L’art d’attendre

French people love to strike. Have I mentioned this? Well. Let me say that it’s difficult to win my sympathy to your cause when your strike causes massive delays in my plans to see gothic architecture. They should probably take this into consideration when trying to capture the coveted “hopelessly uncool white female foreign exchange student” demographic.

Our train to Chartres was scheduled to leave at 8:18, meaning I had to resort to my farmer schedule and wake up obscenely early. But I was in good spirits, because despite the dark pre-sun creepiness of Paris at 7:15 AM and the trademark smell of urine that wafts through every Parisian metro station, the air was ripe with adventure. I was going to see a cathedral.

But, alas. After we assembled dutifully at the train station, it became clear that there was no train, thanks to la grève. So we had to wait until the next train came in an hour.

Clearly, this wasted hour that could have been sleep was not something I enjoyed.

Upon arriving at Chartres, I felt some of my excitement return. In my short life, I’ve had the good fortune to see approximately tons of cathedrals in Europe, but I swear to you, I will never tire of them. I mean, think about it. How is stained glass not a fucking miracle? And these people didn’t even have computers!

But, of course, the cathedral was under minor construction, so the façade didn’t quite make the earth tremble and strike fear into the hearts of the disbelievers. Also, in my stubborn refusal to admit that It Is Fall Already, Stupid, I was not wearing a coat or, frankly, enough layers of socks, because even inside the cathedral I lost feeling in my extremities nearly instantly, even after vigorous hand-rubbing and holding my fingers over prayer candles.

The sculptures outside were awesomely detailed, and pretty much every ring around the doorways or column capital had some allegorical meaning. Plus, there were saintly expressions that veered to the sarcastic, which is always good. But I was so cold and tired that all I could think was “oh for the love of God WHEN IS LUNCH SO I CAN THAW.” But, if I have learned anything from many a choir tour and also partially from my mother, it is that waiting is a very big part of life. In fact, most of your life is not spent doing incredibly unbelievable things like gazing at an un-scaffolded cathedral façade in warm sunshine. Mostly, you are cold or waiting on a metro platform or (god forbid) both.

So? You shiver, like I did, and you don’t think about your frozen pinky toes, and you listen intently on your weird stethoscope-esque tour device about the meaning of every little sculpture, and you just live through things. Things like warmth and lunch and adequate circulation will come with time, but meanwhile, you can pay attention and embrace the present circumstances.

And yeah, a good lunch helps too.