The first time I visited The City of Lights was in 1992.
I was on a gap year.
A wee lad of 18 years old, backpacking around Europe with my mates.
It was a grey, rainy day when we visited the cemetery at Pére-Lachaise.
Established in 1804 by Napoléon Bonaparte the cemetery contains the remains of thousands of famous people.
None so famous as American rock legend Jim Morrison, whose grave we went to visit.
Jim Morrison died on July 3rd 1971 from a heart attack at the ripe old age of 27.
A surreal scene, we nudged our way into the inner circle of ‘mourners’. Someone was strumming a guitar. Others were swaying to and fro. Everyone was smoking Gauloises.
The grubby fellow to my right took a BIG swig of the ‘Brown’ liquor then poured some onto the grave.
I love Paris (who doesn’t?)
Whenever I meditate I picture myself sitting outside a Parisian Bistro in a large, busy, open plaza.
The sun is shining, it’s hot but dry.
I’m sipping Espresso.
Children are playing, screaming as they race round a water fountain.
A busker is bowing his violin.
Maybe I’m in the open air park near Tuileries Palace close to the Louvre?
Maybe it never ever happened.
I don’t know.