One of the great things about being on my own in Paris is deciding moment by moment what I want to do. I have a list of thing I'd like to while I'm in Paris (you know me, of course I have a list). I consider everything on the list optional.
As I was drinking my second cup of coffee this morning, I took a look at the list and spent a bit of time online looking at more info regarding the Pere Lachaise cemetary. The weather is great, that's where I will go.
My Favorite Park is Paris
After the hustle and bustle of the Champ du Mars area, I longed for some peace and quiet. My new favorite park is sprawling green space that's quiet, the sounds are song birds and buzzing bees, The trees and vines are lush and flowers abound. The monuments have lovely architectural details and there are loads of sculptures. Yes, this is the Pere Lachaise cemetary.
Pere Lachaise is the largest cemetary in Paris. It is full of hills and winding narrow cobblestone roads. The cemetary is divided into divisions and plots. I ws in search of my beloved Edith Piaf. After entering, I located Edith's division on the map near the guard shack. There were a handful of others I'd see if convenient. One of the mausoleums caught my eye. It was in the general direction of Edith so I headed over.
Many of the family monuments and mausoleums looked similar to the beautiful apartment buildings in Paris. I suppose you'd call is an art nouveau style, a small building adorned with black iron gates. An eternal chateau. A number of plots have life-size sculptures or busts. I suspect these were very important businessmen of their time. Even though the plots are for the family, the busts and statues are invariably the family patriarch. I suppose it's because he paid for the plot.
Rick Steves recommended good walking shoes for Pere Lachaise and we wasn't kidding. The old cobblestone walkways are very uneven and once you're off the walkway, you need to watch every step. Even with being careful, I turned my ankle twice with mis-steps.
I took my time, enjoying the peaceful surroundings and taking photographs. Eventually, I resumed my quest - looking for Edith. The afternoon got very warm and the hills started to take their toll. Two older German couples approached. Since I don't speak German and only a bit of French, I braced myself and mentally preparea a "Non parlez vouz Francais." Then, one of the women said, "Edith Piaf?" Yes, we spoke tha same language. Although we were in the right general area, we spent the next 20 minutes working together to find Edith. I heard a loud and excited, "Madame, Madame."
Edith is buried in a modest family plat marked Gassion-Piaf. It's easy to miss. There were a few flowers but not the scores I'd expected. There isn't a special marker or plaque discussing Edith's accomplishments, There isn't a portrait f Edith etched into stone. A simple, black stone sarcophagus type of thing, so common for the Pere Lachaise. I left the roses I'd brought with me.
The German woman offered to take a photo of me and I eagerly accepted. After the Germans left, I decided to take a video of the plot. Then the wheels started turning, I had my iPhone with all of my music. How about a sound track? Ordinarily, it would have seemed gauche. But today, there were tree trimmers nearby and their noise was very loud. A little sweet music would be a relief. I fired up my favorite Edith Piaf song, "La Vie en Rose" and took my video.
I didn't realize how many people were nearby looking for Edith. The music seemed to be a beacon. A steady stream of people trickled over. I finished my video and packed up. If I don't find Oscar Wllde, Jim Morrison or Chopin, I'm good. I found the little sparrow, my beloved Edith.
I decided to meander in (what I thought was) the direction of the main entrance to the cemetary. The quiet peace of Pere Lachaise was relaxing. After a long uphill stretch, I saw some amazing views of Paris. My feet and back were starting to ache. In the distance saw a couple of young guys with backpacks, the a young goth couple and an older hippie guy. Jim Morrison must be nearby. I saw four people huddled near a grave. Yes, it was Jim. I'm still not sure why he's buried in Paris. When I have the time and desire, I'll find out.
Jim Morrison's grave is downright austere. A non-descript cement slab. Today, there were a few flowers, a couple of handmade tributes with photos. No whiskey bottles. There is an interesting Greek quote on the tombstone: "Kata ton daimoma eaytoy" which translates to "True to his own spirit."
After another 45 minutes or so, I finally found my way out of Pere Lachaise and headed back to the apartment. It was 4pm and I was ready for a late lunch and a nap.
David Lebovitz Book Signing
I'm a great fan of ex-patriot pastry chef and author David Lebovitz. He worked at Chez Panisse in Berkeley and he's liven in Paris for almost ten years. His blog is witty, irreverent and full of valuable info about Paris (DavidLebovitz.com).
Unfortunately, David's culinary tour for May sold out in a matter of minutes. I was thrilled to find out that David has a new book that's just come out and he's doing a book signing event here in Paris during my stay. Unlike the states, the event at W.H. Smith required an RSVP. Paris is so civilized.
David's book "A Sweet Life in Paris" helped prepare me for my time here on my own. There are so many funny anecdotes about everyday life in Paris. I was well prepared for the Parisians to cut inline at the market. There were times when I let it slide and other times they met "Monsoir Elbow." I'm still polite, I'll give you a "Pardon" or two, then gently push my way through.
In defense of the French, especially the Parisians, it seems like the tourists that come to Paris temporarily lose their minds. They'll stop in the middle of a busy narrow sidewalk and gather the whole family around for a look at a map. To Clarify, when I say tourists, I mean all tourists, not just Americans.
I arrived at the book signing event a few minutes late. A woman was in the process of introducing David. The main level of the bookstore was jam packed and incredibly HOT. Once David took the mic, I could finally see him when the tall guy in front of me moved to the left. David was as witty and personable as I'd hoped. The volcano had delayed shipments so David hadn't seen a copy of the new cookbook until today.
David also mentioned that he mailed his check to Schwab six weeks ago and still wasn't sure if it had arrived. That was too funny. After a half hour or so of anecdotes and acknowledgments, David began signing. I was surprised that half of the people left
When I finally got a chance to have my books signed, I mentioned that I work for Charles Schwab and that I'm on sabbatical. David absolutely gushed about how much he loves Schwab and that "the people at Schwab know what they're doing." This was good to hear. David was not at all heppy with the financial institution he was in the process of moving his accounts out of.
I removed my "Schwab Ambassador to the World" ribbon as I left WH Smith and walked down Rue de Rivoli. The fresh air felt wonderful.
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