13: Notre Dame (No hunchback jokes, please)

​Okay, I’m here. Now what?
Well, I decided to keep my first day in Paris relatively light. After a night of tossing and turning—on a very comfortable bed, mind you—I came up with a manageable list of things to do:

• Notre Dame
• The Left Bank
• The Latin Quarter
• Sainte-Chapelle
• Shakespeare and Company
• Ice cream at Berthillon

And all before 4 p.m., because I had a very pressing appointment.
Breakfast at Maison Chomel is truly a traveler’s delight. To get there, I descended in what may be the tiniest elevator known to man. I’m fairly certain it’s the same one James Bond fought diamond smuggler Peter Franks in. Sure, they moved it from Holland to France, but in the movies, they do that sort of thing all the time. I swear it made the exact same noise.
Anyway, breakfast was laid out beautifully—cereals, breads, cheeses, and plenty of coffee with milk. I ate quickly, handed my room key to Matt at the front desk, and made my way to the Metro.
I had already purchased a week-long Metro pass, and after spending what felt like hours the previous day assembling it like a Revell model kit, I was ready. I headed toward Babylone Station. Miraculously, the pass worked. After descending into the bowels of Paris, I waited only briefly for the next train.
It was still early—prime Parisian commute time. The platform was crowded but clean, and, thankfully, devoid of any lingering scent of urine. I wouldn’t be on the train long, but even a few minutes is enough to fall prey to the city’s notorious pickpockets. I kept a vigilant eye out. I would be on high alert the entire trip for these smooth-fingered villains.
I believe it was Mother Superior who told Maria in The Sound of Music, “When God opens a Metro train door, get in that motherf***er fast before it’s too late.” With that in mind, I shoved aside what looked like several very nice elderly people and climbed aboard, landing a seat. Thankfully, during the two-stop ride, not a single person dared to reach inside my shirt and snatch my neck wallet. The Linde fortune remained secure.
Notre Dame.
The great cathedral caught fire on April 15, 2019, around 6:50 p.m. The blaze began in the roof structure and quickly spread, engulfing the spire and much of the roof. While the exact cause is still under investigation, restoration efforts have since returned Notre Dame to her former glory—and she is once again open to the public.
Word to the wise: If you want to go inside (and who wouldn’t?), get your tickets early. It’s worth every euro and offers a visual feast you won’t forget.
Now, while the architecture of St. Paul’s in London is certainly impressive (if a bit stifling), Notre Dame is a true Gothic masterpiece. Spires instead of domes. Hand-carved stone instead of plaster. There’s honestly nothing like it in the world. Gazing up at it feels like time travel—to 1260, when power and religion were immortalized in stone.
And as stunning as the exterior is, the interior is nearly twice as breathtaking. Stained glass, statues, altars—each element painstakingly preserved. The lives of saints and popes are literally carved into the structure, guiding your steps as you walk through. It’s humbling. I found myself in one of the seats used during services, where I sat quietly, contemplatively, just trying to take it all in.
I could have spent the entire day in just this one place. Despite the massive crowds, I was drawn inward, reflecting on the power of religion and these monuments on lives both past and present.