With good bye lunches and dinners starting last week, I can no longer deny that we are soon on our way home. After several days of panicking and then understanding that this is not going to accomplish anything, I find myself calm and slowing down. With this stillness has come days of being a flaneur in Paris: walking aimlessly, discovering new neighbourhoods, no real goal or destination in mind.
I found myself strolling in the Cimitiere Montparnasse this week. Two of the most popular graves here are those of Serge Gainsbourg and Jean-Paul Sartre. Gainsbourg was an iconic French singer-songwriter, actor and director. It has been said that he "elevated song to the level of art." I walked up to Gainsbourg's grave just as a French woman was placing a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, metro tickets and a personalized note on his tombstone, which was already covered with numerous tributes fans have lovingly left behind. I could hear two Brits behind me, one saying to the other "did she just put a packet of fags on his tombstone?" in a strong English accent. "Disgusting" was the other's response. Gainsbourg was rarely seen without a smoke in his mouth. The cigarette pack brandishing fan then took off her coat to reveal a black t-shirt with white lyrics from the song "La Javanaise". Even through her slight embarrassment, she was quite pleased to be there. I guess crazy fans exist all around the world. This could be me in 30 years at Jim Cuddy's grave in my 80's wearing a t-shirt saying "And if we're lost, then we are lost together." For now, I look forward to seeing Jim next week at La Maroquinerie. And perhaps bringing some of Serge's music home, with his smooth voice, sexual and dark undertones, would be an excellent Paris souvenir. "J'avoue j'en ai bave pour vous mon amour."
I then searched for Sartre's grave for half an hour, to no avail. I'm sure he would have something existentialist to say about this and that I didn't consciously want to find it.
90 minutes in the cemetery being enough, I made my way over to la Foundation Henri Cartier-Bresson for a photo exhibit by Mitch Epstein titled American Power. I was pleased to see that this was not about the power Americans like to have but rather, all the power they greedily consume. The photos of nuclear reactors, electrical plants, off shore oil platforms, wind turbines, oil pumps, certainly made me reflect on what energy hogs we all are. At least I was relatively green this last year in my 50 sq metre Parisian apartment. And I have my hybrid car anxiously waiting for me at home.
The girls and I managed to squeeze in a quick rainy visit to the Musee Rodin with the always amazing, 90 year old, Mirielle. No visit to Paris is complete without a morning here; Le Penseur, the cheery Gates of Hell, The Burghers of Calais and my favorites, Le Baiser and La Cathedrale. The Cathedral has always signified a powerful lover's union to me, a triumphant interaction. I tend to ignore the symbols of hope and faith or any religious significance, with the two right hands pointing towards the sky.
Thursday I had a special meeting and good-bye lunch with my Memoir Writing Group. Working with them and meeting weekly for the past 5 months has been incredibly motivating and has literally launched my writing. Merci les amies and until next year. D'accord!?
And of course, no lunch in a family owned Parisian bistro is complete without the family pet watching us enjoy our food!
Two weeks left. I will see how much I can squeeze in and don't think that sleeping should be on the agenda. After all, Paris is open day and night, 7 days a week. I figure emptying the apartment and packing can all be done in the last 48 hours. And then I can start panicking!
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