This may sound like a bad idea, but it was one of the more interesting experiences I've ever had, and if you can't do things like that in France, where can you?
We got a late train out of Paris to Chartres, a small quaint town about 75 minutes out of Paris known for its medieval cathedral, Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres. It is considered to be the finest example of a High Gothic style cathedral in France and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and has to be one of the most exquisitely detailed cathedrals I've seen yet.
Our mission when we arrived was to find a man my friend had met on her plane back to Paris from Malaga a couple of weeks ago. She had sat next to this nice old man, got chatting to him, and he had written down his address and phone number for her to contact when she came to Chartres. So two weeks later, here we were, arriving in a tiny town at almost dinner time having failed to contact him whatsoever with the only plan to search a town ("which must be small enough to find an old guy in white robes, right?). My chastizing of her plan, or lack thereof, turned out to be pointless as we entered the cathedral and while reading the information board, found out he was THE priest. As in, he was the priest of one of the finest cathedrals of all or France. Right.
Sure enough, as we were walking around, and I was asking some questions which thorougly entertained my Catholic (ish) friend such as: "So they hang out in those confession boxes all day just waiting for someone to come in?", followed by "but what if they fall asleep? Does that mean your confession doesn't count?" and met with amused stifled giggles. But these questions were abruptly stopped when we spotted our priest praying his Rosary (I let slip "why is he talking to himself?" before I could stop myself.)
After a quick reintroduction on my friend's part and an awkward introduction on my part due to one of the initial questions being "are you Catholic?" in which there was a prolonged silence as I struggled to decide whether to lie and say yes or be honest and possibly disrespect/anger this Holy He. I finally decided there was something wrong about lying in a cathedral to a priest and in the end stumbled out that I was Presbyterian but "open". I was starting to think I'd be the first person to get kicked out of this cathedral.
But we got chatting to him and he was the nicest man who seemed intent on us coming back when the renovations were finished and being 'alter hands' and helping him with Mass. I thought this was a nice gesture and equally the most terrifying concept, imagining myself in those large white robes, tripping up the stairs holding a tray of candles. But he was incredible to talk to and his slow, old man speak meant I understood everything he said. I felt like high-fiving him.
He told us he had to go but asked us to stay for Mass which he was taking in fifteen minutes. Ten minutes later I'm sitting in a gigantic, elaborate cathedral in the middle of France singing French hymns for my first ever Catholic Mass service. Now, THAT is something I never thought I'd say. It even included Communion (which I later discovered all services do) and so we all went up to the front and got given our cracker/token/plastic playing peice. The moment I put it in my mouth I suddenly had a sense of dread that that wasn't what you did here as it seemed hard and unchewable. However, I think that might have just been a stale packet as sure enough everyone else was popping them in their mouth.
When the service was over and we bidded au revoir to our charming new friend, we spent the rest of the time walking around Chartres discovering the tiny but pretty town and I used this time to scratch up on my Catholic knowledge with questions like "how many times do Catholic's go to Church?", "what is Mass?", and the most embarrasing, "Is being a Priest handed down the generations?", quickly being told just why this wouldn't be the case. Turns out this trip to Chartres was quite the religious schooling.
Nevertheless, the town was quaint and a wonderful relief from Paris. We had coffee at a cute resto during a random downpour, and my favourite smell ever came about as the rain hit the hot concrete and once it had passed we continued to wander with the smell of burning tar wafting about. We even fitted in dinner and dessert before boarding the train and heading home.
As I was biking home somewhere around midnight, I suddenly thought about how the priest had said he was going to pray for us and wondered just what he was going to pray 'for' for me. I'm thinking perhaps I should have left being 'open' out of my religious affiliations.
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