But this particular winter, the temperature was particularly mild, and for days I didn't even need to wear the light coat I brought with me. But at the end of the week the temperature dropped, and I found myself completely unprepared. I bought a scarf and gloves from the store near my hotel, but to no avail: I had already caught a Parisian bug.
The next day was my last full day in Paris, and I was determined to make the most of it. I could feel myself starting to get warm as I entered the Louvre. I rushed to see the classics -- Winged Victory, Mona Lisa -- thinking I could push through it, maybe defeat it all together. As I left my forehead was just starting to sweat from the fever.
I went into the metro and managed to get a seat. I was starting to feel a little better when I got out at Sacre Coeur. Everything I had read told me the view of Paris from here was fantastic. But nothing prepared me for the long walk up to the church.
The metro had let us out far below ground -- as I climbed the stairs I became more and more convinced the architect was a genius; a spiral stairwell prevents patrons from looking up at the great distance between themselves and their goal and simply giving up and going home. By the time I reached ground level I was practically panting. Nearly there, I thought. I was so wrong.
Once outside, hundreds of narrow steps still separated the subway entrance and the church. I climbed and climbed. My whole body was begining to ache. I had to take a break halfway and let people pass. I made a half-hearted attempt to take photos along the way. But really, it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
And then, suddenly, I found there it was: Sacre Coeur in all her glory. I stared in awe at the church before turning to see the city below.
It was beautiful. And I was completely spent. But it had been worth every second of dragging my aching, fevered body up those steps.
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