Sprinting Through The Louvre

There are few things I’ve complained about more in my life than the time I visited Paris with a group from my high school and our chaperone only gave us two hours in the Louvre museum. 

I complained when I saw the itinerary for the first time. I complained every time I glanced at the itinerary after that. One of the first things I said when we arrived in Paris was, “I can’t believe he’s only giving us two hours!” I complained while we were there, I complained after we left, and for the last two years I have intermittently complained about those measly two hours. In between descriptions of how much I loved it, of course. 

The night before the big day, my friends and I pulled up a map online and strategically planned every stop we needed to hit. As soon as we arrived at the glass pyramid, we took our pictures as quickly as possible and pushed ourselves to the front of the line. Once we broke through the crowd below the pyramid and snaked into the first corridor with the smooth stone floors, we were off. We were pushing and shoving and sprinting our way through the Louvre. We each had a map in hand and a vigilant eye for signs, ensuring we wouldn’t get off-track. Of course we did, the Louvre is impossible to navigate, but we were pretty darn close to sticking to our plan. 

As art history students and lovers of all things art, we decided that if we wanted to see as many influential works as possible, we’d have to do the unthinkable: skip Mona Lisa. 

The decision was unanimous. At that point in time, in order to see the Mona Lisa, you had to stand in a line with hundreds of other sweaty, pushing tourists touting crying babies and huge camera bags. There was no way in hell we’d bother. 

But to our surprise, the route from “The Death of Marat” to whatever we were searching for next led us directly to her! We turned our heads to see what all the commotion was about and discovered that we were only 15 feet away from the most famous painting of all time. We took about 20 seconds to be amazed and snap selfies before we sprinted away, desperate to escape the crowd and find whatever painting we were so adamant to see. 

For most of our stops, we stopped long enough to take one picture. We’d skid to a halt directly in front of it, wait two, maybe three Mississippis, and rush on to the next. 

At the time, I was embarrassed to be in such a rush. I felt that running was disrespectful and that stopping in front of some of the most famous works of art of all time for only a few seconds seemed pointless. But what else could I do? Go to the Louvre and not see the Seated Scribe?? No way. 

This year, I had the privilege of going back to the Louvre. This time, I was determined to redeem my previous experience and spend as much time there as I wanted. In the end, it came out to over six hours. 

And I realized I didn’t have any more fun. If anything, I had more fun the first time. Both experiences were undoubtedly incredible, but I’ve realized that the time limit from my first trip introduced an element of excitement. When I left the Louvre the first time, I hurried out breathless, full of souvenirs, and only a half hour late (Sorry Mr. S!). The second time I left the Louvre, I slowly meandered out with aching feet, a hungry belly, and with no greater desire than to lie down for a few hours. I was able to enjoy each individual painting on a deeper level, but I didn’t enjoy the experience more. 

In retrospect, the fun of traveling to the Louvre the first time came from the difficulty of having such a strict deadline. The “travail” that I had was minor—I still got to go to the Louvre, after all, but it allowed me to enjoy the traveling as much as I could. In the end, I am much more grateful for those two hours in the Louvre than any other two-hour selection from my six-hour trip.