Today was a big day for me in some small respects. I spent the day off exploring on my own. I ordered and conversed with the locals completely in French. I got lost and found, then lost again sitting down in the most amazing city watching as it passed by me. It felt good. I felt good. I was finally beginning to let go and give in to the spirit of Paris. I was becoming a big boy in the traveler sense :)
I left Lotfi's mid-morning, walking past the cafe with all the cute Barista's working inside (we will no doubt remember them won't we buddy?!) I decided to take it easy today and not rush anything in hopes of seeing everything; I had come to terms with the colossal history of France and just being there for the moment was all I needed to experience. That said, I went down the street and got a crepe with champignons and fromage from the street vendor. Good eating. Then I decided to have myself an espresso and a smoke at the corner brasserie (rolled by hand of course--I was getting pretty good at this now!) When I sat outside I was greeted by a very friendly waiter in his early twenties with dark hair and chiseled features. He reminded me of myself at that age (minus the chisel) and some other people that I used to work with at Mr A's back in the day, except that we both didn't speak the same language, but we kind of did. I sat there for a while sipping and smoking, admiring the cute little glass of water they bring to you when you order a coffee and the little straw-shaped packet of sugar. The sun was shining amongst the clouds, the people passed by on their way and I was finally connected completely to it all. Rad as hell.
Afterwards I got on the metro and headed to Pere Lachaise, the biggest cemetery I've ever seen. When I got there I passed by the tourists loitering out front and walked down the cobblestone walkway, or rather up. The whole place weaved around like a sleeping dragon's body; what a place to lay your head down.
I realized that everyone had gotten maps of the cemetery--which was several square miles in size--everyone but me; I had missed the maps by missing the loitering at the gate. It was too late to walk back so I went upwards to get a better view of it all.
As the path leveled off I found myself at a clearing, a park with several benches and a view of the grounds below. There were numerous paths leading in all different directions down the slopes and disappearing into the trees. This was very nice. People were reading and couples were cuddling--not your average cemetery. I stayed for a bit and then headed off to find Jim Morrison’s grave--the one with all the people crowded around it--or so I'd heard. On my way there I found a nice little roundabout with a statue in its center. I sat a bit more, asked a British girl for directions and was on my way.
When I got there I was surprised at how simple it was: a squared headstone adorned with only flowers and candles. I wondered why he had come to rest in such a modest grave. Was it his own wish? Or did he fall victim to some bloodthirsty lawyer? I ended up wandering towards exit while trying to find Chopin's grave. When I heard the guards ringing their bells (think Monty Python's "Bring out your dead") I tried to slink into the shadows, but they gave me the look of death so I thought it best to leave quietly; I wasn't ready to join Jim just yet.
