Paperbacks in Paris, part II

Upon returning to the US, I've been sleeping an abnormal amount in order to recover from jet lag (and also because it's so nice to sleep in a real bed that is not in a hostel). That's why this blog entry is dated so late . . . but I want to make sure I document my memories before they disappear!

A lot of my worries throughout my trip were due to a lack of structure. I think that I'm so used to having a tight schedule that so much freedom is a little scary. Nevertheless, not having a concrete itinerary was definitely a growing experience.

It also led me to a few reckless indulgences, such as the divine hot chocolate that I enjoyed for the incredibly low price of 8.5 euros! It was at a famous place called Angelina's, just across the Seine from the Louvre. You're probably wondering why anyone would pay so much for a hot chocolate. It was easily the best hot chocolate I've ever had -- it tasted like the inside of a chocolate lava cake, but in drink form. It's so popular that I had to wait over thirty minutes just to get into the doors of the establishment. It was totally worth it.

I was planning on going to the Louvre that day; I had visited the famous museum very briefly during a high school trip, but I didn't have a lot of time to appreciate it. I'm also mostly positive that I had a panic attack in the Mona Lisa room during that visit, but I digress. Visiting the Louvre is a compulsory activity when you go to Paris, right?

And that's exactly why I didn't want to do it. Why should I spend my limited time in one of the most beautiful, culturally rich cities in the world doing something that I felt was obligatory? There wasn't even anything specific that I wanted to see. Of course, I didn't realize any of this until I had already waited in the massive entry line for about forty minutes.

I decided to go to the Musée d'Orsay instead, and I'm glad I did. While almost as popular as the Louvre, the d'Orsay is much smaller and much less overwhelming, and I found the exhibits to be more interesting. I spent a lot of time in the Van Gogh rooms and discovered a new passion for the paintings of Edgar Degas.

My new favorite Van Gogh painting, Starry Night Over the Rhone.

After spending a few hours at the d'Orsay, I went back to one of my new favorite spots for a late afternoon pick-me-up.

You already know.

I got dinner and drinks with a new friend that I met at the hostel. He was from San Francisco but went to school at Cornell, and we liked a lot of the same music! At this point in our respective solo trips, we were both in need of a little English conversation. We even went to see the Eiffel Tower at night -- neither of us knew that there is a sparkling light show for the first five minutes after midnight. It's an entirely different monument at night.

The next day, I made sure to stop by the favorite haunts of some great writers. I took a long walk to Hemingway's old apartment in the 5th arrondissement. I ate at the Restaurant Polidor, which Hemingway frequented, and also where the protagonist in Midnight in Paris first meets the writer in the movie. I peeked at La Closerie des Lilas, a beautiful restaurant established in the late 19th century, which was frequented by Baudelaire, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and other great minds (although the restaurant no longer caters to the budget needs of a penniless traveler).

I also made a stop at the Père Lachaise cemetery, which is arguably the most famous cemetery in the world and the largest one in Paris. Mourners and tourists alike flock to the hilly, shaded gathering of burial plots that spans over 110 acres. My time was limited, so I saw the two graves that I most wanted to see: Oscar Wilde, a wild (!) Irish writer who raised a lot of hell in his time, and Frédéric Chopin, composer and pianist. (Op. 72, no. 1 in E minor is one of my favorites.) I planted a kiss on Wilde's grave, which was marked with hundreds of colored lipstick stains. There's a funny story about how I was escorted out of the cemetery by some rather grumpy Parisian security guards, but I won't detail it here.

Throughout my trip, a strange phenomenon kept occurring: I would often think of what I needed or wanted to see (a metro station, Notre Dame, etc.), and it often popped up like a version of the Room of Requirement from Harry Potter. I accidentally stumbled upon a lot of great areas of the city. One of my favorite instances of this was when I thought to myself, I'd like to see the Luxembourg Gardens while I'm here. Sure enough, less than a minute later, I was standing in front of the main gate of the Luxembourg Gardens. I felt like I had entered a faerie dreamland of golden, sunlit copses of trees and carefully planted red and pink flowers. I even stumbled into a lovely outdoor concert from a local symphony orchestra.

While all of my literary sightseeing made me happy, my time in Paris was drawing to a close, so I knew I needed to visit another monster destination. My project took me to the hauntingly beautiful Notre Dame Cathedral, which is (unfortunately but rightfully) a top tourist destination. The Gothic architecture of the cathedral is beyond words; I only wish I could experience it without hoards of summer tourists shoving each other and trying to take pictures of the mass service.

Nevertheless, there was some academic interest that compelled me to visit the cathedral; Hugo's novel Notre-Dame de Paris (what we know as The Hunchback of Notre Dame) is largely credited with prompting the Gothic restoration of the cathedral in the wake of the destruction of the Revolution. Interestingly, the architect favored by Hugo, Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, is the same famed architect who unexpectedly lost a blind contest to Charles Garnier for the design of the Palais Garnier, a.k.a. the home of the Phantom! And we've come a full circle . . .

A recent discovery of some historical documents dating around the time of the cathedral's restoration (1820s) provides us with a compelling potential origin story for one of Hugo's most famous characters: Quasimodo, or the Hunchback of Notre Dame himself. Young sculptor Henry Sibson's journal entries make several references to a reclusive man he called Monsieur le Bossu, or "The Hunchback." To condense this interesting story for blogging purposes . . . it is entirely possible that Hugo visited the cathedral during construction and encountered M. le Bossu, who was a sculptor along with Sibson at the cathedral; they even both lived in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The man's real last name was allegedly M. Trajan. This is especially interesting because, in an early draft of Les Miserables, Hugo named his protagonist Jean Trejean instead of Jean Valjean. Did Hugo take a great deal of inspiration from his visits to Notre Dame? We can't be sure, but the links in this story were too interesting for me not to do a little investigating.

Aside from touring the main cathedral, I also opted to tour the towers. After waiting several hours in the heat wave that (much to my chagrin) finally returned to France, I climbed countless stairs in narrow spiraling staircases to the very top of Notre Dame. Here I viewed the stonework, the famous gargoyles, and even the belfry tower. It was beautiful, humbling, and also interesting to see the handiwork of our possible real-life Quasimodo.

Spotted in the midst of hundreds of signatures . . .

On my last full night in Paris, I met up with a fellow English major friend from W&J, Katie Campbell! After scrambling to find a decent (and decently-priced) restaurant in Saint-Germain-des-Pres, Katie and I found a nice little restaurant where we shared stories of our travels. We both got a glass of wine to celebrate July 4th from across the ocean (although I would have been a little more proud to be an American if the Obamas were still in the White House). It was wonderful to see Katie, and we witnessed the most beautiful sunset over the Seine, gelato in hand. Vive la France.

The next day, I spent a lot of time in Montmartre; I took a walking tour of the town, which blissfully avoided most of the tourist traps in favor of the smaller and more authentic-feeling side streets frequented by locals. The narrow cobblestone streets were lined with bakeries, small markets, and tiny cafés, but this was also the creative hub of some very famous artists. I was able to see the home and studio of Pablo Picasso, the apartment of Vincent Van Gogh, a cabaret frequented by Picasso -- it was amazing to walk the very same streets as these influential young men once did. I even saw the famous Moulin Rouge (which I had admittedly seen the night before in order to get the full effect of the neon lights), a cabaret that inspired a delightful and tragic movie of the same name. I'm glad I made some time to explore Montmartre more thoroughly; it was a brief period of respite from the lights and noise of Paris.

By this point in my trip, I was suffering from acute traveler's fatigue (read: I'm exhausted every day of my life), so I gathered together a picnic for one and found a shady spot in my favorite stretch of the Luxembourg Gardens. I took a blissful nap and later headed to the airport, thereby concluding my time in Paris and, by extension, my Magellan project.

I'm already nostalgic for my favorite metro station . . .

Paperbacks in Paris

Paris has proven itself to be quite a magical place. When I arrived, the skies were grey and it was raining. It has been such a blissful change from the humidity and heat of Geneva, although I’m yet again stuck without proper clothing. It’s impossible to pack for three different potential climates in one tiny carry-on piece of luggage. No worries, friends; I bought myself a nice French cardigan to protect me from the elements.

When I arrive in a new location, I’m always terribly anxious to figure out a new system of public transportation. I think I’m afraid that I’ll be mystified and get lost. However, the Paris metro system is so easy and efficient! I love it so much. I think I could ride around on it for fun. I’m definitely not going to pretend to be an expert (we know where that got me last time!), but it’s fun to pretend to be one of those Parisians who are always in a rush and who navigate the twisting tunnels like they know exactly where to go. They probably do. I don’t. But I always end up where I need to be eventually.

I was pretty tired when I finally found my hostel in the Montmartre area in the late afternoon, so I thought I’d do something easy that required minimal exploration effort: the Eiffel Tower! I think I just wanted something to make me realize that I was actually in Paris. It definitely made for some excellent people-watching; I love seeing families and couples from around the world get caught up in the allure of Paris. I just sat on a bridge overlooking the tower and the Seine for a while, got a crêpe and a coffee, and soaked it all in. I guest tourist traps shouldn’t be overlooked just because they’re tourist traps, right?

On my first full day, I wanted to explore the city a little and do some things that I can only really do by myself. After all, who would ever want to go to the Grand Musee du Parfum (Big Perfume Museum) with me? I’ll be the first to admit that this had nothing to do with my project, but it was cool. The exhibit showed perfume’s qualities throughout history, from a sacred offering to the gods to a medicinal panacea to a potion for seduction. There were even sections about the science of smell and the manufacturing of perfumes. Neat!

After that, I walked along the Champs Élysées for a while; I forgot that the Arc de Triomphe was so close, so I saw that by accident! I also planned to go to the Petit Palais, a museum in the same area, because I had read online that there was an exhibit about one of my favorite poets, William Blake. A Blake exhibit with original illustrated poems? I would have been in heaven. However, just as I was walking up to the museum, I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. With a little quick research, I discovered that the William Blake exhibit had only been a temporary one in the summer of 2009. Why do I miss all of the cool exhibitions?

In my state of mild dejection that was only furthered by the fact that it started pouring when I had forgotten my umbrella, I returned to the Montmartre area for a little while to recenter myself. I grabbed my umbrella, a sweater, and stopped for a nice latte at the lovely coffee shop next door. It just takes a rainy day, a sweater, and a hot drink to lift my spirits.

I took that evening to explore Montmartre. It used to be the perfect artists’ hub -- a lot of starving talent moved into Montmartre because of the rising rates of rent closer to the heart of Paris. Wealthy people lived at the base of the hill, while the artists and less wealthy lived at the top of the hill, or the “butte.” The winding stone streets are interesting to explore, especially at night, although the area is more filled with tourists and scammers than artists these days. I plan to explore more soon so that I can see the windmill made famous by a Picasso painting, stop by the Moulin Rouge, and get a closer look at Sacré-Coeur.

The next day was probably my favorite in Paris so far. I spent most of my time in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, an area close to the heart of the city. The area is home to a few spots that I needed to experience: two of those spots include the small cafés Les Deux Magots and the Café de Flore. They are competing cafes that are situated directly across the street from one another, and they were both hubs of activity during the existentialist movement. Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul-Sartre used to spend hours every day at the Cafe de Flore. I learned about de Beauvoir in an awesome Philosophy and Gender class in the spring, and she’s been one of my feminist icons ever since, so I knew I needed to visit one of her favorite hangouts.

However, Les Deux Magots was closer to where I exited the metro, so I went there first. Hemingway and Picasso are just a couple of the famous talents that used to visit this cafe. I took a seat facing the rainy, Parisian-filled street, ordered a coffee and a pastry, and almost cried real tears. Like I said before, places have meaning for me! I’ve gone back a few times since, and I’ve never been disappointed. I think that rainy days are meant to be spent deep in contemplation at small coffee shops and cafés.

Saint-Germain-des-Prés is one of my favorite areas to explore in all of Paris. While the main avenue is lined with high-end shops, there are countless little nooks and curving streets that are worth exploring. I made sure to visit the apartment of Victor Hugo, author of novels like Les Miserables and Notre Dame de Paris (or The Hunchback of Notre Dame). It was interesting to walk through Hugo’s lavish apartment filled with interesting objects that pertained to his life, such as a couple of worn writing desks. I totally touched them when the guard wasn’t looking.

Victor Hugo touched this desk!

One of my favorite new spots in the world is located in the very heart of the city, just down the street from Notre Dame. Shakespeare and Company is probably the closest thing to heaven on this earth. It’s a bookstore and reading nook and a mecca for book lovers from all over the world. The original store was frequented by (you guessed it) Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and countless other famous literary figures. Founder Sylvia Beach was even the first to publish Joyce’s controversial Ulysses when no one else dared.

Now the store, in a new location, is filled with tiny nooks with thousands of books, comfortable couches, and atmospheric lighting. There’s even a sweet cat who lives there -- her name is Aggie because she wandered into the shop one night and was found in the Agatha Christie mystery section, and she hasn’t left since. When I chose a book of poetry and found a nice chair, Aggie took it upon herself to jump onto my lap (on top of my book, naturally) and take a nap. That was the second time of the day that I almost cried real tears. I want to take her home with me!

My new best feline friend Aggie!

Believe it or not, I did actually do something related to my project: I toured the Palais Garnier, or the Paris Opera House. I’ve always loved the Phantom of the Opera, so I couldn’t miss the opportunity to visit the location that inspired the story. The author of the original novel Le Fantome de L’Opéra, Gaston Leroux, toured the opera house and discovered that there were channels of water beneath the structure. He combined this fact with the tales of a “ghost” beneath the opera house to create his novel.

The Palais Garnier was absolutely breathtaking! Everything was so ornate and lavish. The guided tour that I took was specifically geared to the "mysteries" of the opera house, so I was ready for some Phantom lore. 

I learned something really funny: the musical isn't at all popular in France, and a lot French people scorn its popularity and dismiss it as a silly part of American culture. (I'm not trying to generalize; my French tour guide told us this!) Nevertheless, the Phantom clearly has his hold on the opera house, as there is a plaque bearing his name on the door of Box no. 5. (And by this, I mean that management reluctantly added the plaque a few years ago to appease the flood of tourists.) On my tour, it was clear that many tourists knew of the opera house mostly because of its prevalence in the Phantom musical and movie. Maybe one day I'll come back to Paris (with a little more cash) and buy a seat in Box no. 5 to see the latest ballet...

There is much to explore and so little time! Paris is an incredible city with countless secrets to discover.

In Frankenstein's Footsteps, part II

After spending a few days in Geneva, I felt like I had mastered the public transportation system. Buses and trams were frequent and punctual, and before long I was helping a couple of lost American tourists figure out the system. I tried to fit in like a local, partly for camouflage and partly for entertainment. Pro tips: wear sunglasses, act cool and unfazed by everything, and carry an H&M shopping bag with you.

The day after my Cologny adventure, it was time for a special treat: my dear friend Sarah came to meet me in Geneva! I’m usually happy to experience things by myself, but the long hours of isolation were starting to wear on me, so having Sarah around was like having a little piece of home. This was the last day of her Magellan project; she spent time in parts of France and Switzerland for a cultural comparison of francophone countries.

Can you see the sparkle of pure joy in my eyes?

We got ice cream by the lake, shared tales of our adventures, and went wherever our hearts desired. She wanted to see the UN headquarters and the Red Cross museum, both of which I really enjoyed. I even explained a few things about  the public transportation system to her, which was great until we took the bus to the wrong station! I guess Bel-Air is different from Petit-Bel-Air . . . so it turns out that neither of us are experts! And I’ve decided that that’s okay! I guess I just wanted to be the source of knowledge for once, since she's always the practical and logical one of the two of us. I really loved seeing her and being able to experience a different culture together.

At this point in my trip, I needed a break from the constant bustle of the city. I can get a little overstimulated when I’m surrounded by people and busy bus stations all of the time, so I thought I would take a day to enjoy Geneva’s wildlife. Luckily, I was only a short bus ride away from the base of Mont Saleve, also known as the “balcony of Geneva.” I was determined to reach the top because I like to experience things thoroughly -- I didn’t want to say “I hiked around the bottom of a mountain a little,” I wanted to say “I hiked to the top of a small mountain!” Also, I loved the part in Frankenstein when Victor Frankenstein decides to hike a mountain by himself because “the presence of another would destroy the solitary grandeur of the scene.” Of course, his monster interrupts his sublime reverie a couple of paragraphs later, but luckily I didn’t have that problem.

Once I actually found the start of the trail (harder than it sounds, since most people opt to take the cable car up and down the mountain), I was soon surrounded by beautiful greenery and the sound of chirping birds and insects. A natural escape, indeed. 

I took a lot of short breaks, got lost, and felt pretty discouraged at some points, but I knew that the only way to go was up. Maybe that’s an apt metaphor for life! I almost felt like I was climbing the spiral staircases of Old Main for hours, and my fellow W&J peers might know how unbearable that would be.

After about three hours of climbing and trying to decipher the trail markers, I finally made it to the top of Mont Saleve. I was almost ready to pass out because I had finished my water bottle about halfway up, but that didn’t matter! I had made it to the top, and I decided that I deserved a nice picnic lunch and a smooth ride back down in an air-conditioned cable car. I ended up doing it again two days later, too, just  to make sure it wasn’t a fluke the first time!

I also wanted to take a cruise on the lake while I was in Geneva -- the Romantic writers definitely did that! Towards the end of my stay, the weather grew cooler and rainy. This was nice not only because it was a break from the heat, but also because I was able to get a taste of Geneva the way Mary Shelley and John Polidori saw it. Under a thick layer of clouds, the lake turned from turquoise blue to an opaque grey-green, but it was still lovely. I even got to see the front of the Villa Diodati in a totally legal way.

The old Geneva lighthouse on the edge of the Bains des Pacquis.

One of my favorite things in Geneva was a little silly by anyone else’s standards, but I loved the statue of Frankenstein’s monster in Plainpalais. I visited it a couple of times because it was cool and also because I wanted to see if other people stopped to take a picture. The statue is located in Plainpalais, on the outskirts of central Geneva, because that was where the monster killed Victor’s brother in the book. I had a real English major moment when I sat near the statue and read a few pages of the book, just for fun.

You meet the coolest people when you travel.

It seems like, when visitors pass the statue when walking through Plainpalais, they often stop to take a picture with it. It was especially funny to see the people try to mock the monster’s position, with his clawed fingers and twisted scowl. Hilarious people-watching. But I thought it was funnier when I gave him my H&M bag.

Poor Frankie trying to fit in with the locals.

I enjoyed my time in Geneva. I wish it had been about twenty degrees cooler for most of my stay, but I was still able to enjoy the lake’s beauty and the rich culture that surrounds it. Unlike my stay at Loch Ness, it’s clear that the literary gems that I sought in Geneva are mostly unknown and do not contribute to Swiss tourism. People typically come to Switzerland for lake views and expensive dining, not the ghosts of writers and the monsters that they created. That certainly didn’t hinder my enthusiasm, though; if anything, I preferred that my adventures were a little off the beaten path during this leg of my journey.

Lake Geneva: In Frankenstein's Footsteps

Bon soir from Lake Geneva, Switzerland (and also from just across the border in France)! From the moment I stepped off the plane in Geneva, I knew I wasn’t in Scotland anymore. This part of Europe has been affected by a heat wave for a few weeks now, and it has been over 80 or 90 degrees and humid every day. I’ve learned the hard way that, no, sheer stubbornness doesn’t work as a proper sunscreen.

This is the garden clock in a popular park in central Geneva.

Geneva is ridiculously expensive, so I’m staying across the border in Gaillard, France with an airbnb host instead of in a city hostel. It’s only a twenty-minute tram ride from the city, and public transportation in the Geneva area is excellent . . . but it took me a few days to learn that! My first afternoon in Geneva was terrible; I was dehydrated and tired from traveling, I couldn’t find the bus I needed at the massive Gare Cornavin bus station, and it was about three thousand degrees outside (I’m sure of it). When I finally asked a few different people, speaking in bits of French and English, how to use the TPG (Geneva’s public transport system), I found my bus and eventually my new home. Did I almost pass out on the bus and resultingly guzzle water straight from a sink at a random business that I barged into upon leaving the bus? Absolutely not, because that’s what an unseasoned traveller would do.

My host is wonderful -- she’s a German teacher, her native language is French, and she also speaks English. We speak almost exclusively in French because she wants to help me practice, which is awfully nice of her. On my first full day in Switzerland/France, she took me with her to a precious little French town called Yvoire. I didn’t even know it existed, but it’s such a picturesque spot on the lake!

I didn't only come here for beautiful lake views and good ice cream. I'm here to study the roots of two popular monster tales: Frankenstein's monster and Dracula! It seems counterintuitive that such gruesome stories could be inspired by the clear skies and jewel-toned lake, but things were very different here two hundred years ago.

In the summer of 1816, a band of young people congregated on the shores of the lake. Mary Shelley, soon-to-be-husband Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairemont, poet Lord Byron, and Byron’s personal physician John Polidori rented a couple of lakeside villas in Cologny for the summer with the aim of enjoying Geneva’s beautiful weather. However, the summer of 1816 is now known as the Year Without a Summer due to a severe climate change after a massive volcano eruption in 1815. Cold temperatures, rain, and snow plagued regions that were normally sunny and hot. The stormy weather greatly influenced this scandalous entanglement of Romantic thinkers and changed the world of Gothic literature forever.

I’ll keep this short for blogging purposes, but I’d be happy to talk to you anytime about the ridiculous mess of relationships between these people. (Let’s just say that the radical, free-love ideals of Byron and P. Shelley were certainly the talk of the town in 1816.) One fateful night in 1816, when the group was spending the night at Byron’s rented lakeside villa to escape the stormy weather, Byron proposed a ghost story contest: each of them would have to write a ghost story, and the best one would win. Aided by the eerie weather and hearty doses of laudanum, the Romantics produced several significant scraps of writing during this summer, some of which were prompted by Byron’s contest. For the purposes of my project, I’m focusing on two of those fragments: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (which was soon developed into a full-length novel) and John Polidori’s short story “The Vampyre.” Polidori’s story is little-known, but it was actually a major influence on Bram Stoker’s Dracula. It was arguably the first appearance of vampires as we know them today.

Thanks for sticking around for my brief lesson on an interesting chapter of literary history! I’m trying to experience Lake Geneva in ways similar to how Byron and the Shelleys experienced (or at least wanted to experience) it; taking walks, cruising on the lake, hiking the mountains, etc. However, it seems like 2017 is the Year With Too Much Summer (hello, global warming) -- most of my time in Geneva has been sunny and hot instead of rainy and gloomy, so it’s difficult for me to try to grasp Mary Shelley’s true perspective. I spent some time in the oldest part of Geneva (La Vielle-Ville), where everything is made of worn tan stones and uphill climbs. It’s a lovely area lined with cafes and tiny shops. I even stumbled upon a music festival that stretches from the old town to the local park. I guess I picked the right time to come to Geneva.

After finally learning the ways of the public transportation system, I decided to reward myself with a beach day! You know, for research purposes. If Byron and the Shelleys had been here in 2016 instead of 1816, they probably would have done the same thing. I went to the Bains des Pacquis, a popular spot for locals and tourists alike to lie in the sun and escape the heat by swimming in the turquoise waters of the lake. This was a great idea in theory. However, after being unable to peel myself away from the area for eight hours, I realized that I had just received the worst sunburn of my entire nineteen years. I was simultaneously cold, hot, fatigued, and nauseous, and I didn’t know that those four things could happen at once. I was either on the highway to Hell or to melanoma.

Miracles do exist, though, because I woke up the next morning a less alarming shade of red. I decided to go to Cologny, the small town where the Romantics stayed. My first stop was the Musée Fondation Bodmer, which is basically a collection of rare books and manuscripts. The museum has a permanent exhibit as well as a temporary exhibit that rotates a few times per year. Last summer, in honor of the two-hundredth anniversary of the writers’ summer in Geneva, the museum featured a Frankenstein exhibit with original manuscripts. Naturally, I decided to come to Geneva on the two-hundred and first anniversary of the event, so I didn’t get to see what was sure to be an amazing exhibit. However, the museum was still incredible. I saw first-editions of works by Milton and Spenser, second-editions of Shakespeare, first-edition collections of Hume and Kant, papyri dating back to around 200 A.D., a copy of the Gutenberg Bible . . . I think my favorite was the original manuscript (!!!) of a Sherlock Holmes story, “The Adventure of the Abbey Grange,” by Arthur Conan Doyle. There’s something about seeing the handwriting of an author, with tiny corrections visible in the text, that is simply magical.

The original manuscript from a Sherlock Holmes short story

The museum also had a first-edition copy of Byron’s first two cantos of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, a lengthy narrative poem. Byron wrote the third canto during his time on Lake Geneva, but there was only a tiny silver plaque to commemorate the summer.

After spending a considerable amount of time here, I set out for the second part of my Cologny adventure. As much as I would love to do a full tour of the Villa Diodati, it is unfortunately private property. Maybe I’ll live there when I’m an English professor and I make seven figures per year (ha!). I decided to make do by getting as close to the house as possible. It wasn’t long before I was surrounded by mansions hidden within stone walls, wrought iron gates, and signs that proclaimed the vigilance of the 24-hour security on duty. Challenge accepted.

With each residence that I passed, beautiful hedges and gardens peeked out from behind the gates. The air smelled like flowers and money. I soon arrived at a large, grassy hill with a sign proclaiming it as the Pré Byron, or Byron Meadow. The sign told the story, in both English and French, of the Romantics’ fateful summer, noting that the Shelleys’ residence once stood there and that Byron’s Diodati was located to the left of the meadow. After admiring the beauty of the lake view and failing to catch a glimpse of the villa through the trees, I decided to get a little closer. I walked down the hill just as a car slid out from the road where I thought the mansion was located; I thought I’d try it because I had nothing to lose! I remember thinking that it was strange that the massive wrought iron gate was open if the path led to a private residence.

As soon as I entered, the gate began to close behind me. Oops! It must have been opened for the car that left as soon as I came near. If you ask me, it was fate.

I walked along the path, praying that no terrifying security guards were going to catch me, and got as close to the Villa Diodati as I could without cutting my way through very expensive hedges. I could see the top of the creamy yellow mansion and its green shutters, and I kept thinking Byron looked out of those windows! Mary Shelley hung out here and thought of Frankenstein! John Polidori lived here and penned his vampire tale! 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before a car rolled up beside me and an intimidating Swiss woman asked me where I was going. I half-hopefully told her that I wanted to see the Villa Diodati, and she *kindly* informed me that it was private property and that I could press the green button next to the gate to leave. So I pressed the green button and I left, and she didn’t turn her car around the corner until she saw the gate close behind me. Goodness! I’m a literature student, not a vandal.

I went back to the meadow and sat for a little while, and I made sure to swing by the back entrance of the mansion. I caught a glimpse of the beautiful private gardens, as well. If only someone had opened the site to the public instead of turning the mansion into a luxury apartment complex . . . 

At this point I probably would have taken a selfie with a trash can that said "Diodati" on it.

It was fun to see the physical place where these tales were born. Places hold a lot of meaning for me; even though the writers are long gone, I like to think that a little bit of magic still lingers. Next, I plan to see how these writings impact the culture around the lake today.

On the Shores of Loch Ness, part II

Surprisingly, during almost all of my time in Scotland, I experienced very little rainy weather. However, the weather often changed in mere minutes . . . from sunny and clear to windy and overcast. It’s a good thing I’m learning to embrace change.

In order to experience the culture surrounding Loch Ness’s famed monster in as many ways as possible, I took a boat cruise of the loch. To get to the dock for my cruise, I had to buy a ticket for the giant red double-decker Sightseeing Bus. In order to do that, I first had to swallow my pride and accept the fact that I am a tourist, and sometimes being a tourist necessitates the loss of dignity that accompanies riding an obnoxious red vehicle with a pre-recorded guide. 

Once I arrived at the Jacobite cruise center at Dochgarroch, I realized how streamlined and polished the entire process has become through years of growth in the loch’s tourist industry. I was even able to talk with an employee at the center, and she had some interesting information to share with me. She noted that there has been an increase in the number of people visiting Loch Ness; significantly, there has been a 40% increase in boat tours since last year. This could be for any number of different reasons, but the employee conjectured that it may be because Scotland feels a lot “safer” than other European countries at the moment.

The cruise itself was exhilarating! I wasn’t content with sitting in the lines of benches on the top level of the boat; naturally, I needed an unobstructed view of the loch with no one in front of me to protect me from the harsh Highland wind, so I opted to stand/crouch at the front of the boat to maximize my experience. (I was careful not to block anyone’s view!) The waters were choppy and the wind was strong, but it was an incredible experience. They were even selling hot chocolate with whisky in it. According to our guide, the more of these boozy concoctions someone has, the more likely they are to see Nessie! Go figure.

By the end of the cruise, tears were streaming down my face from the wind and my hair could probably have been mistaken for an actual monster, but I had a lovely time. The cruise dropped us off at the Urquhart Castle, so I was lucky enough to explore the ruins another time.

I also spent a lot of my time exploring Inverness, especially in the evenings. Let me once again stress how sweet the Scottish people are; I had a full conversation with the woman next to me in line in TJMaxx about the perils of buying pillows without being able to try them first. Everyone is so friendly and helpful.

Hiking is one of my favorite things to do, but I never get to do it due to my schedule during the academic year. As a result, I decided to take advantage of my free schedule to explore the beautiful trails that surround the River Ness! Armed with hiking boots and a can-do attitude, I headed towards the Ness Islands, where water converges around small, tree-filled “islands” in the middle of the river. It was a great way to decompress after the hectic bus schedules of the city. There was even a fallen tree that someone had carved into a makeshift sculpture of the Loch Ness Monster. So it does exist!

On my last full day at the loch, I decided to go to the small town of Dores. I knew this to be the home of the Dores Inn, a precious bar and restaurant, and also the home of famed Nessie hunter Steve Feltham. Mr. Feltham holds the Guinness World Record for the longest monster-hunting vigil on the loch (over 25 years now, after leaving a steady job and girlfriend). I was supposed to pay him a visit at his small shop/base next to the inn, but he had a friend visit at the last minute, so I was unable to meet him. (I expect he just didn’t want to talk to another American tourist, and I can’t really blame him. I hear he now thinks that the "monster" is a massive catfish.)

I’m so glad I visited Dores -- it was easily my favorite location on the loch that I was able to visit. I arrived early in the morning, but the Dores Inn didn’t open until the afternoon, so I decided to find a quiet spot to sit by the loch. However, Dores is almost exclusively residential, so there weren’t many public benches or parks or even sidewalks, for that matter. The loch was lined with small, private cottages with gardens. I decided to maneuver behind one of the cottages, and I found a little grove of rocks and trees that hid me from view of the road. (What’s an adventure without a little trespassing on private property?) I actually sat here for a couple of hours because it was so beautiful; a heavy cloud of silver fog cloaked the loch and the hills surrounding it, and I felt the most peace that I have in a long time. Even when it began to rain. Especially then.

When the Dores Inn opened, I was ready for a hearty Highland breakfast. My server took pity on me due to my red nose and soaked coat and immediately offered me some tea (and darn if it wasn’t some of the best tea I’ve ever had!). I sat at a table with a window facing the loch, and it was a lovely experience. 

Perhaps the loveliest little place near the loch.

After breakfast (and dessert), I took a walk along the beach next to the Inn, where I saw Steve Feltham’s residence and also took a couple of cool rocks from the loch. Don’t tell the Scottish police!

Overall, I loved my experience in Scotland. The loch is an incredibly beautiful and haunting place to visit; on a cloudy or rainy day, the black, opaque waters certainly seem like they could be the home of a monster. I understand why tourists and locals alike flock to the shores of Loch Ness -- myth and monsters aside, it’s an intriguing place to reflect and absorb the beauty of the Highlands.