(7) Paris: La Ville Lumiere

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I had entered the gateway to the old world. Only fitting that it should be Paris. With it's Arc of Triumph begging me to march through it and claim my conquest!

Paris; the ancient city of Love and a vacation dream destination. Paris; King of Troy. Paris; the wealthy Count and suitor to Juliet. Paris; the center of France.

The city lives up to its reputation.

It is a tapestry of natural beauty, delicious cuisine & wine, ethnicity, live music, hot women, top-notch cheeses, theatre, little dogs, urban heat, friendships; and yes, the occasional snobbery. 'Cuz they rule! I was overwhelmed in the awesomeness. I required sleep the first day so I walked out into the streets that evening.

Everything was lit up - The musician students were out blowing flutes, tubas and trumpets. Mixing it with huge drums and cymbals. Being as loud as they wanted to be on the Seine River; soaking in the reflection of the Notre Dame Cathedral. People were watching and dancing in the streets; discovering the midsummer love and madness. There were groups laughing while seated in the grass in circles drinking wine and breaking bread. At dark the Eiffel tower blazed up in the distance and it was like fireworks. I felt like it was all in my honor. Everything was so fresh and new. Sights I had seen in hundreds of photos. I had to pinch myself as I saw them live. Smells and vibes.

I simply walked for miles and miles (This was before I knew how efficient a Metro they have). I felt as if I were in a dream or under the spell of hallucinogens. When indeed it was simply that I was in love. In was in love with the freedom and the energy of a late June day in an ancient city. A city that holds its charm like no other I have visited yet.

The first thing I did the next day was a pilgrimage to the grave of Jim Morrison: The Eternal Free Spirit. There are many artists, musicians and poets who either lived and died in Paris or simply chose to die there. Among Jim Morrison's tomb at the Pere Lachaise cemetery there lay the Irish poet Oscar Wilde, Chopin the composer, Edith Piaf singer of "la vie en rose" and the playwright Moliere.

After what seemed like hours wandering aimlessly among great mausoleums and catacombs we found the simple tomb of Jim Morrison; lead singer of the Doors. It was as I imagined. Brightly colored graffiti art surrounding it with dark poems and songs written on any wall one could find near it. Dead flowers. Gritty words. Beautiful drawings. Vials of who knows what. A homage to the great man in his death. I could not help but think that Mr. Mojo Risin' would have been pleased at his remembrance. Again the energy, the buzz at being there was powerful. I knew that I was at the memorial of a great and free mind and I breathed respect.

That same evening a French friend from college when I was studying in Australia messaged me and offered to be my tour guide. We saw even more lights and action. I was able to practice my terrible French with her and have the inside scoop on everything we did. To be with a friend ten years ago was so ooh lala and I was already met with welcome arms.

I felt like I belonged. That was the bottom line. I had been there less than 24 hours and it seemed I could vibe with everything I saw and touched. I was hooked. That next day I had another great surprise arriving. The Swedish girl who I had loved when I was 21 had decided to come to Paris from London. I would have a travel friend and confidant.

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