Thursday. Est-ce que je pourrais recuperer mon pantalon? May I pick up my pants? I have to go to the drycleaner today to pick up my black pants. Learning one French phrase at a time is better than none.
I got out a bit earlier today. I’m so tired of getting my hands cold maneuvering my camera and phone that I decided to buy a handbag. It’s a bit large: It has a decorative zipper in the front, a zipper in the back for fast-pack items (change after I buy something), a zippered pocket inside, two large compartments, and two open pockets for my phone and other things I want to keep handy. After I bought it, I took it back to the hostel and left for Pere La Chaise Cemetery. I enjoyed taking the Metro to Gambetta Metro stop, since I was very confident in what I was doing.
I followed Rick Steves’ Pere La Chaise Cemetery Tour for 2 hours. I entered at the Porte Gambetta entrance and walked along Avenue des Combattant, past World War memorials, and beneath a courtyard, where there was a darkened area (underground) for graves (called “niches”) and I found Maria Callas’ niche, as well as a few others. I then followed Rick’s directions to find the graves of Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein, Edith Piaf, Jim Morrison, Frederic Chopin, and Colette. Just as Rick said, there were lots of cobblestone paths, and they made me walk a bit slower than I am used to (not a bad thing).
I enjoy visiting sites for the sites themselves, but there is also a bit of a thrill to see sites I’ve seen in movies. One of the stories in Paris je t’aime takes place in Pere La Chaise, with Oscar Wilde and his grave being central to the story.
I had a scary encounter in one of the more vast areas of the cemetery, in the World War memorial section. Two guys came up to me within an inch of my face. I thought for sure they were going to rob me of my purse and/or the camera around my neck. I stood rod straight and told them I didn’t speak French very well. They seemed to enjoy taunting me and poking their fingers in my face. They left, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I need to remember to email Rick Steves when I get home and let him know he might want to provide an emergency number for police. (He included it, #17 for English-speaking police; I just didn’t see it.) It isn’t that I don’t generally feel safe in Paris – I do – but I walk alone much of the time, and this was a frightening experience. Better to be safe than sorry.
I had done enough walking and it was starting to get colder. I had an espresso and got on the Metro. I got back to the hostel and immediately did my laundry in the laundry mat around the corner from the hostel. I later had a salad. I chatted with Nicdadya and she helped me with my phrase for tomorrow. Unfortunately, my nose won’t stop running. I have used all kinds of tissue today, and lots of it!
Salut!
“I was only sleeping…” by Stanze, taken on September 30, 2014, courtesy of Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Edith Piaf gravesite courtesy of Parisbuslady.com. All other images by Can Stock Photo.