On my last day in Paris, Claire and I went to the Catacombs, going much farther than 6 feet under to see the bodies of the 6 million people buried underneath the streets of Paris. 

The catacombs came about out of a need for mass burial after a public health crisis and now acts as a popular attraction. 

The tunnels we walked through were cool and damp, dripping wet from the rainstorm happening well above our heads. It was eerie seeing millions of skeletons stacked on top of each other while walking through a narrow, underground tunnel.

We listened to the audio explaining how the catacombs came to be. Hint: the plague was big for the catacombs numbers. I never thought that I would be able to walk past a wall of skeletons as casually as I did in the catacombs, but we walked amongst skulls wrapped around walls, down the long, winding tunnels. 

Between the catacombs and Père Lachaise, I saw a decent amount of French burial grounds. After visiting Père Lachaise, a cemetery full of some of the richest and most famous people in Europe, it was shocking to see the 6 million bodies of unknown people lumped together underground. 

After getting a nice, chilling perspective on mortality in the catacombs, I decided to go and check out the flea market being held in the Marais district in the Place des Vosges, a park that straddles the 3rd and 4th arrondissements. Every weekend in Paris there are grand flea markets all over the city and I follow a woman on Instagram who posts nothing but where to find them each weekend. The internet is wild. 

I bought a couple more chokers and looked around at the paintings, gramophones, and other antiques that they were selling. It seemed true to what I had come to expect from all of the movies I’d seen of Paris, where gramophones and old records are casually sold on every other street corner.

While I was there, I went to the apartment that belonged to Victor Hugo, author of Les Miserables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, which is now a museum honoring his life. It overlooks the park, with a sweeping view of the flea market. On every wall there are massive oil paintings, many of which are of his favorite daughter who preceded him in death. 

I walked through the fabulous apartment that Hugo lived in while writing his books about poverty. One of my friends later told me that after his death, they went through his financial records and found that he hired somewhere around two prostitutes a day and that all of the brothels were therefore closed on the day of his funeral because all of the women were in attendance. In case you were wondering, no, he did not die from syphilis. He died in his 80s from natural causes.

Towards the end of the day, I sat on a park bench. Couples walked by on dates, college students laid out on the grass, and kids ran around playing soccer in a way that made me both nostalgic and melancholy, because I will never be that young again. 

I was ready to leave Paris the next day, carting my painting with me. I’d had a dreamy first trip to the city, drifting into shops and cafes, with walks along the Seine interspersed throughout. I spent my time eating unbelievable food and getting lost in the charms of the city. This trip has inspired me to learn French (right after I finish learning Italian and Spanish, the two other languages I started but never finished studying). 

And to my friend Claire: thank you for hosting me, introducing me to proper French food, and for giving me my first taste of Paris. Without Claire, I would have bumbled my way around Paris, mispronouncing every word (I did that anyway). Instead, the two of us stayed up watching Audrey Hepburn movies at night and it enhanced my experience tenfold to watch Cary Grant chase Audrey Hepburn through a metro station that I would use the next day. 

I never went to the top of the Eiffel Tower, but I always like to leave something for the next trip. There are always smokey jazz bars, burlesque shows, and more Audrey Hepburn films to watch (I still haven’t seen Paris When it Sizzles). 

The good news is that I was able to do it all over again with my trip to Asia a few weeks later. Get ready for more pictures of food, stories about wily monkeys, and a beautiful tropical paradise. 

So until next time, Paris!

Au Revoir!

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel
P.S.: Check out how I spent the previous day in Paris when I went on a spree