New Horizons

As my time as an official bookpacker draws to a close, I have begun to look back at this past month and ask myself, what does it mean to bookpack? If you asked me this at the beginning of the class, I simply would have answered “you read the books and then visit the places discussed.” Since this bare-bones definition, I have developed a much deeper understanding of what it means to be a bookpacker rather than just a reader or a traveler. As both an inexperienced consumer of literature and an international traveler, this past month has had a tangible effect on the way I approach reading, the way I examine the history, and the way I appreciate the unknown.

Walking home past the Eiffel Tower!

Before starting this class, what I considered to be my biggest obstacle was finding the drive, or even the desire, to read such lengthy novels. Now for those of you reading this, you’re probably asking yourself, why on Earth would you take a class based on classic literature if you can’t stand reading? If you were to ask me this question two months ago, perhaps I would’ve answered “I don’t know” as the challenge of reading a 1300+ page book seemed impossible. The process of reading Les Miserables over two months was certainly a challenge at times, however, the story kept me engaged all the while. Looking back, while I can’t say I would have ever picked up this book out of my own volition before this class, what I now have is a much better relationship with classic literature and reading in general. In my application to join this class, I wrote that “I find myself impatient with readings that do not lay out their message clearly, so I can internalize their message and directly translate into my other works.” While some of this remains true, the element of bookpacking made me feel as if I was reading about something tangible. I feel as if even without the bookpacking element, I can enjoy reading even if the deeper meaning is buried behind imagery or a couple of hundred pages. Visiting places such as Temple Bar, the site of the Corinth Barricade, and even the less than glamorous Paris sewers opened up an entirely new perspective on reading I was never privy to. From this excitement about my new attitude towards reading, I purchased The Hunchback of Notre Dame from Shakespeare & Co., my first book purchase by choice in well over ten years! This new attitude towards reading has been a welcome change in the course of this class and something I suspect will follow me for years to come.

The second aspect of this experience that I am grateful to come away with is a new perspective to examine history. As a student of history, we are taught to constantly look for new ways to study history; be it social, political, or cultural. While I have taken classes that have focused on each of these perspectives to different degrees, there is a noticeable lack of literary works within history. We read firsthand accounts, historical nonfiction novels, and documentaries; but very rarely do we take an entire piece of literature, like our novels, and use it to understand history. Both novels revolve around the revolutionary nature of France during the 18th and 19th centuries, a time I was relatively familiar with from past classes. What differed from those classes to this class is how we looked at small facets of the revolution and their tactics, such as the barricades that once consumed Paris set up by activists or tearing up the paving stones to protest. It is these small acts of defiance that build up to revolution and, while not always successful in the short term, help reveal the attitudes of a nation as we learned. France’s revolutionary period was much more than the Women’s March on Versailles and the execution of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. This period was characterized by episodes such as the Reign of Terror, which saw men such as Charles Darnay wrongly accused by extremist revolutionaries like Madame Defarge. Stories like that of Darnay are what transpired during this time and are precisely what is lost by not viewing history through this literary perspective. Classic literature allows us to read the intricate, elaborate stories of these people created by wonderfully talented authors, and understand the time for how it was to the ordinary person. It creates a sense of imagery that we so desperately lack reading a nonfiction piece on the French Revolution. In a sense, we are more immersed in history than ever when reading a work of fiction in such a way that we can almost interact with the past itself. Visiting these sites only adds to the experience of seeing history firsthand, as you can now physically imagine where great acts of sacrifice took place as I discussed in the previous blog post, "Death in the City of Lights." Conversely, you can see the little acts of culture and day-to-day living that have been influenced by the past as I discussed in my “Unbothered” blog post. In a sense, bookpacking allows you to flâneur through history yourself and recognize the minutiae of the past that amount to the reality we now exist in. As a history major, I look forward to carrying this perspective with me and even taking more classes based around classic literature and maybe even taking the opportunity to bookpack myself for these classes!

The last aspect of this past month that is perhaps the most memorable is the experience of traveling internationally with purpose. Before this class, neither I nor my family was fortunate enough to have left the United States and visit cultures outside our own. For many years, it was a dream for one of us to finally make it out of our comfort zone and see the world beyond our comfortable corner of Southern California. Finally getting the opportunity to leave the US and experience the differences in American versus British and French culture that make traveling worthwhile. Visiting London was, surprisingly, an easy transition from the United States since it felt so similar, from language to communicate to media. Despite the similarities, my experience in London was the stereotypical British, tea-drinking, fish and chips dream I had always imagined. Perhaps the best part was the people we encountered who welcomed us with open arms, told us the best spots in town, and bonded with us over our traveler’s excitement. If I had to describe London in one word, I would ultimately have to say: homey. Despite their relative proximity, London and Paris are two cities that feel worlds apart from the foundations of their society. Exploring Paris was perhaps the first true instance of culture shock I had ever experienced; from the arguments in the middle of Parisian traffic to the boulangeries on every corner. Paris is a world of its own in that it thrives on individuality and a deep-seated passion for life, yet the city itself feels so uniform that you wouldn’t be amiss to mistake the 6th arrondissement for the 16th. As you flâneur through the city, you find yourself in amazement at every alley, walkway, and storefront even though they may look the same as the one you passed just a block away. This sort of charm is what kept Paris exciting and made three weeks disappear in the blink of an eye. From this whole experience, the moments I will cherish the most were my moments along the Seine, whether, with the class or alone, there is a certain “je ne sais quoi” about these strolls.

Class memories at Versailles!

As this experience draws to a close, I can say that I truly look back on this past month with nothing but deep appreciation. Appreciation for the wonderful locals of London and Paris. Appreciation for the world-famous sights and sounds of these magnificent cities. Appreciation for a new perspective on learning. And an appreciation for the close-knit group of friends we bookpackers have formed in just a mere few weeks. Through all of it, having friends to share special moments with made the experience all the better. From strolls across the Thames at night, to watching the Eiffel Tower shimmer at night, to enjoying impromptu meals with one another; all these are memories I hold near and dear to my heart. It is because of these incredible memories, great friends, and new experiences that I find it hard to say goodbye to Paris, goodbye to my new friends, and goodbye to the class that permanently expanded my worldview. While it may be the cheesiest way to end a study abroad experience, I can think of no better way to end my time as a bookpacker with an overused quote:

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

— Dr. Seuss

Love and Loss

While rather somber, it felt fitting to follow up my last blog post about death with a concept central to both A Tale of Two Cities and Les Miserables: sacrifice. Sacrifice, be it giving up time, money, or lives in the name of someone greater than oneself is a recurring theme throughout both novels. Interestingly, the concept has popped up throughout the past few weeks while exploring London and Paris. From the prison cell at the Conciergerie where Sydney Carton makes the ultimate sacrifice to the much more understated urban scene of the barricade where Eponine similarly gives her own life in the name of love. Both of these are examples of the themes of sacrifice both Dickens and Hugo consistently refer back to yet as a way to further their stories and comment on the human experience of love. While it is one thing to read about sacrifice in these books, it is another to visit it and experience its effects firsthand.

The Conciergerie

The place where the feeling of sacrifice can be felt most heavily was within the Conciergerie, a medieval palace turned prison used to house those awaiting execution during the French Revolution. As a museum, it has refurbished prison cells designed to give a sense of how they might have looked 200 years ago when men such as Charles Darnay himself were written to have filled them. Visiting these cells was a surreal experience, not just for its relation to the book, but the reality that this is the true space that thousands of wrongly accused spent awaiting their last moments on Earth. For most visitors, this concept is hard to grasp but visiting the Conciergerie through the lens of A Tale of Two Cities brought up these intense feelings of sorrow, pain, and loss that had been felt hundreds of years ago. In my previous post, I described the idea of death and how it has followed our explorations and class, however, the feelings around sacrifice are similar yet uniquely distinct. In A Tale of Two Cities, one of the most striking quotes in the entire novel lies towards the end:

““I am not afraid to die, Citizen Evremonde, but I have done nothing. I am not unwilling to die, if the Republic which is to do so much good to us poor, will profit by my death.””

— A Tale of Two Cities (442)

This sort of willingness to die for a cause much greater than yourself is a nod toward the theme of revolution that the book is based around. This devotion to creating a better society was echoed all around as we bookpacked Paris, and truly made the already wonderful city that much more of an immersive experience. Wandering the beautiful streets and curious corners of Paris, such as the ones pictured, where people of all creeds are free to roam and intermingle free of persecution is precisely what the revolutionaries had envisioned, a true Republic for the people of France where the power of the people dictated the governed. While the current situation in France may have its issues, it is certainly leaps and bounds better off than it was before the democratic revolution that millions fought so hard to achieve.

Looking at sacrifice from the perspective of Les Miserables is eerily similar to A Tale of Two Cities, particularly in the case of Eponine. Both Sydney Carton and Eponine sacrificed themselves in the name of love for another, love that may not be entirely reciprocated or understood by the recipient. In the case of Eponine, she was willing to sacrifice herself and ensure that Marius and Cosette would end up with one another in the end, despite her true desires. Similar to visiting the Conciergerie, visiting the site of the barricade in Les Halles allowed us to access the emotions of the sacrificial moment that Hugo so beautifully portrayed. Despite now being nothing more than an intersection at the fringes of a mall, the site of the barricade represents much more for us bookpackers, as it is truly the setting for our story of love, brotherhood, and revolutionary might yet a backdrop of despair, tragedy, and sacrifice.

As the class continues, more themes about the human experience are revealed by both Dickens and Hugo in their unique ways. As with the previous blog post, I constantly find myself surprised by the emotional intensity that comes with visiting places we read about. Before this class, I would expect only a non-fiction work to evoke such a response since it involves real stories. However, the stories we have been reading, while based on historical events, are fictional yet produce an even stronger response than a simple retelling of a true story. The connection both authors create with the reader transcends words on a paper, particularly in Les Miserables, we become increasingly intertwined in the universe of the story. Visiting these universes through bookpacking allows us to access their thoughts, emotions, and feelings that we would otherwise be unable to. Perhaps the most valuable aspect of this experience thus far has been the ability to take words on paper and make them come alive through exploring, researching, and interacting with our stories in a different way.

Death in the City of Lights

And just like that, we have survived another 20,000 steps/day week in Europe! Our explorations have brought us to Notre Dame, Versailles, the Panthéon, and the Invalides; all some of the most grandiose structures in Paris. As somewhat of an “architecture-junkie” none of these disappointed and offered such variety in architectural style, ornamentation, and grandeur. I could not keep myself from marveling at the magnificent stonework of Notre Dame and the incredibly intricate rotunda of the Panthéon. While appreciating these incredible sights, it was increasingly apparent that there was a central theme that unified them: death. Death in the form of an infamous tomb, a modest crypt, or the charred remains of a 900-year-old monument. Grappling with death and destruction these past few days has been an unexpected part of this trip, yet a welcome challenge that, interestingly, pairs well with the readings.

Anyone familiar with the work of Victor Hugo knows his stories are no stranger to death as they are often used in different capacities to illuminate different parts of the human experience and to advance the universe in which his stories are set. In the case of Javert, his sudden death was unique in that he did end his own life, but not in the name of sacrifice; in fact, quite the opposite. Javert ending his life as he struggles with his morality, the central pillar of his existence, highlights Hugo’s underlying themes about the human soul; particularly the resilience yet fragility that characterize it. Exploring the area where Javert’s suicide took place was surprisingly powerful, despite being a fictional sequence. While we didn’t explore the area as a class, I had on quite a few occasions passed through the area around the Pont Notre Dame and Pont au Change at different times of the day. These visits evoked the same feelings of the soul that Hugo builds upon through his novel. I could not help but think of his final moments along the river, what drives people to this point of despair, and how Hugo so tragically yet elegantly captures this moment. These thoughts and feelings are best summed up by the section that reads:

““Infallibility is not infallible, there can be error in dogma, all has not been said when a penal code has spoken, society is not perfect, authority is complicated by an element of vacillation, a creaking of the immutable is possible, judges are men, the law may err, tribunals may be mistaken! To see a crack in the immense blue glass of the firmament!””

— Les Miserables (1185)

Tomb of Marie Curie at the Panthéon

Tomb of Victor Hugo at the Panthéon

Napoleon’s Tomb at Les Invalides

Switching gears to the more personal, visiting the resting places of Charles Dickens, Victor Hugo, Marie Curie, and Napoleon all provided different feelings around the experience of death itself, compared to exploring the area of the Javert incident. Napoleon’s tomb, for example, was magnificent and commanded attention yet there was certainly an atmosphere of hesitation and disdain for his actions and the anti-democratic dictatorship he installed. Conversely, Marie Curie’s tomb was understated compared to Napoleon's, yet its beautiful flower arrangement for her and her husband provided a sense of appreciation and respect for their incredible work and research. Victor Hugo’s tomb was perhaps the most powerful, as it sat alone but was decorated with a single, wilted flower with a small notecard with a message to the effect of “Thank you so much for all your work, we still feel your influence today.” All of those tombs impacted me in such different ways, these people whose works I had read, theories I had studied, and wars I had learned about had become real people right in front of me. Their legacies had become more than words on paper or a history channel documentary but people who were immortalized for all to see and appreciate despite never coexisting.

For those who have experienced loss, whether personally or by extension, it is an experience completely incomparable to any other. Tragic and heart-wrenching yet central to the human experience and a reality we all must face one day. This idea of loss is exactly what the quote below discusses, how it is imperative to cherish the mind, soul, and feelings of another person rather than the physical form. This becomes especially true in the case of those who you may not have known but have learned about through family, friends, or school and have grown to admire. By appreciating their being and the impact they had because of their mere existence, we can reconnect with those the world has lost and continue to reap the rewards of their intellect. This is no better exemplified in the anonymous note left on Victor Hugo’s tomb; even 140 years after passing, his works continue to influence our society today. I felt a connection to Marie Curie’s burial site as I’ve spent years studying chemistry and her impact on the discipline comes up everywhere. To see her resting place and feel her impact firsthand was an amazing experience that I did not expect to have on this trip. The Panthéon and places like it hold a special purpose in that they are a vector for human spirituality, to connect with those who touched the world and continue to influence it with their writings, discoveries, or thoughts and we as a society are lucky to still access this incredible wealth of humanity.

““Woe, alas! to any that have loved only bodies, forms, appearances! Death will deprive them of everything. Try to love souls; you will be reunited with them.””

— Les Miserables (839)

Unbothered

First view of the Eiffel Tower!

Bienvenue a Paris, the city of lights, love, and lukewarm water, or “carafe d’eau,” as those of us looking for free water at some of Paris’ finest establishments call it. As we were welcomed with 95℉ heat, we quickly realized free water is a rarity we Americans take for granted. In my search for water, I have encountered the many, many differences between the French and American cultures that are painfully apparent to foreign visitors to Paris.

Aside from overpriced bottled water, one of the first aspects of Paris that jumped out at me was the cafes, for two reasons: their sheer number and their configuration. An intricate, beautifully designed labyrinth of cafes provides an almost perfect image of Paris to the unfamiliar since it seems that there are more cafes than people at times. Uniquely French, they offer coffee, pastries, and quick meals for Parisians and tourists alike seeking refuge from the busy streets of Paris. Perhaps what is most unique about these cafes is their emphasis on outdoor seating, most of which with street-facing chairs. While easy to overlook, it is very obvious that at a table of two, rather than being sat across from one another, the chairs are arranged next to each other. While a small detail, this reveals a unique aspect of the French culture that we lack in America, focusing on the other.

“Looking at people go by has always been the Parisians’ favourite pastime; no wonder they’re called gawkers.”

— qtd. in The Flâneur

As Americans, we are taught that staring and/or commenting on others is rude and not to be done in public, however, in Paris it seems tolerated and even encouraged within these cafes. While I could certainly appreciate the activity of people watching coming from a Mexican background, my American background came into conflict with this aspect of French society. To simply sip your coffee with a friend at a cafe and comment on those passing by is a leisure activity for the French, their affinity for the simple activities and pleasures of life. Not only are people watching something you notice in cafes, but in restaurants, museums, and the metro, where wandering eyes are the status quo in Paris. While this is a welcome change from America and its 51st state (London), there is certainly a level of culture shock that comes with understanding the way the French perceive others. The greater Anglo-Saxon culture places a huge emphasis on the self, whether it be the way you speak, your demeanor in public, or your professional goals. We as Americans are taught to constantly be aware of how we present ourselves in public, manifesting in a surplus of self-awareness to the point of self-censorship. This lack of self-censorship is exactly what the French culture celebrates and what attracts people from all over the world to Paris. From the cigarettes, public displays of affection, and heated arguments, the Parisians have allowed themselves a sort of emotional freedom that much of the West has seemed to have lost along the way. This style of living is liberating in the sense that Parisians seem unbothered about the facets of life that are central to American society. Unbothered by tardiness. Unbothered by distance. Unbothered by stares. All of these amount to aspects of our society creates significant institutions back in America, yet to the French are nothing but distractions to enjoying the minutiae of life and the beauty that surrounds them. This brought me to perhaps my favorite new term, activity, and state of being: The Flâneur.

“It’s an immense pleasure to take up residence in multiplicity, in whatever is seething, moving, evanescent and infinite: you’re not at home, but you feel at home everywhere; you see everyone, you’re at the centre of everything yet you remain hidden from everybody.”

— Baudelaire qtd. in The Flâneur

This aspect of French society has been perhaps the most beautiful part of experiencing Paris thus far and has truly changed my perspective on how I occupy my time throughout the day. Despite growing up and currently living in the relatively relaxed, laid-back Southern California culture, there has always been a certain pressure in terms of how I spend my time. This has become even more relevant entering a competitive degree program at a prestigious university, where it seems that even my recreational time should somehow contribute to my personal or professional goals. However, the beauty of "flâneuring" is the emphasis on simply walking to walk, seeing to see, and existing to exist. While this may seem an oversimplification, to flâneur is to let your surroundings guide you and take the backseat and enjoy the world that passes you. Practicing this art in Paris has allowed me to enjoy this city on a deeper level than I expected, opening my eyes to the little aspects of their city that I wouldn't have seen otherwise. Children playing tag in the park, families gleefully encountering massive stuffed teddy bears that seemed to be interspersed throughout Paris, and the generosity extended towards street performers are just a few of the pleasures I have encountered while flâneuring in this beautiful city.

“Americans are particularly ill-suited to be flâneurs. They’re good at following books outlining architectural tours of Montparnasse or at visiting scenic spots outside Paris.”

— The Flâneur: A Stroll Through the Paradoxes of Paris

Despite the above quote about Americans, I truly hope to implement flâneuring into my regular lifestyle, not just when traveling, but simply exploring the streets of San Diego back home or Los Angeles during the school year. To flâneur is truly one of the most rewarding yet simple activities to partake in alone, with friends, or alongside strangers. And for that, to flâneur is truly to be a part of Paris no matter where you may be. With all that being said, flâneur away!

The Typical Londoner

My four-week adventure across Europe, and first foray out of the United States, has finally begun. After overcoming my traveler’s anxiety and a ten-and-a-half-hour flight, I found myself meandering through the Underground admiring its ease of access, convenience, and relative safety. While excited to see the sights and sounds of London, I had no real semblance of what the week ahead of me would look like, and looked forward to my next week of exploration.

“the horror of being ogled through the windows, by the heads exposed on Temple Bar with an insensate brutality and ferocity worthy of Abyssinia or Ashantee.””

— A Tale of Two Cities

The first couple of days in London was uncomfortable for many reasons other than the record-breaking heat, but for the look inside the political and legal centers. Both of these explorations offered an amazing introduction to London’s rich history, from the iconic Big Ben to the beautiful interior of Westminster Abbey. While enjoying these incredible sights, I was constantly reminded of the dark premise upon which many of these incredible structures were founded. Reading about the brutal imperialism that characterized Britain for centuries has always been interesting yet disturbing. However, reading about the heads of convicts openly displayed on Temple Bar described in A Tale of Two Cities was an entirely different experience. These heads hung right near Tellson’s Bank, were symbols of the control the government held over the people and their ability, more importantly, their willingness to execute their citizens for counts of petty crime. Before me were Buckingham Palace, the Palace of Westminster, and the Royal Courts of Justice; all physical manifestations of this immense power the British government possessed. Suddenly, these centers of social, political, and royal power were no longer vague concepts I was just reading about, but the storied landmarks from which the Empire was ruled for centuries. Nevertheless, these wonderful structures were a sight to behold, yet I was left pondering both the positive and the negative influence this city has had across the globe.

A particularly interesting story presented itself in the character of Ms. Pross, the caretaker of Lucie. She is the epitome of British properness in that she highly values respect, order, and conservatism in many ways. This type of image perpetuates the “British stereotype” that exists back in America, an image of an uptight British man/woman who is stuck in their ways is what comes to mind personally. Visiting places like Borough Market and Brick Lane this past week has completely shattered this stereotype and forced me to rethink what I and many other Americans view as “the British way” that Ms. Pross exudes. The incredible amount of diversity in culture, language, and fashion took me by surprise everywhere I went. I constantly found myself appreciating the welcomed chaos of the Tube stations, while also noticing the seemingly orderly system of jaywalking Londoners seem to have. Even stumbling across unexpected events, such as the festival in Aldgate Square celebrating Latino culture transported me back home and connected my culture with London in a way I never anticipated. Witnessing these wonderful shows of community, and cultural appreciation completely contradicts my stereotype of a typical Brit, one that was reinforced in A Tale of Two Cities, and reshaped my image of a typical Londoner. Rather, I realized that there is no “typical Londoner” as the people are much too diverse to be boxed into such a category, and exploring the simple facets of social life throughout the city revealed just this.

A small glimpse inside the world of Jarndyce!

Along the thread of being immersed in history through literature, our visit to Jarndyce Antiquarian Booksellers was uniquely powerful. For the duration of this trip, I have largely been relying on ebooks to read our selected texts. While functional, a considerable amount of the reading experienced is lost in the digital format compared to a physical text, and Jarndyce reflects just that. Entering the shop, it appears extremely orderly and visually appealing to the prospective buyer, however, stepping into the library in the back offices tells an entirely different story. What appeared to be a chaotic mess of books, loose papers, and textbooks was really a thoughtfully organized catalog of centuries of priceless English literature. Opening up first editions of Dickens’ work and seeing the wear and tear of decades of enjoyment forces you to reconsider the true value of a text, especially as time goes on. It was an important reminder to consider the value of a text within its given time. Not just when the story is set, nor when the time when it was written, or even the time when you read it for the first time, but when those who came before you first read it themselves. This was most fascinating in the books that were previously used in libraries, as the physical conditions told a story in and of themselves; hundreds of people enjoyed Dickens’ stories without knowing who had the book before them or who will after them. These 100+ year old books told more stories than just what was written in them, and truly embodies the beauty of a physical novel beyond the scope of words.

Overall, what resonated the most with me about my time in London is the very idea that there is no such thing a a "typical Londoner." Not only this, but Dickens' work inspired the realization that millions of people have lived, live, and will continue to live in such an incredibly diverse community. Learning and understanding that London may not have always been the metropolis of diversity and equality it is today has given me a newfound appreciation for a city once a stranger to me. While I’m sure this will not be my last word on London I can't help but wonder what my time in Paris will reveal!