. I kept trying, and before I left he had asked me where I was from and told me he liked Americans. (He laughed when I replies that I liked French people.)

I got to the basilique after a couple hours of travel (mostly consisting of getting lost). In the 12th century, Abbot Suger rebuilt parts of the abbey church using artistic and structural techniques that would make it the first of its kinds. Although I didn't get to find it today, Suger signed his name in the stone, an uncommon practice of the old ages to take credit for such work. He must have known what a masterpiece he was creating because boy! is it beautiful. Despite the construction happening to restore many of the stained glass windows that have been destroyed time and again, the cathedral was a sight to see. Filled with tombs of nearly every French king from the 10th to the 18th century and many of their family members, the church became a place of pilgrimage and honorable burial place.

My favorite part though, as maybe Suger intended, we're the windows. The cathedral, with its incredibly high ceilings for that time period, is filled with colorful glass including cobalt blue, and when the sun shines through, rainbow specks decorate the architecture. I learned today that Suger focused on the stained glass windows as a symbol of God, as light shines through the windows to create such beauty without harming them. I learned many many things on my audio tour, much of which went in one ear and out the other (history has never been a strength of mine). I spent hours in that cathedral, listening to every bit of commentary on the tombs and architecture from the audio guide. With his French accent, it was the most English I've heard in two days.

French people like to sing. As I sit outside of my hotel, I hear men singing classical music to one playing violin inside, and the ones outside decided to join in. Another is playing a little guitar on the lawn. Every other metro I get on has a musician or a dancer performing for change or just because. It's funny what different cultures do with free time.

French people also like cheese. See that photo? That was my salad... Ad yes, somewhere underneath the delicious mountain of cheese lie cucumbers and tomatoes in dressing, the tasty dinner I had after a great visit to the Basilique.