Twists, Tricks, and Turns

Yesterday was anything but uneventful.

I decided to get up early and venture into Paris in search of a book I have to read for my theatre class tomorrow, Huis Clos, by Jean-Paul Sartre. I decided to start my search in the St. Michel district, just beside Notre Dame (which was invaded yesterday with tourists).

I had a really hard time with my search at first. There were plenty of big bookstores, but none of them had what I needed. After three unsuccessful attempts, I walked past one tiny store that had tons and tons of books in large crates on the sidewalk for two euros each. In what I thought would be a vain attempt, I picked up the first book I saw, disguised behind layers of other books in front of it. Sure enough, there was the book I needed. It was incredible – and cheaper than I would have paid anywhere else.

The rest of the day did not go so smoothly, however. I decided to spend the afternoon at the Pere Lachaise Cemetery before dinner with Jeffrey. When I finally made it out there (2 metro line changes later), I was starving and out of cash. I went to the ATM and then to a café, where I was ignored and left. Then to a sandwich shop, where I ordered a Jambon Gruyere sandwich (basic ham and cheese). The woman at the counter asked me something in really fast French, to which I said “oui”, for lack of a better word. It turns out that I had agreed to exchange my jambon sandwich for a nasty, over-mayonnaised tuna salad sandwich with egg and tomato. I don’t like any of these things. I ate the top bread and had to throw it away.

The Pere Lachaise was definitely an interesting experience. It is incredibly beautiful and much more romantic than the catacombs, but still it’s hard not to be too aware of the ever-lingering presence of hundreds of important dead people.

The entire cemetery is a complicated maze, and finding obscure tombstones is like a treasure hunt at Halloween. I only made it to half of the tombs I wanted to see, and (the best part) there was a really funny camaraderie between all the lost tourists. Ever person in the place was lost. One woman asked me for directions in French to Jim Morrison’s grave and I responded (in French). After talking to her for a minute or two I realized her accent was different and I asked her if she spoke English. She said, “Yeah! We’re from California!”

I had a pretty hard time because I was interested in a lot of random graves. I searched for David Barras for like 20 minutes before I finally found him hidden behind Wallace. The big ones were always more obvious – Jim Morrison, Moliere, LaFontaine – because there were tour groups and lots of people around. Jim Morrison was actually kind of disappointing, I thought. There was some graffiti on it and it hasn’t been kept up very well. That being said, there was nobody near Balzac’s gravesite when I found him – and the tomb was in excellent condition.

Anyway, after Pere Lachaise I left for Jeffrey’s (starving, by the way). He met me at the metro stop and took me all around his quartier (the 5th), which is so lovely. There is a beautiful garden once used for medicinal herbs and surrounded by natural history museums. His apartment is on the top floor of a building right across the street from a cool mosque that has a tea room and steam bath.

Jeffrey and Silvana’s apartment is so pretty and homey with fantastic views of Paris. We had a great dinner with oysters, fish, shrimp, potatoes, and an apple tartin. He also had 3 different cheeses from different regions of France which, of course, I loved.

I didn’t get to meet Silvana this trip because she is out of town at their new place in the South of France, between Aix-en-Provence and Marseilles.

After dinner, we talked about art and literature and French politics. Did you know there is a region of Switzerland that speaks Italian? We also broke out the old photo albums of Patti and Barbara at Dorothy’s. Patti looked so much like Aunt Dorothy and there were a lot of great silly ones. My favorite page of the album, though, was the one that featured a bunch of pictures taken by Dorothy of Bernie’s back as he was leaving the family. Bernie’s back with lamp. Bernie’s back with suitcase. She had a good sense of humor.

At the end of the evening, Jeffrey leant me a book and half of his DVD collection, and I promised to come over for dinner again soon.

One last quick story. After dinner I ran back to Arcueil to get ready to go out with friends for Clay’s 21st birthday (another bday, I know). Long story short, it was a totally awful night. We paid a cover fee to get into this terrible discoteque, and half of the group left us there after we’d paid. The music was awful and the neighborhood was sketchy. So, we left for the Bastille, and by “left” I mean walked about 15 blocks just so that we could take an over-crowded Noctilien bus. I had enough and decided to just ride the bus home. Luckily, my friend Tochi lives nearby and he agreed to keep the “drageurs” (nasty French men) away on the ride home. (And he lost his keys sometime during the night, too.)

This was my first experience with the infamous Noctilien bus and, in fact, it was much more crowded than I had anticipated (add the Comptroller who, once again, asked me for my Carte d’Orange. Thank God all of it was in order this time). I asked the bus driver which stop was closest to where I needed to be. In the end, this allegedly “close” stop is not as “close” as indicated on the map and by the bus driver.

Anyway, that’s it for now.

One more thing: it’s been a few days since I typed on an American keyboard like I am now and it’s not easy. I guess I can’t type on any computers anymore!