<p>A clearer view: Legs aching and short-winded, my grandparents and I arrived at the end of our 400 foot climb up the stairs to the summit of Montmarte in Paris, France. It felt like a dream that I was in France the first week of summer before my senior year. I would have pinched myself if I weren't already in pain from the climb.</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>The trip was my grandparents way to reconnect us as a family and relieve some of the responsibilities of my parents recent separation. I was so excited about the trip that I worked a part time job for money so that nothing could keep me from going. Grateful to be out of Bakersfield and separation disputes, I quickly changed my focus from my aching muscles to the Sacre-Coeur Basilica that lay before us.</p> <p>It seemed fitting that such a celebrated building would be built on top of the highest point in the city. The large Basilica stood prodigious, concrete, and proud. It boasted its historical and religious importance with dramatic dome ceilings, solid stone archways, and intricate glass mosaics.</p> <p>The gothic charm of the building kept us captivated and busy in conversation until we noticed the other tourists' focus. They had come to Montmarte not for its appealing architecture or contemporary artists but for the aw-inspiring panoramic view. We now sat in silence at the foot of the church steps and scanned the horizon.</p> <p>The city, with its distinguishing elements, was a metropolis set on rolling hills. Its tightly packed structures fit together like intricate puzzle pieces. Most had gray or terracotta roofs while important monuments, like the Opera, were capped with gold and glittered above the others.</p> <p>The colors of the city were various shades of washed white stone, concrete, and marble but bursts of brilliant greenery were visible at every sign of a window or patio. The slightly noticeable gaps in-between the mesh of white buildings and green parkways gave way to narrow cobble stone streets where local vendors thrived. The French that inhabited these streets had a bohemian essence to them and maintained a sense of confidence and charismatic appeal.</p> <p>While some would argue that Paris offered more historically significant points of interest, for me, Montmarte was the epicenter life and culture in the city. My focus was drawn to the artisans who made this hilltop their home. Inspired by the same view that laid before me, they their used paintbrushes, charcoals, prose and poetry to make a living.</p> <p>Most worked in the square doing portraits and landscape scenes, while others wandered into cafes to write and read. Claude Monet, Salvador Dali, and Vincent Van Gogh had each worked here and now were and inspirational phenoms of the area. Life there shaped them into the men that made an everlasting imprint on history.</p> <p>It may have been a spiritual influence from the church, or fatigue combined with the high altitude, but I felt a cliched sense of clarity overwhelm me. I wanted to make my mark on history like those who had struggled to achieve greatness here before me. Someday I would feel the same pride in my writing that they felt in their art. We spent the rest of our day admiring artwork and the view with local and tourists. I felt blessed to have been there at all. Montmarte seemed to radiate an unforgettable energy that made the hill magical to a novice tourist like myself. I returned home the next day with souvenirs we'd bought from the vendors to give to my family. More importantly, I returned home proud that I had a been part of a culture that sparked ambition in me. Whatever path I chose, someday it would lead me back to Paris to write. I knew that I could not portray Paris well enough with words to do it justice but I hoped I could inspire others to make the trip and climb the 400 feet to the top to experience it all for themselves.</p> Kayla Montalvo 2007-10-01T00:00:00Z F 2007-06-01 false 4236 464 Scholarship 2007-10-01T00:00:00Z 4244 active 4 2010-02-09T14:45:14Z 10236