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Tuesday, June 4th – exploring Paris
My depression is passing. I am up at 5am to call my parents in Toronto. It is still 8pm on my birthday there, after dinner but before my father goes to bed so I can speak to them both. They sound thrilled to hear from me and they’re happy I am spending my birthday in a wonderful city like Paris (not that either of them have ever been here). Mom asks if I got any mail and I say no. She feels bad and explains she didn’t want to send any gifts because she was afraid they wouldn’t reach me or that I wouldn’t need them. She says David, the guy who co-owns my home in Toronto, has contacted her and told her he will return the money to pressured her into giving him. That is a relief too, though I don’t dwell on that.
Pierre calls us at the CISP before our breakfast and makes arrangements for us to be at his place at 8:30 for dinner – nothing fancy, he warns. That gives me something to focus on, a compass of sorts for the day. At breakfast I meet two other guests, an Irish man named Dermott and a Kenyan named Maurice Otunga who invites me to visit him in Kenya and stay with him this winter. I thank him and take his address, even though I doubt I will make it that far.
Around 11:30 I set out alone on foot to explore the 19th arrondisse- ment near the CISP. A large cemetery blocks my way so I decide to amble through it. It is amazing, crammed very full of mauso- leums and graves with elaborate statues. Apparently, it is a famous one as I run into a group of business- men being given a tour in English. They chuckle at my opportun- ism when I decide to tag along with them. The first tomb they stop at is Honore de Balzac’s tomb, and it continues from one famous person to the next, not all of them French. The last stop is at the tomb of Jim Morrison,
singer/writer of the rock group The Doors. It is small, tucked away behind several others. His fans have defiled the surrounding graves with graffiti and drawings. I let the group continue without me so I can spend some time alone with my favourite rock star. I knew Morrison was buried in Pere Lachaise Cemetery but I had no plans of searching for it, or even that it was next door to where I’d be staying. 
From Pere Lachaise I wander through the Parc des Buttes Chaumont and along the Bassin de la Vilette and St Martin’s Canal. I follow the Boulevard La Chapelle through the Arab market area to the base of Montmartre below the Sacre Coeur Basilica, on the highest point of the city. I don’t feel like climbing up to Sacre Coeur and going inside. Instead, I walk down the hill into the centre of the city. I drop into the post office one more time just in case. They come up with a letter that was post-marked received eleven days ago that somehow they missed yesterday. It is from Mom, even though I thought she had said she hadn’t sent anything. It makes me wonder how many other letters have arrived but not found when I ask.
Time has flown by and I need to get back to meet Mike at the CISP. We have agreed to do our laundry together to save money, but he’s not there when I arrive. I sort out my clothes and write my journal while I wait for him. I am just about to start it without him when he 
arrives. He feels a bit bad for keeping me waiting so he offers to do the laundry so I can continue writing. I give him everything and crawl into bed naked to continue my writing. He brings it back an hour later. Everything is still damp but I have no choice but to wear it. We are already running late for our 8:30 dinner at Pierre’s.
We arrive at Pierre’s bearing a bottle of wine at 8:45, fifteen minutes late, which is forgivable since we are unfamiliar with the city. Pierre is a handsome, leather and denim type of guy with short, silver hair. He looks like he might fit in well on Folsom Street in San Francisco. He is gentle and charming in his manner and rolls his tongue a lot before speaking. Dinner is simple and fine, but not the frozen food he joked about serving us. I try to be friendly and interactive but I am tired from my 5am start and all the walking I have done today. We stay only for two hours, until just before 11. Before we leave he gives us the names of possible contacts in Amsterdam and Liege and invites us to return again so we can stay with him.PHOTO 1: Pere Lachaise Cemetery, Honore de Balzac's tomb
PHOTO 2: Pere Lachaise, Jim Morrison's tomb with graffiti
PHOTO 3: Jim Morrison groupies hanging out at his tomb
PHOTO 4: road through Pere Lachaise
PHOTO 5: street life, weaving the cans
PHOTO 6: le Sacre Coeur Basilica in Montmartre
PHOTO 7: Place de la Bastille
PHOTO 8: Elys Palace
PHOTO 9: le Marie of the 19e Arondissement
PHOTO 10: Notre Dame
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