Background
I have a confession to make: I do hope you'll keep it between you and me. I'm in love, completely. I haven't been able to even tell her, so I thought I'd write it here, as a proof, in the distant hope that one day, she'll know. Now before you all start changing your phone numbers and reissuing those restraining 'orders', let me elaborate. My love, true as it may be, is unrequited, quite simply, because, she's a building. A church, to be exact. Not just any type of church. Like all women, she's beautiful but temperamental - she's got hidden talents and abilities, and isn't entirely displeased with the occasional mounting. With that said, he past is not without demons, and lately, to be frank, she's let herself slip a little. But true love is true love, and none of these things matter to me.

Built in ____, there was drama with St Sulpice from the get go. At the time, it was expressly forbidden to build a church with towers of equal height. However, via a littany of uncaught errors, that's exactly what happened. As a result of the ensuing furour, the southern tower [ right, when facing ] was never completed, nor embellished. If you cast more than a casual glance upwards, you'll note that there are only with blocks of stone at the top: none of which were carved, nor decorated.

Also interesting to note, is the fact that architects fashioned some interesting construction quirks. From the ground, the first level of balistrading appears to be the same dimension as the balistrading on the next levels, and indeed the tops of the towers. From the top, however, it becomes immediately apparent this is not so: all the adornments and decorate elements of the church were constructed employing perspective correction: that is, the lower adornments are smaller than the upper ones - giving the illusion to the casual viewer on the ground level, that, primarily, everything is the same height, and secondly, that the church is actually much smaller than it really is.

Also indescernable from the ground is the fact that the roof of the cathedral itself makes a perfect cross from above. In addition to which - when constructed, nails were not used: the entire roof and substructure was constructed soley with wooden pegs. If you're lucky enough to enter the roof, apart from having a bird's eye view into the cathedral, and being able to marvel at the intricate and antique chandeliere hoists, the workmanship is amazing - you can witness the progression of technology - from pegs and dovetailing to the application of first-generation nails - hand-drawn, elongated tetrahedrons of iron with flattened heads.

June 2005 - The exploration

On one of my first trips to France, I was lucky enough to make acquaintance with Martin, who apart from having a passion for all things exploratry, and an impressive wealth of both historic and general knowledge, had also bartered legitimate access to the nooks and crannies of Saint Sulpice, in exchange for shooing pigeons away from its eaves.

And so, one balmy summer evening, vis-a-vis to the local copshop, we climbed up. Initially striking are the aforementioned towers - the southern of the two still laced with the original wooden staircase - now fusion of petrified or rotten wood - which one you step on is dictated by chance alone - with a startling drop below. At the time, someone with more appreciate of life than I have had slung a hammock over the void - the perfect lofty crowsnest for the gorgeous parisian summer days.

Most apparent to me at the time, and indeed every time I return, is the complexity of the church - it's an architectual iceberg, hidden in plain view in the middle of Paris. There are statues, towering and ornate that can't be seen from the ground - and vitrines oculars - orbs of stained glass, punctuating the upper levels of the church - hidden from all. Still to this day, years later, the North Tower is shrouded in scaffolding and cloth, testament to the french attitude toward expidition - a sentiment that smiles on explorers - we've had uninterrupted access to Saint Sulpice's secrets for a handfull of years, until very recently.

Explorations - 2006 - 2008
I've been fortunate enough to have multiple returns to Saint Sulpice, and despite my best efforts, my clandestine access has only scratched the surface of what's there. It's difficult to recall another location that offers so much dynanicism: the perfect chill spot, and boundless exploration potential, regardless of the frequency of visit.

I've spent evening laying back on the cool zinc of the rooftop, watching the monuments of Paris slowly wink into obscurity as the night wears on, and passed evenings perched on the metalic pizza that is the roof of the southern tower with friends, pondering the great mysteries of life, ie, women, only to concede defeat, and retreat.

I've crawled around on the 1' wide ledges that skirt the upper floors, looking for a means to bypass the iron grilles that stop all but the most determined of explorers from exploring the levels below the towers. I've almost flipped over backwards off said ledges, when the iron grilling grudgingly ricocheted open, to reveal hidden chambers that haven't been seen for years - etchings in the stones dating before the 1800's, and rooms bizarrely filled with surplus limbs and appendages of statues. I've also taken great childish pleasure in throwing pigeon eggs off the roof at perplexed and unimpressed parisians below.