53. The City of the Dead, Drowned, and Drunk

Today started without a clear clue, sent us to a cemetery, and wound up with us laughing uproariously.  It was a good day. First we were going to meet with Nails at Cemeterie Pere Lachaise, but then we found out that Nails' iPhone got stolen, but we were going to try to meet up with her anyway...no. Is too long. I sum up.

elevator saucy

So we were going to go see some famous buried people at Cemeterie Pere Lachaise. This is where Jim Morrison is buried, among other worthies. When we got there, Megan realized she had received a message from Nails saying she wouldn't be able to make it, was too exhausted after the night she'd had which had culminated in her iPhone getting stolen.

So we wandered around the cemetery anyway, which was quite beautiful. We learned that the monument/grave for Moliere does not, in fact, house Moliere's bones. Moliere is...well, Megan can tell you at length, but think of Moliere as like the French version of Shakespeare. He's that big.  He used to be buried somewhere else, but it was in a place that got flooded, and all the bodies in that particular cemetery were exhumed by the waters and floated up. The bodies were later collected, but no one knew who was who anymore, because of the whole, "They're dead and rotted and now they've also been soaked in the Seine for a while" thing.

So, in all likelihood, Moliere's bones lie somewhere in the Catacombs, the giant underground tunnels filled with the bones of, like, hundreds of thousands of other Parisians whose graveyards had to be dug up to make room for progress and hygiene and more Metro stops. But Moliere has his own monument in the Cemeterie Pere Lachaise, so that's all right.

Not long after that. while we were wandering around, Megan got a call from Nails from her home phone and, not knowing what else to do with our day, we went over there. She was in a hard way-- imagine losing your superphone, but not only losing it, having it picked from your pocket, all your numbers and all that stuff suddenly gone-- and we spent some time helping her cheer up.

After that, or as part of that, we went and got some light eating and (what became) heavy drinking at a cafe near Chez Nails.  It was a grand old time, and everybody felt much better by the time it was over. But while it was going on I realized that the backup sonnet I had for tonight not only wasn't all that good, it wasn't finished. So I had to write one really fast. So here is our day, in sonnet form, with pictures to back it up following.

To cemetery Père Lachaise we went

on Sunday for our friend Moliere to see.

“His bones to Catacombs most like were sent,”

so said a tour guide to Megan and me.

This City of the Dead, entombed in stone,

was beautiful and full of sweet repose.

Our time spent, Nails called, feeling quite alone,

so when in need, to one's friend's side, one goes.

We met, commiserated, gave her hugs

and ate and drank while thunderstorms down-poured.

Communion put a smile on all our mugs,

and to the heights, morale and spirit soared.

Such little time in Paris we have left;

without sweet days like this we'll feel bereft.

And now: Pictures!

The entrance to the cemetery

Dead things, Mikey, dead things.

Multiple levels, a fortress of sepulchers

But it's all pretty, calm-like 

Sun and stone and shadow

Here's Moliere (though not really)

I like the mossy cross here

Every one of these things has at least one dead person
 hanging out underneath. Maybe more.

One of the few I saw with graffiti scratched on it

Some don't seem to take to being kept below and want some air.

This one was in English, though I don't know why

Bateau

They really don't want you climbing over the wall

 After that we went over to Nails', and from there to this cafe called Au Metro.  Where, while we were eating and drinking and convincing ourselves that life really was a good thing, the sky fell and it rained like a crazy person. If crazy persons rained.

There was thunder and everything. Good times. Good day.