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I woke up in my grumpy-bear mood. What does that mean? It means I’ve been traveling for about a week, doing mostly business, working hard, getting little sleep, and basically expending more energy than I’m refueling. It also means that I have been surrounded by too many people, mostly new friends, or strangers, and in an environment that was loud or otherwise sensory overwhelming. Combine all the above and no matter how good the business is going, or how many pleasant people I’ve met, or new friends I’ve made, I have a real need to find a cave and curl up. I need some quiet, privacy, and much less interaction with people.

Grumpy-Bear is very unsocial, and will quickly get depressed, angry, snappish, and unpleasant. Now he won’t if I can just be left the fuck alone, but it usually happens at a time when that isn’t really possible. So today I tried to conjure up some more sociable image. I needed someone that would help me be happier, more social, and want to play. I pictured a happy feline of some sort, that wanted to go out and explore the city. We’re in Paris, for the love of God, this is our first day to be able to explore the city and do something that is unrelated to work. I listened to Godsmack while I was in the shower, and put the music up loud. That helped. I put on the only red shirt I bought with me to try and brighten my mood, ditto for the red lipstick, and my flame New Rocks. It usually puts me in a good mood to wear them. So I went out in a cheerful frame of mind, hopeful that I’d find a way to be a more social pussy-cat rather than unsociable bear. We went to Notre Dame, which was on the list of things all three of us wanted to see. Jon, Meerkat, and me, being the three.

I’ve been staring at a picture of a gargoyle from Notre Dame for years. It hangs on the wall in my office. I promised myself that I would see that view in person one day. Today was the day. I’ll give you some clues about the tower tour. First there is a separate line off to the side of the cathedral for the tower. Nothing tells you that on their website. We were lucky and got to be the last three people allowed in line. Then we waited, it’s a long wait, because only about twenty people are allowed up at any given time. We finally got to enter the entrance to the tower, and that’s where you pay for tickets. It’s 8 Euro a piece and they want exact change. There are signs that warn you that pregnant women, people with heart conditions, or otherwise unable to do the 400 steps up to the towers should not attempt it. I knew it’d be a workout, and I’d been warned by friends who had done it, that my claustrophobia would get a workout, too. I believed them, but nothing really prepares you for it.

The stairs are very steep, and curving sharply. If you suffer from vertigo I would not attempt it. If you’re afraid of heights, you have to be able to control the fear. If you’re a claustrophobic, you are fucking out of luck, and you must be prepared to simply see it through. You just screw your courage to the sticking point and do it, because the stairs become, very, very narrow and twisting. I am a small person. I do not have a large span from finger tip to finger tip, and there were a lot of places where I had a hand on the banister and the curve of the wall on the other side of the stairs. It’s that narrow. Yes, I did feel like the wall was beginning to curve in and swallow me. Yes, I did feel the weight of the stone like something heavy and trying to crush me. Yes, the walls did begin to narrow around me and only my hands on either side let me know it was an illusion made up of the phobia and exhaustion from the many, steep stairs. Plus, I had to use my inhaler part way up, because something in the ancient stairs began to make it hard for me to breath, which considering it was the medieval equivlent of the stair-master from hell was not good. There were a time or two when the fear threatened to overwhelm me, but I was more than half way up at that point, and it was as bad going down as up, so might as well go up. I began to look forward to the wall slit windows with their metal grates, at least it was more light and a little more air. When the man in front of us kept pausing to take pictures at the tiny windows I was happy for the moments of rest. My legs and feet were letting me know that this was more of a workout than I’d had in several days. The guides that do the stairs everyday must have the legs of mountain goats or Olympic athletes.

About the time I was ready to scream as the walls ate me, we came to a room. It contained a bell, a bell the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. No, honest, it was that big. All the bells at Notre Dame are Christened, and this bell’s name is Emmanuel. I liked that a lot. I also liked not having to go up anymore stairs for a few minutes and having more air to breath in the wooden area of the belfry. Jon was fighting his own demons since he doesn’t like heights, and he would later say the wooden steps moved underfoot and made his fear of it all tumbling down much worse, but I was happy for the relatively open area. Then it was time to finish the climb. There was a moment near the end where I fought the urge to simply start screaming and give into the growing terror, but the only way down was back through all that narrow staircase, and up ahead was supposed to be light and air and I needed that. So up, and up, and then sunlight, and finally around one more curve and we were at the top.

First, the breath of fresh air on my face, the spill of sunlight, and the wide expanse of the open was a blessed relief. The view is as spectacular as promised, no, it’s more. It’s still a narrow walkway, but it’s covered in open wire and the view of Paris is worth the climb. I have no greater compliment to give it than that. The gargoyles are wonderful, and finally I saw the same gargoyle that sits on my wall at home, but now it watched over the city of Paris far below. Blue sky and white fluffy clouds were the backdrop for all of it. Wind picked up at one point, lifting my hair back, raising my short t-shirt up so that my stomach showed. My t-shirt went past my belt so it was a strong wind, cool and fresh. I opened my arms and let it blow past me, through me, cool and wonderful. The wind whined and moaned around us, the tower groaning a little under the force of it. It was wonderful, though Jon’s fear of heights wasn’t helped, but my claustrophobia was much happier. Some days it’s a choice of fears to conquer.

Then all too soon it was time to go back down the other narrow staircase. It was physically easier on the legs to go down than up which helped, but the claustrophobia was so not happy with leaving the sunlit rooftop and the view of Paris, and the gargoyles, gotta love the gargoyles, or I do. Meerkat took a picture as we finished the nearly 1000 step climb. We do not look happy, but we were. Yes, it was hard, but the view was worth the fear, and there is always something better in conquering a fear rather than letting it conquer you. We sat down for a few minutes and then went into the Cathedral itself. It, too, was as beautiful as advertised and there are damn few things in life that can say that. Jon bought a candle and lit one for St. Jean d’ Arc. The plaque said that she had been burned as a heretic and a witch and the decision to repair her reputation had been made at this cathedral. It seemed fitting that two witches should light a candle to the peasant saint that was burned as one of us, when she was not. Her only crime was seeing the light of God a little too brightly for the government of the day. Notre Dame also celebrates Mary in May, bringing her gifts of gold at one point in history. They still want their May Queen, their Goddess image, even if they have changed the name and what they are celebrating. We found that Goddess is still there beside God, because without both, I think they would be lonely.