France. Paris to be precise.
There was so much that happened, perhaps I will simply make a list in the hopes that you, my readers will begin to understand. The Eiffel Tower, 1652 steps to the top; in all honesty I only climbed up 876 of those steps. I viewed the Moulin Rouge from the outside, then walked over to the Pantheon and watched the city life, while eating passion fruit gelato from the buildings steps.
Pere Lachaise is Paris’ garden for the dead. Although it was not opened until 1804, today it is the largest cemetery in Paris. I traverse the paths searching for the graves of Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison, Moliere, and La Fontaine who rest along with the infamous, the famous, and the unknown of French history. The property is expansive, upwards of 300,000 tombs, and is divided up into lanes and divisions. Even with my cemetery map, purchased for two euros at the entrance chapel, I wander for hours, up and down the chestnut covered pathways, circling the tombs I hope to visit. 
Sneaking into the center of lane 73, division 6, I find that many mausoleums have caved in, iron doors hang from a single hinge, shattered stained glass windows leave faceless virgins, unbalanced crosses and incomplete geometric patterns glowing in the sun. Other tombs show signs of remembrance, silk roses, unsoiled by dirt and rain, flutter in the wind. Freshly scrubbed headstones reflect sunlight up towards the chestnut trees lining the main pathways.
Offerings of love letters left in hopes of acknowledgement and chiseled messages adorn famous graves; I leave my own lipstick impression on the cold marble of Wilde’s grave, offering my admiration for literary and artistic endeavors alongside the thousands who have professed their love before me. Monuments erected in honor of individuals and war memorials embellish the remaining space of the graveyard creating layers as they stack up upon each other. All decorated with marble statues, bronze moldings, and granite architecture glorify human life; every piece is a work of beauty.
There is also The Louvre! I could live there. I have decided that resting my head next to Diana’s hound, or simply laying myself prostrate along the floorboards in front of Vermeer’s self-portrait, any of Renoir’s art…
For the sun festival I contra-danced with a Frenchman just outside of Notre Dame. And later sat along the Seine River eating baguettes and cheese. My companions and I drank red wine on park benches until the wee hours of the morning. Later while still intoxicated we searched out the Catacombs of the city, only to find them closed due to vandalism… While this was a setback in our plans we found gigantic 2 euro crepes from a grumpy vendor and were able to consume nutella, bananas sugar and cinnamon by the mouthful. Although not an alternative for historical landmarks, the food was much more appealing to our student palates.
As a final note: For anyone who was wondering yes, my travel buddy and I had our own Amelie moment… cramming into a photo booth, taking the aweful photos then throwing one away, our own movie set in Paris.
intrepid trekking 