Day 26: The Lost Campus of Vincennes...
- Marlena Skrabak
- Jul 4, 2019
- 4 min read
Updated: Aug 20, 2019
This is not the story of the Lost City of Atlantis. Sorry to disappoint, but it is quite fascinating nonetheless.
I woke up to coffee, orange juice, and a big green apple today. I know, I know, I broke my routine. I had to sink my teeth into the flavorful free fruit from yesterday. There are so many fruits, I am planning on making a pie tomorrow and at some point some jam. Cherry jam?
The discoveries today were focused on the 12ème arrondissement, in particular the Bois de Vincennes. The trek out there was a solid hour between metro and bus. Having mapped it, I was all ready to go, I was sitting on the 13, about to change to the 1 when I realized my phone was not on my person...crap is all I have to say. And that I was late. Those are the two things that I have to say. Getting off the metro I switched to the other platform to take the train back the way I came from. It was an unfortunate morning. Grabbing my phone and holding it with all my might, I made my way to the Bois. After all this, I only ended up being five minutes late which I think is quite impressive if I do say so myself.
I made it to the Cartoucherie which was a grouping of several buildings and whose functions were largely unclear to me. But I was aware that there were several theaters, and for some reason, the vibes reminded my vaguely of Avignon and the Theater festival on a dead day. Don't ask me why. By all means, the most important detail was that there was an equestrian center where I had the chance to pet horses for the better half of the day. Call me horse whisperer already, why don't ya! One horse's name was American Pie...how creative.
After filling my heart with joy and my hands with dirt, I was on my way towards a location that does not exist on any map: the Université de Vincennes, demolished in the 80s.
Looking for something in the woods when there is nothing to go off of and no sign that it ever existed in the first place is quite hard, in case that wasn't apparent to you to begin with.
Walking as purposefully aimlessly as possible, I saw an older man walking in our direction. I was hoping he was a native and was around when the campus existed after Mai 68 (a huge student revolt in Paris).
My luck very VERY occasionally surprises me (I know it doesn't seem this way, but I would not consider myself an inherently lucky person). This man, very sweet and accommodating, was actually the "secretariat" of Paris VIII, which is the branch of Université de Vincennes that was moved to Saint-Denis after the original campus was razed. For 8 years he worked at the University, and out of all the people I could have randomly stopped on the dirt path in this massive set of woods, it was a man intricately tied to the University. The world is weird, that is all I have to say. Complimenting our French, he was so willing to help and even said he wished he spoke English the way we spoke French. He warmed my heart; after we chatted for a bit getting his vague directions to where the remnants may be (because even he was not entirely sure where this old institution used to be), it was time to say goodbye. I felt that I received the highest compliment though when he gave me "le bis" to say goodbye. I have reached ultimate French-person level...
Using his directions, he was right. Heading towards Route de la Tournelle, we ran across the clearing that once housed Hélène Cixous and Michel Foucault to name a few. Sacred ground was underneath my feet hidden by layers of overgrowth. It felt eerie to contemplate that this was once an inspiring place for those who simply wanted to learn. Not perfect, but not deserving to be razed.
(When you see me, ask me about the more detailed story.)
After spending a considerable amount of time trekking through this place that held no indication of ever belonging to a radical university, we felt it was time to head back. I brought with me a piece that I felt was anachronistic and did not belong in the woods, a tile-like white and blue shard that may have belonged to what was destroyed some time ago.
We passed a river that was man-made by Haussmann during Napoleon III's reign. Then we eventually made it back to the bus station, running to catch the one that was at the stop, hopping on just in time.
Reid Hall was peaceful and my espresso was necessary.
Dinner was special because an old "hostee" was visiting and I can say that this ranks top 10 in the most awkward experiences I have ever had. This is best described in person, but I will say that the vibes were just way off on all levels. Besides the strangeness of the interaction, I can now say that I have eaten rabbit. I am not sure how I feel about that...
To end the night, Anna and I felt it necessary to stuff ourselves with cherries because why on earth not. Painful stomach, here I come.
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