Bonjour, chers amis!

Pardonne-moi for not posting this on the usual Friday, but the Teach Bhríde crew was enjoying its last day in Paris and making the trip back home to Wexford yesterday. As Patrick mentioned in his last post, we have been on holiday this week, visiting the City of Lights. Jessica, our House Director-in-Training and former Folk Choir Tour Coordinator Extraordinaire, put together an incredible itinerary, filled with the usual touristy things like seeing the Eiffel Tower and wandering through the Louvre, but, in her characteristic thoughtfulness, she also included opportunities for us to participate in the liturgical prayer of the Parisian Catholic Church. Our first night in Paris, we attended Compline followed by Mass at La Basilique du Sacré Couer de Montmarte, which was near our hostel. A small group of French nuns led us in Compline, and the chants were such that, when the melody echoed in that gigantic space, the notes essentially harmonized with themselves. It was one of the most ethereal, beautiful things I’ve ever heard in my life. We did our best to sing along and participate, thanks again to Jess’s ingenuity and her handy guide entitled “Let’s Go to Mass in French”. We inevitably mangled the lyricism of the French language every step of the way, but as difficult as a language barrier can be, there’s something really grounding about speaking the words of prayers you usually know like the back of your hand in a language that’s not your own. It’s a tangible manifestation of the universality of the Catholic Church. In addition to Compline and Mass at Sacre Coeur, during our visit we attended Evening Prayer and Mass at Notre Dame, as well as the daily Mass at L’Eglise de la Madeleine. We also visited the Chapel of the Miraculous Medal and the Chapel of St. Vincent de Paul.

Don’t worry–we managed to have a lot of fun in the midst of our prayer too. We climbed the towers of Notre Dame and made friends with the gargoyles, said hello to Mona Lisa, reveled in the breathtaking stained glass of Sainte-Chapelle, and wandered around the Cimetière de Montmartre and the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. On the obligatory rainy day in Paris, we made the most of our two-day museum passes and visited the Musée Rodin, the Musée d’Orsay, the Panthéon, and the Musée National de l’Orangerie. We walked up the Avenue des Champs Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, ate macaroons from Ladurée, ate chocolate mousse and other delectables from La Chapon, and ate salted butter caramels from Le Roux (we dubbed that one the Day of Decadence). Since there are more stairs in Paris than any other place in the world, and since we probably climbed all of them at least once, we didn’t worry too much about the calorie count. General communal consensus: taste buds need memory far more than leg muscles. The entire visit was a near-perfect culinary experience, including lots of fromage and baguettes, crêpes, escargot (Julia Roberts was right–they are slippery little suckers), soupe à l’oignon, scallops en papillote with a sauce Patrick described as a “white wine butter cloud,” and, of course, boeuf bourguignon (cue Julia Child impersonation). We were also able to enjoy a beautiful dinner together on our last night in Paris, courtesy of the Duffeys (the language needed to express our thanks sufficiently for that doesn’t exist yet, but merci beaucoup just the same).

Personally, I could not have envisioned a more well-rounded trip. There was something for every single sense, from the spectacular scenery and priceless artwork, to the aroma of incense as it wafted to the vaulted ceiling of Notre Dame, to the blustery mist in our faces as we wandered through cobblestone streets, to every mouth-watering morsel, to the harmonies and overtones echoing in space, lingering like angels — it was all unlike anything I could ever have imagined. I am so grateful that the four of us were able to share this experience, and that, in addition to all of our Irish experiences, “we’ll always have Paris” to think back on as we remember this incredible year together. As another famous movie quote reminds us, though, “There’s no place like home,” and nothing makes a place feel more like home than leaving it and coming back to it again. As we boarded Wexford Bus at Dublin Airport late last night, we discovered that our driver lived in Wexford Town (of course), and, true to the Irish hospitality, he found out where we were heading and called a cab to collect us at the bus stop. We arrived back home to find a carton of milk waiting on our doorstep (left as an uncannily well-timed free sample from our friendly Wexford Creamery representative), and an absolutely brilliant starry sky to welcome us back. Today will be spent recovering from the fatigue of travel, and tonight we’ll be praying once again in our native language at Mass with a community of people that has quickly become family. To the extended Teach Bhríde family: know that you were especially in our prayers as we traveled this week, and know that we are grateful for your prayers and support that enable us to live and serve here in Ireland, and to experience the worldwide Church in our adventures elsewhere. Merci beaucoup, go raibh maith agat, thank you.

Teach Bhríde at the top of Notre Dame