I was able to visit the Notre Dame de Paris Cathedral twice in my life. The first time was in 1954, when our family had been required to travel to the United States Embassy in Paris to apply for entry into the United States, in person, as emigrants. My second visit took place fifty four years later, in 2008, when my wife Bonnie and I travelled to Europe to attend my daughter Christina’s nuptials to her new husband Doug, in Praiano, Italy. Bonnie wanted to see Paris as she had never been there before. This second trip was a fun adventure, whereas the 1954 trip had to be undertaken out of necessity.

Although my 1954 visit to Paris had been my first, I and all the other little kids going to school in Algrange (Moselle district of north-eastern France) had seen plenty of photographs and artwork featuring Notre Dame. We had also been required to read the novel by Victor Hugo entitled The Hunchback of Notre Dame which, by the way, in French was simply, Notre Dame de Paris or Our Lady of Paris.

We all knew about the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, because by 1954, we had been treated to the movie The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the American version starring Charles Laughton and Maureen O’Hara, produced in 1939. The film was of course based on the aforementioned Victor Hugo’s 1831 novel. Of course, in Algrange, when we went to see the movie at the Odeon Theater, the title on the marquee was Le Bossu de Notre Dame, which had been a translation of the American title, referencing the Hunchback.

Now unfortunately, in Algrange, in the 1950s, you couldn’t buy popcorn in movie theaters. The French people would tell us “zee corn is for zee peegs!” We could buy cacahouettes (peanuts) and marron rôties (roasted chestnuts) at the theater, along with assorted candies and ice cream; but NO popcorn! Can you imagine that? I know, this was somewhat of a detour, but the whole popcorn issue really bugged me…

The first time that I visited the Notre Dame I was 12. My father had told me that I should be amazed by the grandeur of the massive 750 year-old structure. At 12, I must admit that it looked like a gigantic church, twice or three times bigger than the one I had to attend every Sunday. It was dark and smoky inside, and I couldn’t even see the enormous arches making up the ceiling. The smell of incense was overwhelming and a priest was singing the mass; the same mass I heard every Sunday, unless we attended the Protestant church, where they didn’t sing the service. By 12, I knew practically the whole Catholic mass Dominus vo biscum – et cum spiritu tuo – Oremus. Translated: “The Lord be with you, and your spirit, let us pray.” By the time we sat down, I was totally in sync with the lyrics the priest was singing.

As we finished our prayer, some balding monks in dark brown habits with hoods, straight out of the Middle ages, came by for donations, and back then, these monks didn’t take “NO” for an answer. When the basket at the end of a long pole, came by our way, right under my nose, my father put a pocketful of change into the basket. However, the stone-faced monk didn’t seem to think it was sufficient. So, he kept shaking the basket under my dad’s nose until he plunked in a one hundred Franc note (that was a lot, at the time). As the basket finally moved on to the next isle, my dad’s face was red. “This is outrageous,” he grumbled. “They now charge us for praying to God,” he went on rather loudly to my Mom. He then suddenly got up and told us we were leaving. He wouldn’t even let me finish singing the rest of the mass. I was somewhat disappointed, but he had me by the hand. That was literally the sum total of my visit to the Notre dame de Paris, in 1954, the very first time I saw her.

As a side note here, so you understand: while I was baptized Calvinist (Hungarian Protestant) we attended most Protestant services as well as Catholic masses, as my mother was Catholic. The agreement between Mom and Pop had been, if I was born a girl, I would be baptized Catholic. As a boy, I got baptized Protestant. While attending school in Algrange, all lower grades were public school and therefore Catholic. We only found out later that there was a small mixed belief school, farther down the road.

Anyway, while I was in the third grade, our catechism teacher, Père François (Father Francis), decided that I should be an altar boy because he noticed how I enjoyed singing the mass along with the priest. Of course, I missed my chance when I got transferred to Ecole Mixte (Mixed School) and they discovered that I was really Protestant. After that, I didn’t see Père François very often. I think I would have made a great altar boy.

I did learn to appreciate the history, beauty, resilience, and significance of Our Lady of Paris, once I grew a little older and we moved away from France to the United States. Over the years, friends from France would occasionally send me postcards with Notre Dame on them. And I learned over the past few years about several attempts to destroy this symbol of Catholicism, well really, Christianity, as well as the pride of the French people. There have been as many as four or five attempts at blowing up Our Lady, by the so-called Islamic State or ISIS. Luckily, these attempts were stopped in their tracks before they could do any damage. But our Lady of Paris actually survived many other ordeals with minor or reparable damage, over the centuries.

Did you know that Nazi General Dietrich Von Choltitz, when appointed as military governor of Paris in 1944, refused to destroy the city and reduce it to ashes, when so ordered by Hitler himself, because the general loved the beauty and architecture of Paris? This of course also saved Notre Dame from destruction. When Choltitz died in 1966, French generals attended his funeral in Baden because they deeply respected the bravery of the man who had defied the Führer, and had saved Paris and Notre Dame from destruction.

There had been several other attempts at destroying France’s religious and architectural symbol, some even by her own people. Around 1793, during the French Revolution, angry, anticatholic mobs and revolutionaries looted the medieval Gothic masterpiece during their bloody attempt to force France to sever ties to the Roman Catholic Church, and more specifically, the influence of Rome. A number of the statues, representing twenty-eight generations of kings of Judah, affixed to the church façade, above the massive doors, were publicly decapitated by the revolutionaries, the same year as Marie Antoinette was marched to the guillotine. This was a very dark period in France’s history, when the working class, calling themselves the Sans-Culotte or “without-breeches,” took to the streets of Paris and tried to make things right; the wrong way.

The Notre Dame de Paris was built on the Île de la Cité (or Island of the city), a rather large island in the middle of the Seine river, which is now connected to the rest of Paris by ten bridges to both banks of the river and to the Île Saint-Louis (or Saint Louis Island). The oldest surviving bridge is the Pont Neuf (New Bridge), which traverses the western pointed tip of the island, connecting both banks. Back in the really old days, before the cathedral was built, the island served as a mostly inaccessible fortress, to fend off Romans, Vikings, Huns and other assorted bands of marauding barbarians.

So, why the history lesson, you may want to ask. I wanted to show you what I had learned over the years about Our Lady of Paris, that I not only didn’t know at age 12, but also didn’t understand nor appreciate: how those builders of yore, from over 750 to 800 years ago, not only envisioned this masterpiece of religious architecture but were then able to turn it into reality with the tools of the time and without electricity at their disposal. I also learned to admire the resilience of Our Lady of Paris, having gone throughall the turmoil and still be standing, even today, although severely injured.

Back in 2008, when my wife and I spent four days in Paris, at the beginning of our European journey, we visited Our Lady of Paris on a beautiful, sunny day. We walked from our charming little hotel in the Latin Quarter and crossed Petit Pont (little Bridge) over the Seine and followed ‘Promenade Maurice Carême’ to Rue D’Arcole and here we were facing the Notre Dame.This was a real treat for Bonnie as she had never been to Paris. What she didn’t realize was that it was also a real treat for me. The day was beautiful and bright as opposed to 1954, on my first visit, when it had been gray and overcast. It was mid-morning and there weren’t a lot of people yet as there would be later on.

When you enter through the massive door, you truly feel as though you are on a pilgrimage and that somehow God may listen to you within this cavernous interior. Bonnie and I slowly toured the interior of the cathedral and I tried to take as many photographs as possible. Unfortunately, no flash photography was allowed, so no matter how steady I was able to hold my little camera, I missed a few good ones. More and more people started pouring in as we kept exploring and several good shots I was trying to take, ended up with a big head right in the middle.

We lit a couple of candles in memory of those who’d gone before us and my memory rewound back to 1954, when we had exited the cathedral in such a hurry and it made me wonder what had happened to the old, bald monks who used pass the collection baskets under the worshippers’ noses. On this occasion, we didn’t see any. Apparently, although services were still held in the cathedral, the monks had either moved out or moved on. I almost missed them, because in retrospect, they had added a certain sense of austere discipline and devotion in maintaining the serenity of the place. Although, remembering my dad, serenity would have been the last thing I would have attributed to him. But that was way back then. Now, in the twenty first century, everyone seemed to be more at ease, as though visiting a museum and not necessarily being in the presence of divinity. In a sense, this was sad. Although filled with statues, frescoes and marvelous stained-glass windows, including the beautiful north side Rose window, I still felt somewhat reverent while observing and touching the walls and some of those ancient relics such as the crown of thorns said to have been worn by Jesus Christ.

As I mentioned earlier, there were a great number of statues, inside and out. There was one special one dedicated to ‘Sainte Jeanne D’Arc’ or Joan of Arc, who was beatified on April 18, 1909. I was very familiar with her tale, as I had to write a report on her in my fifth-grade class at the Algrange ‘Ecole Mixte’. She was born in 1413. She led the armies of Charles VII to several victories gaining the crown of France for him. Unfortunately, she was captured at Compiègne by rebellious French allies of the British, put on trial and sentenced to death by pro-British French cardinal, Pierre Gauchon. When we had read that Gauchon sentenced Joan of Arc to death, the whole class renamed him Gauchon le cochon (the pig), we were so upset. What do you expect from little kids anyway? The brave young warrior was burned at the stake on May 30, 1431.

In addition to Joan of Arc, there are statues of kings and saints and whole gangs of gargoyles, all around the perimeter of the towers and the spire. Originally installed to keep rain water from damaging the structure of the cathedral, gargoyles are now just decorations and protrusions for the birds to perch on. Some look like scary, deranged creatures from Hades, some are long-beaked birds, and some are a cross between a human and the devil. Now, whose idea it was to decorate the top of the towers with these creatures, is beyond me. The way I understood, they weren’t part of the original plan and were actually installed a couple centuries later. Either way, they are fascinating and fun to photograph and draw.

The other day, when I heard on the radio that Notre Dame was burning, I couldn’t believe it. Who would do such a thing, I thought to myself? I was certain that it had to be terrorists. I had been wrong. When I finally got home to my TV, I was shocked to see the images of the clouds of smoke rising from the great cathedral, and to find out that it had been a bad accident, more than likely caused by the workers doing the renovation.

Notre Dame was built over a period of some 200 years. The project was started in 1163, during the reign of King Louis VII of France, and in the presence of Pope Alexander III, the first stone was laid. King Philip VI was the ruler of France when the project was finally finished in 1345. So, 856 years from the beginning of its construction and 674 years from the completion, a nasty fire almost destroyed Our Lady of Paris. Fortunately, enough of the structure is left that Président de la République Emmanuel Macron has vowed to have the cathedral rebuilt. As of the writing of this article, it has been announced in the media that several million Euros have already been raised for the reconstruction.

If I have a chance to visit Paris just one more time, I will want to see a resurrected Notre Dame, with all the art and artifacts returned inside, just the way I remember seeing it was back in 1954 and again in 2008. I believe, it will take a great deal of money, much of which has fortunately already been raised, to accomplish the task of restauration, but I’m willing to bet that the money will keep flowing in from all over the globe, from all the visitors who had seen the beauty of Our lady of Paris. I’ll also be sure to chip in all I can, for all the great memories of my visits there.

An Unofficial and Unauthorized International Writing Assignment

Virtually all, meaning none, of my loyal readers know that my oldest daughter, Hannah, is studying abroad this semester in Barcelona. That’s in Spain. Being the opportunist I am, I approached Eric “Chief” Johnson at ALIVE about the possibility of another all-expenses paid boondoggle to wrap up my travel trilogy chronicling my food and alcohol consumption in another country. 

In the summer of 2017, I convinced my naïve editor that we, meaning I, should be tasked to write a European travel log article to follow up my American beer piece. My International Pub Crawl piece, highlighting suds tasting in the countries of England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales was critically acclaimed and garnered numerous awards at the RIMAS – Regional Independent Magazine Awards Show. I’m kind of a big deal there.

The pub crawl piece was followed up by my I am the Last Emperor blockbuster article chronicling my tour of China during the spring of 2018. The beer was pretty bad, however, the travels through such a majestic country were life changing. I walked on the Great Wall, I walked the halls of the Imperial Palace and I walked the pits of the terracotta warriors along with the streets of Shanghai and Beijing. Obviously, I did a lot of walking on that trip, but that article walked me right into another big night at the RIMAs. Imagine Michael Jordon in his prime and you start to get the picture.

That leads us to my editorial staff pitch about a little wine tasting adventure in Barcelona. My pitch angle was that while Californian’s have been conditioned to overpay for mediocre red, white and rose wines, just because they’re from Napa, Sonoma or Pasa Robles, a lot of European wines and more specifically, Espana wines, are very affordable and mucho delicioso. That’s Spanish for “really good.”  When Chief asked to see my corporate credit card, I was assuming it was just to check the expiration date, instead he cut it in half and said, “Ace, your traveling days on the magazine’s nickel are over.”  What a buzzkill! Knowing that I had another RIMA award in me, I decided to renew my passport and fund the trip on my own.

Departing from SFO on American Airlines, I knew that the airline wouldn’t have the best wine selection in the world, but when you’re traveling in the premium economy section, the vino is free flowing. The on-flight sommelier suggested we pair a lovely cab with our tasty bag of pretzels entree. A few more tiny bottles of this demure wine allowed us to drift off to sleep organically on our transatlantic flight. Next stop… Barcelona.

Sunday, our first official day in Hannah’s new country, was a rental car road trip to Cadaques, a delightful seaside town about two hours outside of town. We arrived around noon and immediately sampled a few tapas dishes (tapas is Spanish for a small savory dish). Given that it was a beautiful, sunny day sitting on the beachfront patio of a popular restaurant, we shared a pitcher of sangria while staring at the Mediterranean Sea.  I’m not a big sangria fan, but, “when in Rome,” although by Rome I mean Barcelona. That night, back in Barcelona, we had our first paella meal of the trip, along with a half bottle of both red and white wine, at a nice family eatery that was but a mere Metro ride away from our hotel.  

Monday was all about the hop on/hop off bus tour of the city. We saw every part of Barcelona including Park Guell and C.C Arenas Barcelona, where the professional soccer team FC Barcelona plays. We saw the Olympic Village, the Palau Nacional, the Torry Agbar, Placa Toros Monumental – where they once held actual bull fights before they outlawed bull fighting and turned it into a shopping mall. Shopping can be a lot like a bull fight if there’s a good sale going.  The tour ended as we passed the Christopher Columbus monument near the Waterfront – which included the historic Old Port. We got off the bus at the Plaza Catalunya, which is the prime shopping district. It’s a combination of Union Square (SF) meets Michigan Avenue (Chicago) with a little 5th Avenue (NYC) mixed into Downtown Disney.

That night, after striking out at the first two restaurants we visited, we settled on a Spanish/Greek place and were very pleased with the selection…of wines.  Leaning toward a bold red, we ordered the Marques de Cacares and five straws. I’m only kidding, we only had four straws.

Tuesday we visited the prime landmark in Barcelona, the fabulous Basilica of the Sagrada Familia designed by Antoni Gaudi. This rather large Catholic basilica, because Barcelona already had a cathedral, began construction in 1882 and is expected to be completed by 2026. Like most construction projects, they are slightly behind schedule. After taking a couple photos—a couple hundred, to be precise—we grabbed some lunch before venturing over to our daughter’s apartment in the El Camp de L’Alpa del Clot district. Clot is a quieter part of the city, but it’s a short walk to the Universidad Autonoma de Barcelona where my little girl is attending classes. Imagine if Hogwarts were a commuter school and you’ll get a fitting visual. Luckily I was able to find a school t-shirt in a nearby store, which is a “must have” for any collegiate visit.

 

Being a beautiful evening, we took a friend’s suggestion and dined outside at a wonderful restaurant that served, of all things, wine. We stuck with an assortment of tapas dishes and a bottle of Bodegas Vega Sicilia Unico Tinto 2007. I’m only kidding; that wine is $350 a bottle. We stuck with a few pitchers of inexpensive Sangria.

Wednesday was a beach day as we walked the Passeig Maritim de la Barceloneta. Talk about a collection of luxury yachts in the harbor. My yacht would seem compact by comparison. From there, we made our way over to the Gothic district (my favorite part of the city). We started at the Cathedral de Barcelona and then strolled the Passeig de Lluis Companys making our way to the Arc de Triomf. My travel party did their share of shopping in and around the Del Mercat de Santa Caterina which is an intriguing mosaic-tiled, wavy rooftop marketplace that does not sale meerkats. Too bad, those little critters crack me up. Mercat translated is market.

For dinner, we chose a cool split-level restaurant, somewhere near our hotel. We entertained one of Hannah’s friends from school by sharing a crisp bottle of white—Martin Codax Arbarino, and a spicy bottle of red—Oro Bailen Reserva.  Dinner was muchas tapas and paella, and dessert was gelato. I was very full walking back to the hotel. Thankfully I brought along my after-dinner lounging pants with an elastic waistband.

Thursday started with a short Metro ride and about an hour train ride to get us to Parc Natural de la Muntana and the Santa Maria de Montserra Abby and Basilica de Montserrat. This is a monastery and basilica built high, high, high up in the mountain with a hairy gondola ride to get to our destination. Luckily the monks served a Marques de Caceres Rioja to calm the nerves of all gondola riders. The grounds are truly amazing, especially given what it must have taken to build a town in the side of a rock mountain. Sadly, I’m guessing that many donkeys lost their lives hauling building materials 4,055 feet above the valley floor. Apparently, donkeys don’t like to ride in gondolas.  

That night, for a change of pace, we ate at a lively Mexican restaurant that was filled with college students from all over the United States. I can’t say for sure that their margaritas were made of Spanish wine, but after the 5th or 6th it really didn’t matter. The meal was delicious, and it was enjoyable watching all the kids having so much fun. That place will be crazy on Cinco de Mayo.

Friday started with a visit to the public market called Mercat St. Josep La Boqueria. We followed our un-Safeway like grocery shopping expedition with a cooking class led by the renowned chef, Carlos Aviles. The culinary excursion was enchanting, however the Paella de Marisco (sea food paella) was a little too fishy for my In-N-Out burger-munching pallet. As instructed, because we were in a classroom setting, we washed down our comida (food) creations with a few glasses of Gran Feudo, a tangy white wine. We finished the day with a ramble down Las Ramblas, the popular retail promenade. Needless to say, after a decadent afternoon of eating and drinking our self-created Michelin star meal, we opted for a simple dinner of flat bread pizza and a splash of Campo Viejo Tempranillo.

It was wonderful seeing our daughter in her 3rd home surroundings and Barcelona is a truly amazing city worthy of a visit. While we were expecting rain during our visit, because, well you know…. the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain, we were treated with beautiful weather throughout our weeklong visit.

I’m wrapping this piece up as I peruse the isles of BevMo looking for a couple of Spanish wines to add to our tapas-size wine collection. While I won’t be craving paella for a while, I will enjoy a sassy glass of La Riojo Alta Grand Reserva as I download my photos from a wonderful trip to Barca. That’s how the locals refer to the town and Hannah is a local now.

By a Danville Mom of 35 years

Nearly 70% of the retail businesses at the Danville Livery are woman-owned. Here are a few who have been merchants for many years and continue their traditions to this day:

Moms of teenagers in Danville know that East Bay Flower Company makes the absolute best corsages and flower arrangements. Since 1988, Kris Simpson has broken the proverbial glass ceiling with her flower arrangements for any occasion, including proms, weddings, house warmings and more. It’s remarkable that flowers adorn such a variety of events. Flowers are like champagne: a long-ordained protocol at every celebration. When Danville wants flowers, is there any other place to get them? Sure, Home Depot for the garden, Safeway in a hurry, but when your kid has a prom or gets married (the big stuff) where does one go for flowers? EBFC! One of the few places I know where you can spend $5,000 or $19.99.

Over a quarter of a century ago, I would take my kids to Games Unlimited after school.  I took them because, like any good Danville parent, I wanted to please and appease them. I have boxes of Breyer Horses in the garage that are now earmarked for my grandchildren. How can I hand over a decades-old toy to my granddaughter that belonged to my son? Very easily and when I do, I can’t help but remember the old days, scrambling out of our Suburban into Games Unlimited at the Danville Livery.

I believe we parents value the treasures we bought our children if they made an impact on their daily lives. Well, that explains why I saved all those treasures because now I’m giving them all over again. I guess that makes them heirlooms. Anyway, thank you, Sue Banducci and family, for providing such a delightful store and for helping Danville parents build a legacy. Where else can you go and find something unique, make your child bubbly, and get free gift wrapping? Oh wait, there’s Nordstrom… but then you have to park far away, spend a lot more, and they mostly carry clothes. (However, they do have the Danville Livery customer service down pat.)

Another long-time woman-owned business at the Livery is Misto Lino. Since 1994, they have been carrying the most beautiful linens and accessories, specializing in unique, world-class items. Walking in, you immediately understand the hard work and dedication Susan Farrell and staff put toward pleasing the ever-important customer. Not only will you find the highest quality items to fit your home and lifestyle, you may also find that perfect gift.

There are many other woman-owned businesses at the Livery. Come out and meet the hard-working women who bring us such excellence!