Sacred Sunday
If there’s one thing the Parisians do well it’s Sunday.
We seem to have lost the art in New Zealand of having a family-based day of the week. A special day where most chores and running around get parked for the day and replaced with activities designed to recharge the batteries and reinforce the family unit. They were certainly the days of my childhood but I could not even stretch to claim that I am now passing down that tradition to my own children. But in Paris, even today while on holiday and at the risk of every day feeling like the same, Sunday felt special.
For a start, most of the shops in Paris are closed on Sundays. That undoubtedly helps locals to sense that it’s a special day requiring a different kind of energy. It certainly helped our bank balance that the shops were closed and therefore added to the good mood of Jamie (who has very patiently stood by while we have bled money all week on children’s clothes and shoes). All the supermarkets around us have been shut for the day, and really only the cafes and restaurants have been open.
Our Sunday started with a trip to church. Not just any church: Sainte Chapelle with its mind blowing stained glass windows. And again I said “you children are so lucky to have seen this, it’s very special”. They should just have me on a recording. However I do think they grasped its impressiveness, at least Molly and George did. I’m not sure why everyone parades through Notre Dame but there is very rarely a crowd at Sainte Chapelle. I have only seen it three times but am still amazed every time I reach the top of the winding stairs.
We then visited the bird market and finished the morning off on Ile St Louis at Paris’ famed Bertillon for huge ice-cream sundaes. A firm family favourite. The bird market was a particularly strange outing. Having never been before I was not sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t hoards of men standing around selling birds and bird paraphernalia. George is still put out that we wouldn’t allow him to purchase and take home a bird (he had spotted a great deal - one for only 5 Euro). What could possibly go wrong?
The afternoon is where we felt like Sunday-Parisians - laid back and family-focused. A return to Jardin du Luxembourg saw us mixing with the locals, most of whom had taken up residence in one of the green chairs with a book, scarf and sunglasses (the Parisian wardrobe) simply to do some people watching. We took a slightly more active route: Les Marionettes du Luxembourg (think Sound of Music puppet show without the yodelling but with French voices), sailing boats in the ‘basin’ with local children and playing in one of the many sandpits. It was heaven in an afternoon.
And now the big question is - how can we take what we’ve learned/felt today and translate that to our lives back in New Zealand? How can a sacred Sunday become part of our family culture?
Jamie has that worried look on his face. The shops will open tomorrow.
