The queue, although long, moves fast and after five minutes we are only thirty feet away from the security guards that are checking every other bag. Step by step, we get closer to what has a reputation to be one of the most beautiful cathedrals of Paris. We walk through the door, and once our eyes have adjusted to the minimal amount of light, we see why it has that reputation. The skyhigh vaulted ceiling is lit by dozens of candles in chandeliers, hanging above the many wooden benches lining the aisle. On either side of the church is a gallery with a lower - but still high - ceiling and recesses with statues and paintings of catholic saints. Next to some of the recesses, wooden stands with waxine lights offer people the opportunity to ask help from one. I walk along the left side of the cathedral toward the back. Halfway, the gallery ends, opening up into a side aisle. On the right, ten metres above the stone floor, daylight falls through a huge stained glass window, throwing coloured shadows along the walls and the floor. At the back of the cathedral, a statue of Jesus Christ on the cross is lit from beneath by numeral spotlights. 'How's it hanging, fella?' I hear someone ask. I smile at the silliness of the overdone joke. I grab my phone to take the pictures that have been made a million times.
Twenty minutes later, we are all back outside and, making sure we're not leaving anyone behind, we start walking towards the city centre. Eileen has a map with a route that we're supposed to walk, and we're off schedule. Next stop: Shakespeare & Company. None of us have ever heard of it nor have we an idea of what it could be. On our way we encounter a happy newly wedded couple taking their wedding photos in front of the Seine. I immediately am reminded of the song from Mamma Mia. 'Walks along the Seine, laughing in the rain. Our last summer, memories that remain.' I've always loved that movie. We cross another street and suddenly Mandy points in a direction. 'There!' And she's right, on the corner of Rue Saint Julien le Pauvre and Rue de la Bûcherie, there's a little café called Shakespeare & Company café. The tables on the terrace are all occupied and inside it looks busy as well. Surely this isn't what they meant? And indeed, to the right of the café, almost invisible between the big, posh appartments on Rue de la Bûcherie, is a small, cosy looking bookshop. Bronze letters stated the shop was actually an antiquarian. Above the door, a portrait of William Shakespeare is looking down on us, as if he's guarding the door and watching our every move. Around him black lines form letters and letters form sentences. 'Thou art alive still, while thy booke doth live, and we have wits to read and praise to give.' It's a fragment of a poem dedicated to Shakespeare by Ben Jonson, a 17th century English poet and literary critic. To the left, a black chalkboard hangs down from the frontage. 'Paris wall newspaper, 1999. Rainer Maria Rilke wrote about the little shops of the Latin quarter with their shop windows filled with old books and etchings, where nobody seemed to enter and the proprietor could be seen reading peacefully, indifferent to wordly success, beside him lies a dog, or perhaps a cat.' This Rilke person was probably referring to this bookshop, although it seems like since 1999 the shop has become a whole lot busier. The proprietor is no longer looking at his book but at a line in front of the till formed by at least seven people. When we cross the doorstep it feels like we enter a different world. The noise from the busy Parisian streets is drowned out by screaming silence. No one says a word. The bookshop consists of multiple small rooms on different levels, connected by three or four steps. There's not a single strip of wall to be seen, only bookcases. In front of the bookcases, just wooden stands with more books. It strangely reminds me of Hogwarts, the rooms and stairs could start shifting at any time. There must be hundreds of books in this tiny shop of 200 square foot at most. I could spend hours in here. But we don't have hours, so after ten minutes of gaping at the amount of literary masterpieces and spotting one called 'Eileen', we reluctantly leave the magical bookshop and resume our way through Paris.
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