You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?: La Père Lachaise

Well,

*clears throat*

This is awkward.

You see, let me tell you something about the Versailles post.

I started writing it on the plane, and I finished it when I got home.

Yes, home.

As you all probably realized, I'm back in Florida now.

But, uh, I'm not done writing about this.

So I'll continue if ya don't mind.

After the weekend in Versailles we had a free morning that Monday (thank God).

Oh wait.

I forgot Sunday.

So, Saturday was Versailles, and some of the group went to a church service on Sunday (but I could not wake up. Sorry, Jesus). After that, Lizette and Jasmin and I sort of walked around Paris looking for stuff.

One of those things was an Apple store. I was still chargerless.

"On cherche l'apple store?"

Anyways, after asking a few NICE French people (No, not the region. I mean personality— to kill the stereotype once and for all) we eventually found a store, only to realize it's closed on Sundays.

So is a lot of things of over there.

Eventually we just chilled outside of La Bibliothèque Nationale de France, which yes, with the exception of a few rooms was also fermée.

It was so peaceful.

Oh, France.

Anyways, so that was Sunday.

We didn't have our French Art and Contemporary class Monday morning, so our first class was at 1 p.m.

Our guided visit to Père Lachaise Cemetery.

We met outside the gates that afternoon, and I had no idea the history I was about to walk into.

But first things first, we had a great guide, Carlos.

He's French. From Montmartre, I believe. But one of his parents is from Spain and the other is French.

Hence the name Carlos.

It's so interesting to think about European integration and the European Union and all that. The EU's not a confederation like the U.S., of course, but distance-wise it could be.

I mean, London's just five hours away from Paris. And France shares a border with Spain, of course.

It's crazy. And amazing. And omg I love Europe.

But back to dead people.

So, I had no idea who was buried at Père Lachaise.

I was in for a great surprise.

We saw Oscar Wilde's grave ("The Importance of Being Earnest" ring any bells? Love that play. Oh, the movie adaptation with Colin Firth is also excellent), we saw Molière's (he's like the French Shakespeare), we didn't see Jim Morrison's (I'll get to that later) we saw Édith Piaf's...

Who's Édith Piaf?

Imma tell you.

Ahem,

She's a famous French singer from the '40s and '50s whose most popular song "La Vie en Rose" was the title of a movie based on her life starring Marion Cotillard, who played Leo's crazy wife in "Inception."

If you all know the movie "Inception," then you might remember there's a song that they play to wake people up in the movie, and that song "Non, Je ne regrette rien" is also a song by Edith Piaf.

OK I'm done.

Needless to say, it was cool to see her grave. She had one of those family ones.

Anyways, about Jim Morrison.

Apparently, all the tourists love to see his "grave" at the cemetery.

But it's not really there.

His family took his remains back to the U.S., so now all that remains is a little memorial.

There used to be some bust of his head or something like that, but it was stolen.

Lots of grave robbing goes on at Père Lachaise, I hear.

So The Doors fans all flocked to Morrison's memorial, but I saw my own rock star at the cemetery that day.

CHOPIN.

CHO-freaking-PIN.

He's my fave, guys.

Quick! Go listen to his second nocturne.

You're welcome.

That was the coolest grave by far to see (for me, anyways).

But this one might be the most interesting.

There's this grave of some rando guy who has a headstone that's actually a whole body, and women apparently rub it for fertility. Looking at it, you can see a certain spot has been rubbed a lot because the material is wearing out (If ya know what I mean).

We never got a straight reason why woman rub that tomb for fertility.

Who knows?

But I feel like I saw more pregnant women when I was in France.

Just sayin'.

P.S.

Man, I haven't even told you guys about my host mom. I'll get to her I swear.

P.S.S

Pictuaaaaaasss

Edith Piaf & family

Oscar Wilde —for some strange reason, people kiss this stone, which is why the glass was put up. Now people kiss the glass. Lipstick doesn't show in the pick, but believe me, it's there.