We're Going to Paris Day 5: Death and Dying

Mike felt awful most of the day, fighting a cold and a splitting headache. We took it a bit easier today, opting for a less hectic day after three fairly long ones in a row this week.

Our first stop was the Parc Buttes Chaumont. It’s a man-made park, first created in 1890 as a celebration of humanity’s power over nature in the modern age. There’s a temple at a waterfall and a lake and a grotto and it’s all very nice. Mike asked it if was pronounced "Butt-is," which is fair, because why even have the "es" after Butt if you're not going to pronounce it?

“It’s nice to see some green again,” I told Mike.

“Yeah. This is really pretty.”

“Even if it’s a cynical nod to how we’re better than nature.”

“We are though. Oh! Look at those puppies. Running around. They’re not worried about any of the things we have to worry about. Like ISIS.”

Mike and I kept walking.

“Or wage slavery,” Mike added after some deliberation.

“Jesus Christ, Mike.”

Wrong way, Mike!

Oh, no, that view's chill too.

Always so artsy.

Anyway, the guys who built the park did a real swell job.

After Buttes Chaumont, we casually strolled around the park for about an hour and a half before stopping for lunch. Mike tried duck foie gras for the first time. He’s learning all kinds of things.

Our next stop was Père Lachaise, the largest cemetery in Paris and one of my favorite locations. Mike wanted to see roughly 24 graves and I recognized about half the names. The big one I wanted to see was Oscar Wilde.

“He was Irish. Now you know that,” I told Mike.

“Oh.”

“I’m kidding. I know you already knew that.”

“I didn’t actually.”

“Oh? Well, yeah. He was Irish. And supes gay. But you knew that too.”

“Why would I know that?”

“Wait, are you serious? It’s kind of how he died. He was imprisoned for homosexuality.”

“I don’t know very much about Oscar Wilde. Did he write anything in English?”

“Mike. He was Irish.”

“Well I don’t know! How long was he in Paris?”

“I don’t understand how you can wax on about Theiers and Auguste Blanqui and Rigault and all these random-ass French guys and not even know about Oscar Wilde. That is insane. Especially because you, specifically, would love his work. He wrote The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

“I’ve heard of that.”

Oscar Wilde.

Cool crypt I dunno.

Died of caffeine poisoning, making caffeine a bigger killer than marijuana. Lol jk jk (but it's true but jk but you know).

Um ok where is this grave tho

Surrounded by the ladies even in death.

With the sheer number of specific graves Mike wanted to see, along with taking random pictures of the cemetery itself, we didn’t get to see everyone – even with the 4 hours we spent wandering around Père Lachaise. Near the end, we decided we had time for one more grave – Victor Noir. He of the famed penis and mouth that apparently provides fertility when you rub it. Ladies.

But alas, that was not to be. At 5:55 PM, a security car came up to us and told us we had to move immediately toward the exit because we couldn’t stay in the cemetery any longer because it was too dangerous. Oh, we were two minutes away from Victor Noir. Dejected, we started walking toward the exit. When the car drove off, I motioned to Mike that we should really quickly try to see the grave – but we got caught by a different security guard who was watching us the whole time.

Damn. Sorry, Vic.

Sylvain’s party was that night, but after a day walking, and then the five flights to get back to our room, Mike was in no shape to go out again. Sylvain suggested we stuff Mike full of ginger and play gym music, but it was no good. Mike is too communist for these tricks.

At Sylvain’s party I met a few of his and Maeve’s friends and ran into a few of Maeve’s friends I knew from back in college. Olivia just so happened to be in Paris on vacation with her boyfriend Michael (same boyfriend names!), and Jack was on his way home from Milan on a work trip (he’s in charge of all accessories, except shoes, at Steve Madden, so he travels all the time).

It was great seeing them, though. Olivia lives in LA now, and is originally from LA, but she made a good point that we associate each other with the east coast since I only saw her in New York. And Jack is truly wonderful company, really fun and funny.

At one point someone pointed out my hair as the "before" in a frizz-to-no-frizz makeover they were able to accomplish in a public restroom, which was chill I guess. I mean, I ran out of leave-in conditioner, but France’s climate is wetter than LA’s. So my hair is serving up some big-ass frizzy realness and it is fucking gorgeous. So.

Other conversations included the Ken Burns’s documentary about Vietnam and the documentary OJ: Made in America (with a few of Sylvain’s friends, one of whom had a northern accent so thick I wasn’t sure if she was speaking French or just making French accent noises – this is rude of me, I’m sorry, I just really couldn’t understand her at all). The plastic surgery obsession in South Korea and how obsessed with status – if you don’t get into a top three school, you’re a loser – everyone is, and that’s why the suicide rate is so high, and how Japan is similar with the suicide rate and the status obsession, but they’re dealing with it by never leaving their apartments or dating (with a Korean-American woman who, ironically, is from the South Bay but met Maeve in Paris two years ago). How Detroit keeps trying to have a renaissance by bringing in a trendy restaurant that can only serve 5% of the population while the other 95% can’t afford it, so the restaurant will inevitably fail, and the population used to be about 2 million – the size of Paris – but is now about 700,000 (with Amy, Maeve and Jack’s friend who is from Detroit but now lives in Paris).

Also – why Colmar? Nobody visits Colmar. Strasbourg makes sense, it's big, but Colmar? It’s a small town. The wine is good. What a strange choice. 

I guess I see their point. If someone from another country came all the way out to California and was like “I’m going to San Luis Obispo” I’d be like, “yo that’s dope, they have great wine” even though it’s a tiny town.

Mike, meanwhile, was dying at home, and we had to get up around 7:30 AM, so I excused myself at some point and went home to get ready for the next leg of our trip – Colmar.