Eiffel Tower – The Tragic Queen

Au Revoir

August 25, 2025August 26, 2025travel1 Comment

On my last day in Paris, Claire and I went to the Catacombs, going much farther than 6 feet under to see the bodies of the 6 million people buried underneath the streets of Paris.

The catacombs came about out of a need for mass burial after a public health crisis and now acts as a popular attraction.

The tunnels we walked through were cool and damp, dripping wet from the rainstorm happening well above our heads. It was eerie seeing millions of skeletons stacked on top of each other while walking through a narrow, underground tunnel.

We listened to the audio explaining how the catacombs came to be. Hint: the plague was big for the catacombs numbers. I never thought that I would be able to walk past a wall of skeletons as casually as I did in the catacombs, but we walked amongst skulls wrapped around walls, down the long, winding tunnels.

Between the catacombs and Père Lachaise, I saw a decent amount of French burial grounds. After visiting Père Lachaise, a cemetery full of some of the richest and most famous people in Europe, it was shocking to see the 6 million bodies of unknown people lumped together underground.

After getting a nice, chilling perspective on mortality in the catacombs, I decided to go and check out the flea market being held in the Marais district in the Place des Vosges, a park that straddles the 3rd and 4th arrondissements. Every weekend in Paris there are grand flea markets all over the city and I follow a woman on Instagram who posts nothing but where to find them each weekend. The internet is wild.

I bought a couple more chokers and looked around at the paintings, gramophones, and other antiques that they were selling. It seemed true to what I had come to expect from all of the movies I’d seen of Paris, where gramophones and old records are casually sold on every other street corner.

While I was there, I went to the apartment that belonged to Victor Hugo, author of Les Miserables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which is now a museum honoring his life. It overlooks the park, with a sweeping view of the flea market. On every wall there are massive oil paintings, many of which are of his favorite daughter who preceded him in death.

I walked through the fabulous apartment that Hugo lived in while writing his books about poverty. One of my friends later told me that after his death, they went through his financial records and found that he hired somewhere around two prostitutes a day and that all of the brothels were therefore closed on the day of his funeral because all of the women were in attendance. In case you were wondering, no, he did not die from syphilis. He died in his 80s from natural causes.

Towards the end of the day, I sat on a park bench. Couples walked by on dates, college students laid out on the grass, and kids ran around playing soccer in a way that made me both nostalgic and melancholy, because I will never be that young again.

I was ready to leave Paris the next day, carting my painting with me. I’d had a dreamy first trip to the city, drifting into shops and cafes, with walks along the Seine interspersed throughout. I spent my time eating unbelievable food and getting lost in the charms of the city. This trip has inspired me to learn French (right after I finish learning Italian and Spanish, the two other languages I started but never finished studying).

And to my friend Claire: thank you for hosting me, introducing me to proper French food, and for giving me my first taste of Paris. Without Claire, I would have bumbled my way around Paris, mispronouncing every word (I did that anyway). Instead, the two of us stayed up watching Audrey Hepburn movies at night and it enhanced my experience tenfold to watch Cary Grant chase Audrey Hepburn through a metro station that I would use the next day.

I never went to the top of the Eiffel Tower, but I always like to leave something for the next trip. There are always smokey jazz bars, burlesque shows, and more Audrey Hepburn films to watch (I still haven’t seen Paris When it Sizzles).

The good news is that I was able to do it all over again with my trip to Asia a few weeks later. Get ready for more pictures of food, stories about wily monkeys, and a beautiful tropical paradise.

So until next time, Paris!

Au Revoir!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel
P.S.: Check out how I spent the previous day in Paris when I went on a spree

Nice View

June 27, 2025Uncategorized2 Comments

I woke up the next day and went straight to the Louvre in order to see, at long last, the greatest art museum in the world. I had been dreaming about going there since childhood, ready to see some of the world’s best artwork all in one place.

Even the name of the museum seemed to roll off my tongue when I was a kid.

For breakfast that morning, I went to Cafe Marly, the cafe at the Louvre, having champagne and tea for breakfast, because I’m the pinnacle of good health. Sitting there, I had a perfect view of the museum.

For those who have never been, the Louvre is probably bigger than any of you are imagining. In order to do it properly, a person should probably spend at least two days walking through it.

I saw countless beautiful paintings, many of which I’d seen before as refrigerator magnets and postcards, but could now stand in front of, as a real painting with brushstrokes and texture.

After looking at hundreds of paintings, I saw the main attraction.

A massive crowd surrounds the Mona Lisa at all times, with tourists body-checking each other in order to get a photo. People rushed up to take their selfies with the Mona Lisa, not even looking at it. When it was my turn to get up there, I tried to stare and study the painting, before taking a photo of the most photographed painting in the world.

People were churned in and out, standing behind a velvet rope. Everyone crowds around the painting, while quietly ignoring the Wedding of Cana painting taking up the entire wall across from it.

After I was done in the Louvre, I walked through the tuileries, getting a sandwich from a food truck and then tossing pieces of bread at the ducks in the pond, which I was almost certainly not allowed to do.

I admired the sculptures in the garden and the violin playing of a guy who was chased off by a security guard shortly thereafter.

From there, I walked down the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, the monument to Napoleon’s military victories many moons ago and the French Revolution. The Arc de Triomphe is accessed through an underground tunnel, not by running across several lanes of traffic like in a game of frogger.

While walking underground, I passed several people in marching band uniforms who were carrying musical instruments. Then I passed several people in military uniforms who were carrying assault rifles. A military display had just wrapped up, ending with the French flag waving over my head as I stood underneath the Arc de Triomphe.

Standing at the top of the arc, I got an incredible view of the city. By now, it was night time and after glimpsing the Tuileries Garden as the sun was setting, I was able to see the City of Lights while it was all lit up. From the top of the Arc de Triomphe, I could see the Eiffel Tower and its beam cutting across the sky.

Between the cafe at the Louvre, the Mona Lisa, my stroll through the Tuileries, and standing at the top of the Arc de Triomphe, it was a day of sweet views. I saw the sights from all angles, enjoying beautiful art, sculpture gardens, and the city at night from one of its most famous landmarks.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out how I spent the previous day in France

Père Lachaise

May 16, 2025Uncategorized2 Comments

“Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow.”

–Oscar Wilde

When planning a trip to Paris, lots of ideas spring to mind for what you should do: shopping, going to cafes, visiting museums, and walking (or taking the elevator) to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Visiting a cemetery is not usually one of them.

Yet, on my second day in Paris, Claire and I ventured across the Seine to Père Lachaise, one of the world’s most famous cemeteries so that we could see the graves of some of the greatest icons to ever live. It is home to an estimated one million late citizens of the world, many of whom changed it during their time.

Père Lachaise was eerier than most cemeteries (which is saying something) with crows pecking at the moss-eaten tombstones that lined the cobblestone paths. The only thing that was missing was the thin sheet of fog descending on what was already a cool, overcast day. We made our way through the cemetery like we were window shopping, asking each other which tombstone we could see for ourselves. (“I like the headstone on that grave” “I think I would prefer one of the standing ones like that one.”)

We visited the graves of Chopin, Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, Proust, and Balzac, all of which were littered with flowers, love letters, candles, and other esoteric objects that signified people’s enduring love for them. I stood back and admired the various legends who were buried six feet below my feet, whispering to Oscar Wilde and Balzac that I had read their works for class.

Towards the end, we found Oscar Wilde’s tombstone. It was only a tiny bit obvious which one was his, since it featured a bust of him as a sphinx (no one can say that he didn’t have style). Claire later told me that a tour guide standing nearby said that the sphinx once had a penis attached to it, but that someone stole it in the 1960s. Now his grave is encased in glass, which people have kissed while wearing lipstick.

Spending time in an iconic cemetery brings up many strange questions, like what is worth putting on your tombstone, what kinds of people would ever visit it, and what a person would have to do in order to be remembered for something centuries after their death.

These are thoughts that, much like the one million or so bodies in Père Lachaise, will fester.

From there, Claire and I went for a stroll in a park. It made for a nice relaxing end to our day, as we admired the waterfalls and flowers. It was a beautiful spring day in Paris.

Later that evening, I met up with my aunt and uncle and my uncle’s nephew (they all also ended up being in Paris at the same time as me). Together, the four of us went to see the Eiffel Tower and grab dinner at a nearby cafe.

The Eiffel Tower is one of the few landmarks in world history that is just a little bit bigger than you think it’s going to be in real life. After years of imagining what it would look like up close, it did not disappoint. It shimmers on the hour every hour for five minutes and I was able to see the glittering tower just as it changed. Child Raquel was squealing on the inside.

We didn’t go up it. We just admired it from afar.

After checking out the Eiffel Tower, we had dinner together and then we called it a night.

I scratched off several things from my Paris itinerary in a single day: the graves of beloved icons and the Eiffel Tower. I was ready to see what my next day in Paris had in store for me.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

An American in Paris

May 7, 2025UncategorizedLeave a Comment

“I love Paris in the Springtime”
–Cole Porter

Like so many little girls growing up in the US, I always dreamt of going to Paris. It consumed my personality: I had an Eiffel Tower lamp, an Eiffel Tower statue, and a calendar of famous Parisian landmarks. I even made a painting of the Eiffel Tower once.

Anytime I saw a movie or tv show set in Paris, it seized my imagination, and I could suddenly picture myself strutting down cobblestone roads and seeing the Seine lit up with street lights late at night.

Many great American writers lived in Paris for a time, like Hemingway, Baldwin, and Stein. It made me hope that one day I would do a stint in Paris as well, reading and writing in an epicenter of art and culture.

Despite all of my dreams of visiting, I didn’t always think it was going to happen. Paris always seemed nebulously far away, more of a romantic ideal than a potential reality, but when my friend Claire returned to Paris to finish her studies at the Sorbonne, I asked if I could spend Spring Break sleeping on her couch. I was thrilled when she said yes.

While she went to work, I tooled around town, doing all of the touristy things that locals would never dream of doing. I waited in long lines, seeing the sights, and mumbled my way through the few French phrases that I knew (“Je suis désolé, est-ce que vous parlez anglais?” was the most popular and I left out half the words.)

The day that I arrived, we started by getting brunch at a restaurant called Jozi. We ate avocado toast and mimosas, while I fought my jet lag and lost. It was my first Parisian meal, not including the tiny bread roll that I was given on the plane, and it more than lived up to my expectations.

After that, we walked along the Seine and waited in line for the Notre Dame Cathedral. The line was so long that it zig-zagged across the plaza.

It was one of the first times in years that Notre Dame Cathedral was open to the public since the fire in 2019. The bricks of the cathedral are now a lighter color than they used to be, but you otherwise cannot tell that the church is any different. The line moved shockingly fast and before we knew it we were being ushered through the church.

We took our time milling through the cathedral, looking at the paintings, listening to the church organs, lighting candles, and buying rosaries for devout Catholic grandmothers.

The cathedral is just as beautiful as I imagined, with sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows, dimly lit by candles, and smelling vaguely of incense. It has been perfectly restored since the fire.

Parts of it were a surprise to me, like the statues of saints that lined the front of the cathedral and how they stared down at you, almost as though they were doing it from heaven.

It’s hard to find an original thing to say about Notre Dame Cathedral, the beautiful gothic church that has captured the minds of writers, artists, and Disney execs around the world. All I can say is that it’s worth seeing if you ever find yourself in Paris (and Paris is not a bad place to find yourself).

After that, I dragged my tired ass home. I could barely keep my eyes open or feel my feet, but I had gotten my first taste of the city. I was ready to spend the next day conquering the city, dominating the public transportation system, and getting to know Paris.

I’ll keep you posted!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post about the feminist birthday party I attended a few weeks ago that raised money for nonprofits aimed at upholding women’s rights around the world.

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