The chronicles of europe #4 – Jim Morrison is dead.

Dateline: Pink Floyd +1

For first time visitors Paris is the perfect vacation waiting to happen – with her wide sweeping avenues, laid back atmosphere, public gardens, resplendent architecture, the artsy crowd gathering under the bridge in the evenings, Paris is an angel that holds you in her thrall.

But I wasn’t a first time visitor, and I had gotten all the touristy stuff out of the way on an earlier visit. After the brouhaha of the previous night, I was looking for something out of the way to do this time around, and happened upon the Cemeterie du Pere Lachaise. Set somewhere in the eastern part of the city, it is Paris’ largest cemetery and one of its most visited tourist attractions. The cemetery was opened in 1804, and was far outside the erstwhile city boundaries, with the result that residents preferred other resting places for their near and dear. However, the well marketed burial of Jean de La Fontaine, a well known French poet, led Parisians to throng the cemetery in droves for burials. Consequently, the cemetery houses the resting places of some very famous people who had made Paris their home during their lifetime – Chopin, Oscar Wilde, Marcel Proust, and of course, the lizard king, Jim Morrison. Morrison, 28 years old, was in Paris when he passed away due to a suspected drug overdose, and finds his resting place at the cemetery.

I found myself travellinDSC_1158g to the cemetery alone that afternoon, while the others spent their time in the bowels of the city taking a guided tour of the catacombs of Paris. To be honest, I didn’t have much in mind, having never been to a cemetery before. I walked up to the map right next to the entrance, and took a photo of it on my camera. No more getting lost in unknown cities (Ref: The Chronicles of Europe #1 – Amsterdamn). Ha! Take that similar looking gravesites!

Two hours later, and I had still not found Morrison’s grave, though I did make up by getting some good photos in, and also managed to glimpse the grave of Oscar Wilde, amongst other minor league Parisian celebrities. After what seemed like infinite turns through similar looking cobbled roads, I found the nondescript grave purely by accident, by almost walking right into the biggest crowd in the cemetery. In death, it seemed, James Douglas Morrison was quite less flamboyant than in life.




Dateline: Pink Floyd

The Roger Waters concert at the Stade De France was one of the two events we had planned to attend before we left for Europe (the other one being Oktoberfest) and considering how that turned out (Read here), followers of my blog (of which there are a precious few) would be bracing themselves for another blowout. And I do not disappoint. We arrived by mid-afternoon on the day of the concert, and started preparations for the evening by elevating ourselves to a higher plane. Needless to say, not a lot of memories survive through, except Comfortably numb, the cold floor, and flying pigs.

It was everything I had expected Floyd in concert to be (it was only Waters, but meh). And more. Now I could die in peace.

Paris for the win!


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