Paris: Endings and Things

So, I figure: what better way to get everything off of my ‘To Do’ list than by taking time out to write one last blog entry about my Parisian experience? I mean, doing so has been looming over my head—sure, it’s not as important as my midterm essays, but… 

Aww, screw it!  

Who am I kidding? I just want to put the academics away for a bit and focus on some of the fun things I’ve done recently. Plus, I want to blog about my Moroccan adventure, but can’t until I finish with France.

With that said, let’s get right down to it:

On 20 February 2012, after leaving the Eiffel Tower, I made my way to Père Lachaise Cemetery. That’s right, I spent part of my holiday in the world’s (ostensibly) most romantic city in a cemetery—in fact, it’s such a big cemetery, and there were so many people to ‘visit’ that I wound up going back on the 21^st prior to boarding the bus back to London. (In all fairness, the second trip was more the result of logistics—Père Lachaise is only one metro stop away from the bus station.)

Amongst the 1,000,000 bodies who are interred at Père Lachaise are some of the world’s most notable authors and artists. Since I don’t personally know anyone buried there, it was obviously these famous figures that I was interested in.

So who’d I see, you ask? Well, let’s see…

The first one I found was Isadora Duncan. Now, I confess that I don’t really know much about Ms. Duncan beyond the fact that she was a famous dancer. However, I had heard Nic talk about her before, and so I knew she was someone important to him. With that in mind, I crossed my fingers and tried the camera again, hoping there would be enough ‘juice’ left in the battery to get at least a photo for him—miraculously, not only did it give me enough power to snag the photo of Ms. Duncan’s burial spot, but also all of the others that followed over the next two days! Success!

NB: This is not my photo!

After Ms. Duncan, I made my way to the next ‘big’ name on my list: that queer, literary mastermind Oscar Wilde. Now, you’ll notice that there’s a plastic casing surrounding his marker. That’s because there was a tradition of people donning lipstick and kissing/writing messages on the stone. After a while, this began to take its toll on the gravesite, and so they’ve enclosed it within said-protective plastic. I didn’t have any lipstick on me (and had no clue how to ask for some in French), so I just took a quick self-photo alongside the resting place of Dorian Gray’s creator.

NB: This is not my photo!

Exhausted and praying the camera doesn't die!

 Next up: Edith Piaf. Most Americans only know of Ms. Piaf through her famous song ‘La Vie En Rose’ (and admittedly, that was my first exposure to her). But she also led an incredibly fascinating and tragic life. Also, for the record, I like ‘Jezebel’ a bit more than the earlier mentioned song.

The lyrics to 'Le Vie En Rose' are on the green sheet.

Sarah Bernhardt was next. As with Isadora Duncan, my connection to Ms. Bernhardt is a bit more tangential. I knew that she was a silent-movie era actress known for being overly dramatic, but the main draw here (for me) was that we used to refer to my little sister as ‘little Miss Sarah Bernhardt’ when she would throw temper-tantrums and whatnot. (Although, according to my Mom, she called my sister that because her own grandparents had called her that at the same age.)

The other two graves I visited on the 20^th—Jim Morrison and Frederic Chopin—weren’t ones that I necessarily ‘cared’ about per se. I just felt like I should since I was there.

NB: This is not my photo!

NB: This is not my photo!

Shortly after finding Mr. Chopin’s grave, I was kicked out of the cemetery because it was closing time. This was done by a creepy guy who just appeared out of nowhere while I was walking between some graves and told me that the sun was setting and I would have to leave. Not totally convinced that he wasn’t part of the walking dead himself, I did as instructed, returning to the hostel on painfully sore feet—there was certainly no going back out that night because I could barely stand, and so I just watched the French version of ‘Cops’ (which focuses on firefighters instead). 

As I mentioned before, I didn’t have much time on the 21^st to do anything, and so I returned to Père Lachaise for my last hour or two in Paris. This enabled me to snag some of the interred folks I had looked for but was unable to find the day before. That day’s batch included:

The world’s most famous mime—Marcel Marceau—who I remember mostly from I Love Lucy (though I can’t find any record of him ever appearing on there, so maybe they just talked about him?)

NB: This is not my photo!

Mr. Marceau was followed by Richard Wright, the author of Native Son. I actually just read Native Son last semester for my Fiction I class, and it’s an amazing book (albeit very difficult to get through—but then, that’s part of what makes it so amazing). Mr. Wright also shared a friendship (for a time) with another American author living in Paris whose work I read last semester: James Baldwin. (Still more interesting is that Mr. Baldwin wrote Giovanni’s Room, after which my Parisian hostel was named.) Sadly, Mr. Wright’s ashes are interred in a very inaccessible, easy to overlook spot beside a staircase.

NB: This is not my photo!

Quite by accident, I stumbled upon the painter Max Ernst’s resting place as I was walking away from Mr. Wright’s.

NB: This is not my photo!

And finally, I found the frustratingly elusive last two on my list: Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, the world’s most famous literary lesbians—

Sorry, I have to interrupt for a moment to do this: 

“They were quite regularly gay there, Helen Furr and Georgine Skeene, they were regularly gay there where they were gay. They were very regularly gay. To be regularly gay was to do every day the gay thing that they did every day. To be regularly gay was to end every day at the same time after they had been regularly gay. They were regularly gay. They were gay every day. They ended every day in the same way, at the same time, and they had been every day regularly gay…” ~ Stein, “Miss Furr and Miss Skeene”

—Now, admittedly, I’m not a fan of Stein’s work (which I quoted above). But, I cannot detract from the headway she made in the world in terms of living an openly gay life.

In that vein, I was surprised at first to find Ms. Stein buried by herself. It was well known, even while they were living, that she and Ms. Toklas were living together as partners-in-life. And yet, Ms. Toklas was nowhere to be found. 

 

At first I was very upset—how could they have separated them at the end?

But then, as I was walking away, something caught my eye: Ms. Toklas’ information actually was listed on the stone (albeit on the back), meaning that they were buried together. Crisis solved, and now I could have my Awwww moment, followed by my professing my sincerest thanks for my predecessors’ (including Wilde’s and Baldwin’s) efforts to make my life today a little easier.

Stein (l) and Toklas (r). [NB: This is not my photo!]

Stein's Side

Toklas' Side

Also worth noting at Père Lachaise were the memorials seen below. I found them to be incredibly striking in their grotesqueness, especially when hit by the setting sun.

And so, for all intents and purposes, my trip to Paris comes to a close. Fitting, I think, to do so with an entry dedicated to a cemetery. In case you were wondering (which you probably weren’t), nothing all that interesting happened on the ride back to London. There was a bit of drama at the border (one guy was detained, and I almost missed the bus because I was stuck at the back of the line), but in the end I made it!

Will I ever return? I wouldn’t necessarily rush back, but I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity either. However, I did fall in love with Montmartre, and I really enjoyed the Louvre and what I saw of the Pompidou—ooh, and the crepes!—and so I would definitely return to those parts of Paris!

Paris: Early Morning Stroll

School interfered with my ability to update yesterday and earlier today but, finally, I’m back—accompanied by a bit of Edith Piaf in an effort to drown out the thumpa-thumpa coming from upstairs (a different flatmate this time).

At any rate, travel back with me now to the morning of 19 February 2012:

I knew I had a lot of ground I wanted to cover on Sunday, so I started early. My first stop: the famous Arc de Triomphe, which stands proudly just to the side of the Charles de Gaulle-Étoile metro stop, and straddles the Place Charles de Gaulle.

Now, a word of warning before you look at the pictures below: I really did try to do something with my hair that day. In fact, when I left Giovanni’s Room (my hostel), it looked quite nice. But le vent had other ideas—meaning that every single picture of me taken on the 19th is a hot mess. Hot. Mess. That being said, here are the photos:

 Getting back to the world-famous piece of architecture, its purpose is to memorialize those French citizens who lost their lives during the French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars, and buried beneath the arch is France’s Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

(On an unrelated note—and I don’t know if this is actually true or not—according to the Wikipedia store, the ‘eternal flame’ atop the Unknown Soldier’s resting place was the inspiration for the flame that now burns near President John F. Kennedy’s grave. Also, just to demonstrate how big it actually is, in 1919 a biplane actually flew through the memorial arch. You can find the video here.)

From the Arc de Triomphe, I made my way south-east along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. According to the owner of Giovanni’s Room, this stretch of street—which runs between the Arc de Triomphe and the Obelisk of Luxor—is famous for its expensive shops and celebrity clientele. I have to say, I don’t know if that’s true or not (not that I really have any reason to doubt him) simply because everything was still closed as I was walking by. Oh, other than La McDonald’s.

However, I didn’t make it all the way down Champs-Élysées because, at its crossing with an avenue named after Winston Churchill (at that point), I was distracted by a trio of beautifully designed buildings: Le Grande Palais, Petit Palais, and L'Hôtel national des Invalides. I never made it into either of the first two, simply because opening hours and time did not allow. As for L'Hôtel national des Invalides, I’ll discuss that in a subsequent posting.

You can see the edges of Le Grande and Petit Palais on the left and right respectively, with L'Hotel national des Invalides in the distance.

Petit Palais--unfortunately, I accidentally deleted my photo of Le Grande Palais.

The dome atop L'Hotel national des Invalides.

For now, let’s just focus on the bridge that spans the Seine between these three gorgeous buildings: Pont Alexandre III. As the pictures below demonstrate, it’s quite stunning. It is also from this vantage point that I first glimpsed the Eiffel Tower during daylight hours.

My first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower during daylight hours.

The Eiffel Tower, as seen from Pont Alexandre III.

 

From the Pont Alexandre III, I continued heading east along the northern bank of the Seine. It wasn’t long until I came upon the Placede la Concorde (where stands the earlier-mentioned obelisk devoted to Pharaoh Ramses II), and then—a bit further down—the Jardin des Tuileries.

From a historical perspective, perhaps the most interesting thing about the Place de la Concorde is its bloodied link with the French Revolution. It was within the area of this square that 'Madame Guillotine' separated the likes of King Louis XVI, MarieAntoinette, and Maximilien Robespierre from their respective heads. In fact, it has been estimated that over 1,300 people were executed here over the course of a single month during the ‘Reign of Terror.’ Quite a change from the somewhat whimsical air that the Ferris Wheel gives to the square today.

Place de la Concorde

As for the Jardin des Tuileries, its origins date back to the mid-16^th Century, at which point it served as the (private) garden for Tuileries Palace and the Dowager Queen. In later years, it switched back-and-forth between the monarchy and the public courtesy of various revolutions. Today, the palace after which the gardens take their name is gone (as is the monarchy), and its grounds are open to the public.

As one approaches the Louvre, which stands elevated along the eastern end of the space, (s)he comes to a round pool surrounded by beautiful sculptures. To the west the observer can just make out the Place de la Concorde, and to the southwest is the Musee D’Orsay (which, quite sadly, I did not make it to because the line to get in was even longer than the one at the Louvre!).

Facing east, toward the Louvre.

And so, that brings us to the close of this entry. There was still plenty more to see that Sunday, but what remains really does deserve separate entries…

 

Until next time!