30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 9: From Monet's Water Lilies to Rodin's Gates of Hell

(Previous chapter of my journey: 30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 8: My First Day in Paris - The Gift of Solitude)

Waking up in a decent bedroom in my serviced apartment felt like a luxury. For the first time in days, I allowed myself to sleep in as morning light filtering through the curtains. On my phone, I found a message from a friend who recently followed my blog. She told me how much she enjoyed reading my posts, and resonated with the emotions I shared. Though we had only met briefly during a handover period at work, it felt so special to connect through words.

Honestly, with the fast food culture so prevalent in this era, we are constantly stimulated by information overflow. I don't always have the patience to read long texts myself. So I appreciated that she took the time to read my writings. I insist on recording myself with words as a way to sort through my thoughts. Life moves so fast that we often miss the subtle details. Writing makes me slow down to notice things I've taken for granted, to see the grey areas I have missed between my everyday black and white. And if my words happen to resonate with someone? That's the cherry on top.

My hostel in Amsterdam included breakfast. But here in Paris, I was on my own to find good places for a nice cup of coffee and breakfast. I was in no rush to finish every item on my itinerary anyway. So I started the day with a slow morning at a local café.

My history teacher once claimed that the French could be quite arrogant. If you try to ask for directions in English, they'd pretend not understand English even if they do. So his suggestion was to ask them questions in Chinese first until they were so annoyed and in turn asked if you speak English? And then here you go. The stereotypical impression had been with me for quite a few years until I finally came to France myself. From my observation, while the French might not speak English as fluently as the Dutch, they haven't been unfriendly either.

Dutch menus usually include English translations, but here most of them are entirely in French. Thankfully, I have two reliable travel buddies: Google Maps and Google Translate. The former helps me navigate in new places, the latter deciphers menu mysteries with just a quick snapshot. I could still manage to order food in restaurants by pointing my fingers. But it is another story with patisseries. With tempting desserts displayed on one side and the cash register on the far end. My solution is simple: take a photo of what I want, then show the picture at the counter. (Trust me, I tried pronouncing the pastry names in French and they looked at me completely puzzled.)

At the Rodin Museum, I found peace in the sculpture garden. Blue skies and white clouds reflected in the fountain, the museum's image shimmering in the mirror-like water. Green leaves perfectly framed each sculpture. From Dante's Divine Comedy and Inferno, biblical stories, to the Burghers of Calais from the Hundred Years' War, every piece of Rodin works tells a moving story. Standing before The Gates of Hell, I noticed how each section could be a beautiful work of art on its own when viewed separately. Yet is it astonishing to see the entire Divine Comedy carved onto a single gate with each story intertwined with others. 

Paul Cézanne | Fruits, Napkin and Milk Can

After a refreshing breakfast at the café, I headed to Musée de l'Orangerie. Despite having my museum pass ready, the website offered no booking option for pass holders. So I joined the queue, waiting half an hour on a windy day. Perhaps this is just part of the French way of taking things at their own pace, never rushing. I have been too spoiled by the efficiency of Hong Kong people so waiting for half an hour is like a test for my patience. Maybe the wait is also part of the museum experience. After all, people journey from every corner of the world just to stand before those magnificent Water Lilies by Monet. Isn't it remarkable how true art possesses this enduring magic, having the power to make you forget time entirely, to lose yourself completely in its beauty?

It was fascinating to watch how people interacted with Monet's Water Lilies. The paintings that the artist originally conceived as spaces for quiet contemplation. Several women had claimed prime position right in front, orchestrating an elaborate photoshoot, striking pose after pose. Part of me longed for a moment of undisturbed silence with the art, but then I realised: this was their way of connecting with it. Some of us seek quiet mental dialogues, others want to capture the moment and become part of it themselves. And maybe that's the point: great art doesn't have one proper response, but welcomes each person exactly as they are.

Henri Matisse | Odalisque à la culotte grise.

Portraits by Amedeo Modigliani

The Thinker, one of Rodin's famous themes, is featured in the museum

The Kiss, inspired by the adulterous love of Paolo Malatesta and Francesca da Rimini in The Divine Comedy

I planned to visit the Eiffel Tower, but then I remembered the Parisian teacher I had met over breakfast in my Amsterdam hostel. She passionately recommended line 7, Place Monge. Rather than joining the crowds at tourist spots, why not explore places where locals go? So I changed my plans and headed to the restaurant she always went when she were a student. I arrived a bit too early for a dinner but I was already starving. The restaurant was not too busy. A man stood outside the entrance, enjoying his cigarette. He welcomed me in. And then he turned on the heating for me and handed over the all-French menu. The only thing I could understand was 'entree + plat + dessert = €18.9,' three courses for around HK$200? Reasonable price, why not give it a try?

With help from Google Translate, I ordered escargots and steak tartare. When the man asked about wine, I could only use simple English: 'Red? Any recommend? Cheap?' He suggested a €5 house wine and even poured a complimentary glass of sweet wine for me. The chocolate mousse for dessert was richly satisfying. When I was paying the bill, he poured another small glass as a farewell gesture. Walking out slightly tipsy, I continued exploring the neighbourhood. While the meal wasn't impressively delicious, it was definitely great value for the money. Combined with the man's warm hospitality, I've already decided to return. In my heart, I say thank you to the Parisian teacher: merci beaucoup!

My journey continues: 30-Day Solo Travel in Europe | Day 10: Rosé by the Canal: An Unexpected Parisian Evening