Our Last day in Paris

The eight day in Paris was spent in what was the most photographed part of the trip for me; the visit to the iconic Pere Lachaise cemetery. Where it may seem morbid or even a bit macabre of me I couldn’t help but be fascinated by all of the important and memorable people that are forever in this cemetery. Politicians and musicians lay side by side to grand family crypts. To me Pere Lachaise is a lasting and poignant reminder of the history of Paris. So much of the trouble past of the city can be seem represented along the winding roads of the cemetery. The memorial to the last of the French Commune fighters on the wall that they were killed stands as a signpost to the bloody struggle the citizens of the city have endured. One feature that I found to be surprisingly moving were the monuments to those killed in the Nazi concentration camps. Each of the major camps had a large monument to those who lost their lives to Nazi hands. What made these memorials so moving was the style that they all were in. These were not cheerful memories of lost loved ones; instead they all represented the pain and inhuman treatment that was received by those that were imprisoned there. All of monuments to the prisoners showed scenes of hunger and fatigue, often showing the manner in which the prisoners at that camp were tortured. These monuments make it clear the true injustices that were faced by those that the Nazis took; with these symbols of struggle and inhuman treatment it is still surprising to me that there could be anyone who doubted that these atrocities ever happened.
I have always been one to want to lead the rock and roll lifestyle so my trip to Pere Lachaise wouldn’t have felt complete without a visit to Morrison’s grave. I had a list of those that I wanted to visit such as Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein and Chopin, but Morrison was always on the back of my mind. His tomb has become such a mecca of sorts for those who are struggling to hold onto the last glimmers of rock. The other graves on my little mental list were all interesting and moving (Oscar Wilde’s a bit surprising, all of those kisses!) but my visit to Jim’s grave just left me angry. There have always been stories of people leaving tributes to The Doors and Morrison himself, things like bottles of Jack Daniels and joints have become part of rock lore; the desecration of his grave and those surrounding has not. I was shocked and saddened to see that the bust of Morrison from the top of his headstone had been stolen and that a metal fence has had to have been put up to protect the stone. How sad that the state of the world has come to this. Aren’t the days of grave robbers far behind us? As I stood looking somewhat sadly at the grave of a rock legend and the graffiti on the surrounding stones, Jason commented that nothing that Morrison did in his life is worth this: And I have to say that I agree. I can’t imagine that Morrison would approve of this behavior either and would want something more for his memory than vandalized gravestones.
We spent our last full night in Paris saying goodbye to her. We all chipped in the last of our Euros and bought as much wine and champagne as we could carry. We spent the night recalling stories from the trip and drinking copious amounts of French wine. What a way to end a trip taken at break neck speed. The cemetery and the wine gave a feeling of conclusion to the trip that made it feel like everything to be done had been done. We had seen everything from the beginnings of the revolution to the final resting place of some of the city’s most famous inhabitants. In a terribly cliché way, we had come full circle. Leaving Paris is a strange feeling. I fell in love with the city in the way that you always read about Americans doing. I felt unsure about going back to a world of drive-thru restaurants and 44 oz sodas, but still ready to go back somewhere that is familiar and comfortable. Paris seems to get under your skin and leave you with mixed feeling whenever it is time to leave. I will miss the museums and architecture (and inexpensive, fantastic wine) and in a strange way the people. I had no problems with the notorious “rude French attitude”, what I met was a huge metropolitan city filled with people that really live there and spend their lives surrounded by all of the things that I was so taken by. What is nice about this situation is that the people that live there seem to really appreciate everything that they have around them and do their best to enjoy the city around them; even more than I did on my brief stay there.