Au Père

One of the strange touristic highlights of Paris is its cemeteries, the most famous and the largest of which is the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise... but it's not just for the morbidly inclined.

Perhaps it's the peaceful atmosphere, but when the weather is nice some Parisians come here for a stroll or spend a whole afternoon reading on one of its park benches.

It was a pleasantly balmy spring day when I finally convinced H to come with me to the cemetery. A gentle breeze made the leaves quiver in the trees and my goth self shiver with excitement.

 
Anyone can come inside and detailed maps are downloadable from the web. We got one at the entrance (because I forgot mine at home!) for about 2 euros. It's highly advised that you either have a good sense of direction or a map because the place is HUGE (43 hectares to be exact), and you can lose time just trying to figure out where you are.

It is so wide and so old that there are sections where you can forget you are in Paris.

  

In fact, if you're not paying attention, you could become lost. It's one of those places I could see myself spending hours just exploring, going up and down hills, reading epitaphs and staring at the lovely monuments to the dead.

Going up.

Going down...

Going up.

Going down.

Going nowhere.

The cemetery boasts of beautiful architecture from bourgeois families trying to outdo each other since the early 1800s, when Napoleon-I turned the former Jesuit hospice into a cemetery (then called the Cimetière de l'Est).

Bourgeois fer realsies.

Chilling effigies of Grief.

But the biggest attraction are the famous artists, celebrities and political figures buried here.

The most crowded areas were the tombs of La Môme...

And the larger-than-life frontman of The Doors.

(Whose death anniversary was, incidentally, just this week.)

In fact, some come to Paris just to pay him homage. To control the crowd, metal fences were installed... not that they help much. Some fans took to vandalizing the tree just across his tomb to scribble messages of undying love.

But there is no bigger monument of worship here as the sculpture of Sir Jacob Epstein for the final resting place of author, iconoclast, outcast Oscar Wilde...

The sphinx used to have a penis, but someone took it.

Whose tomb is covered in kisses.

From a new generation of outcasts from around the world.

Which is perhaps fitting for the man who wrote the verses:

And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourners will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn.

The crematorium.

But more than a place of pilgrimage for fans of the long departed, it is a place that affords one the opportunity to reflect on life.

To see the forest for the trees.

And think about who you want beside you until the very end.

"You and Me"

I Like Big Buttes

H and I carefully planned our movie schedule for Fête du Cinema so we could see as many as we liked while having time within the week to see his grandparents (since it was the only time we could borrow his brother's car).

We saw four movies on the first day: Limitless, Midnight in Paris (the opening sequence of which prompted H to cry at the screen defensively, "It doesn't rain that much here!"), The Hangover (Very Bad Trip) 2, and the true to life French legal drama Omar m'a Tuer. The next day was a marathon for the boys: X-Men, Blitz, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Kung Fu Panda. Then we got back from Normandy just in time for the opening day of Transformers.

On the last day we had our choice of art films but they were dramas that could be seen at home so we decided to see just Malick's The Tree of Life at the only cinema still playing it: the Mk2 in Hautefeuille. It was scheduled for ten in the evening and we had a lot of time in the day to faire promenade.

The Temple of Sybil (styled after the temple in Tivoli) surrounded by a lake.

Nestled high above the 19th arrondissement is this man-made collection of hills and cliffs: the Parc des Buttes Chaumont.

A butte is a steep place with a flat top, just like the hill of the Sacre Coeur... which, incidentally, can be clearly made out from the Temple of Sybil.

Photo by H. Panakaw lang :D

It is popular with Parisians, painters, and newlyweds who cross the street from city hall to just have a nice photo-op in this oasis.

H's friend joined us when he learned we were going to be in his neighborhood.
Behind them is the district's city hall.

H said this place used to be just a mound of untillable red earth, a place where criminals were executed. Later, parts of it were bombed and excavated to form the park's distinct topography.

A welcome respite from the urban sprawl just opposite.

Two bridges allow entry into the island within the lake. An ersatz waterfall flows through one side to fill it with water.

The lush herbage is a great spot for picnics, an after-lunch catnap, or a quick roll in the grass.

 ... Much to Pan's delight.

We stayed there for a few hours while the sun played hide-and-seek.

After that we headed to Koe E Noor, a little hole in the wall near the Quai de la Loire that serves amazing Indian food.

A couple of apprehensive Californians went inside to look at the menu and H convinced them to stay because we went all the way from the 13th just for the excellent grub. They did stay and thanked us for the tip. When the restaurant owner heard about what H did, he gave us a free bottle of wine.

I got greedy with the lime pickle.

Then we scooted off to Hautefeuille in the trendy Saint-Germain district just in time for sunset, and the movie.

The last slivers of golden sunlight.

Viaduct Tales

It feels like summer again and we've been hitting the parks to get the most out of this wonderful weather. Paris has parks and gardens in every street, and one of my favorites was this -

A secret garden hiding in plain sight...

Ensconced over the heads of motorists, pedestrians, and unsuspecting tourists...

Perched as high as the egg-shaped armadillo roofs of Paris' iconic "batiments hausmannien."

The Promenade Plantée, which I translate to mean "plant-y walk," is the world's first elevated park according to Aviewoncities.com. The arcades below were turned into shops and galleries.

This abandoned viaduct used to be an eyesore, but see what some thoughtful landscaping can do.

It starts from the Opera Bastille and the trail goes all the way through to the Forest of Vincennes. We drive by here a lot when we visit friends in the 12th district.

The weather was awesome and we had just enough time to go to our favorite chinese restaurant in the 13th and scour the Surcouf below the promenade for an elusive gadget case. H gave me a little lecture on the unsuitableness of short dresses on scooters but all was soon forgiven, and everything was working out great.

It was shaping up to be a typical romantic day in Paris.

But it all ground to a halt when we heard a screetch and three loud bangs coming from below. It was an accident, H told me. I couldn't look. From the side I could see some people walking away as fast as they could, while some gravitated closer. Burnt rubber had left an inky stain on the pavement. Glass everywhere. A man had planted himself at the crossroad to direct traffic, then H noticed someone had started CPR on the pedestrian in the gutter. "That's so stupid, sooo stupid," he kept muttering. "There is water in the gutter, and it's red. They're making it worse!"

I saw a man raising his hands in the air and clasping his head as if the world had crashed around him. He was twisting away from the wreck. I saw a terrified young woman pushing a baby carriage, but all the while her head was turned towards the person in gutter. It is a sad and scary thing, but from the height where we stood I wonder now how much smaller all our troubles might seem to someone watching from much, much higher.

Perhaps like H and I, every one in this tableau had been looking up at the blue sky just seconds before, thinking how wonderful the day was and how it can't get any better.

We left at ten before five in the afternoon, according to the sundial, and spent the rest of our time with Mia who lived a corner away from the promenade.

It was one of those moments that made you think about how you want to spend all the remaining sunny afternoons of your life.