Afternoon in the Cemetery

Truthfully, I had never thought much of Montparnasse, and knew little of it besides Picasso moving there in his 30s, and it being home to the aesthetically displeasing Tour Montparnasse—modernism’s failed attempt to ameliorate Paris—and the catacombs; thus the idea of writing 1000+ words on the neighborhood made me anxious.

            I decided to go on Saturday, as it was a nice day for Parisian standards, that is to say sunny and cold, but still heavy stress on sunny, and I figured days that weren’t overcast were “lucky days” considering their rarity. In addition to the pleasant weather, my day had already started off on a rather romantic note. I woke up naturally and unexhausted at 9:30, and enjoyed one and half blood orange Mimosas with my small bowl of vanilla yogurt and a seedless and juicy, therefore perfect, clementine. Uninterested in seeing the Tour Montparnasse and the catacombs, despite my odd fondness for graveyards and eerie places alike, I got off at the Raspail stop on the 6-train, the stop nearest to Boulevard Raspail, where Picasso lived. The 6-train always made me feel weird; its 70’s color palette made it the J-train of Paris, and the thought immediately made me crave a bodega sandwich. Afraid I would fall into a spiral of nostalgia, I shook the thought of out of my head, and exited the metro station.

            Ironically, one of the first things I saw as I walked up the stairs out of the station was the Tour Montparnasse. Structurally, the tower merits some praise. It’s dark and sleek, and powerfully intimidating; however, its placement is painfully awkward and entirely out of the context with the surrounding area. My friends’ dad once said, “the view from the observation desk is maybe one of the best views in Paris,” he paused and put his finger up in the air, suggesting that what followed was the most important part, “only because it is the only place and way the tower is not seen”. Even from a mile away, I knew it exactly what he meant.

            I continued my walk, hoping to find a welcoming café to sit and have a coffee at. I passed apartment number 242, Picasso’s studio, and stopped in front of it for a few seconds. Before leaving in the morning, I googled the address to see if I could get a look at its interior. I was unable to find images of the studio, but instead found photos of “Villa Picasso” which was in the same courtyard. The space is completely filled by natural light, and has the perfect balance of countryside charm and city living space. I was taken aback by how beautiful it was and assumed Picasso’s studio was probably similar looking.

After observing the studio, I made a spontaneous decision to walk through the Montparnasse cemetery. I’ve always been attracted to cemeteries ever since I visited Père Lachaise when I was 13. Initially, I was drawn into the aesthetics of these areas. Hyperemotional and obsessed with all things “alternative”, I remember the tenderness I felt seeing Jim Morrison’s grave, candles, roses, letters, and beers up to it’s rim, along with thousands of kisses and hundreds of ways of saying “love” posted on Oscar Wilde’s. I laugh now because besides being able to recognize the melody of only a few Doors’ songs (most notably their top 4 on iTunes) and the title, “The Importance of Being Earnest”, in hindsight I knew little, if not, nothing about the two artists. I also remember running through the labyrinth of graves, rambunctious and loud, and the warm, May sun erasing any sense of unfriendly ghostliness. As I grew older, the significance of cemeteries became more meaningful, breaking beyond just their aesthetic. Cemeteries, especially those in urban areas, despite their surroundings, are always quiet. It’s as though, there is an invisible wall which surrounds them, blocking the plethora of daily life stresses—barely met deadlines, missed calls, meticulous tasks, trivial errands. Thus, I figured it was simply something I had to do and it seemed refreshingly less tourist than the catacombs.

Unsurprisingly, the walk was long and lovely and exactly what I needed that day—my subconscious always came through in that sense. I decided to sit down and begin a note on my phone. I used to love writing in journals, but as I’ve gotten older, I sadly only enjoy writing class notes by hand; my personal notes are almost always written on my computer or my phone only because my hands quickly grow achy as my writing speed tries to mirror that of my thoughts. I really wish this wasn’t the case. Anyways, I began to make a list. The list was conventional one, a combination of desires regarding my stay in Paris and general life reminders, and a small section dedicated to appreciating the month of February thus far. The first thing I listed was to be able to articulate myself in person the way I do on paper—a goal which I’ve had for some time now, one that deserves constant practice and attention. Next one was to really take in the information presented in class—a seemingly expected task, but one I find myself ignoring if I don’t feel the class is intellectually stimulating (I’m unfortunately extremely judgmental in that sense)—and so on and so on. Sitting in the Montparnasse Cemetery reminded me of a piece I wrote about a man and a woman who met at a cemetery. Though the cemetery setting was vastly different, the story of Julia and Reed could easily mold itself to fit the Montparnasse Cemetery. I could see the two strolling past Satre’s grave, smoking their joint, and vocalizing the erudite and complex thoughts that were nestled into every crevice of their brains. They’d discuss matters that required undivided attention, and though they would most likely not come to one single conclusion, the take way was still invaluable.  

After what felt like hours of sitting and listing things, I got up from the ground—I was sitting on some stairs—dusted myself off, and made way towards the exit, and then towards the train. I hadn’t even realized I never stopped by the café to get a coffee. My afternoon in Montparnasse was a quiet and simple one, but exactly what I needed.