Where in the World is Marta Senn-Diego? The Eighteenth Part: The Gourmet and the Grotesque

I spent two days in St. Christopher's Inn at the Canal, but had to move to another hostel for my next two nights. My new hostel, Friend's Hostel, was a tiny little cranny about 10 minutes from the Moulin Rouge. I was very excited to see some French debauchery. I never expected the sketchiness of Paris that met me.

Nothing will make you feel more aware of yourself than being the only white female with bare hair surrounded by Middle Eastern shop keepers, women and illegal souvenir sellers. Just walking down the sidewalk, I was always conscious of the eyes on me. I was swimming up a river of eyes until I finally could duck into a bakery or into a shop just to escape the eyes.

As a young woman who grew up in a relatively sheltered part of Maryland, it was both fascinating and unnerving to see men with blankets of shoes, watches, tin Eiffel towers and more on bedsheets suddenly wrap everything up into a bundle when a woman walked by shouting something. At the base of the Eiffel tower one evening, I looked around in time to see a stampede of men sprinting towards me like rabbits with bags over their shoulders! Obviously they were running from police or someone, but it was an unsettling bit of excitement during an otherwise peaceful evening.

So while the neighborhood definitely exceeded my levels of sketchy expectations, it was still a nice two days.

I visited parks, churches, strolled markets, sampled enough cheese, chocolate and cognac to kill a horse and photographed as much as I could.

 I still remember my shock and amazement when I saw the Japanese pastries and how beautiful they were. Paris has some serious competition!

 I went to a couple chocolate museums and saw some very impressive sculptures!

The amount of detail was mind blowing!

I even lived out a dream and visited the catacombs of Paris!

It might seem a little grisly, but the regard for the dead in several countries is something worth exploring. There's this taboo about death and mourning in America, making it such a private and fearful thing. I prefer to make it as much a part of life as weddings, showers and birthdays.

I was surprised to learn that the limestone that built Paris came from these underground quarries. I also learned that the former bodies that overstocked and polluted the Cemetery of Innocents later filled the empty quarries and the skulls and longer bones were used to build and "decorate" the sanctuary to the dead.

It was wonderfully grim.

Keeping on the grim side of things, I also went to the Cemetery of Montmarte. I love walking through cemeteries, and European ones in particular are always great. The stained glass windows and wrought iron doors rusted with time or silver laced with snail slime are in a world of their own.

 Yeah, that's not creepy.

One of the evenings I was out there, I walked all the way to the Eiffel Tower, stopping at the Arch de Triumphe on the way. The sculptures on the side are beautiful, but the faces cracked me up.

 Too much feels!

I was told to be at the Eiffel tower before sunset so I could camp out with a snack and watch the lights on the tower turn on. I wandered, took pictures, and bought a sachet of French lavender for my poor travel bag.

When the lights finally came on, the tower was just gorgeous! Gold light fills the tower so that it glows from the inside out. People lounge on benches or blankets and enjoy a late apertif while they watch the light.

Myself, I watched the gold lights for a while, but eventually made my way north again for a different color: rouge.

The streets along the Moulin Rouge are flooded with the regular restaurants and souvenir shops as well as a fair number of sex shops filled with everything 50 Shades of Grey's instruction manual comes with. I ate a Grand Marnier crepe and watched the windmill go round and round before heading back to Friends. With just one more day in Paris before me, I wanted to get some rest.

Though, of course, I didn't get much sleep: I was in a room with three other girls and one ox. No, the way this hairy gorilla snored was very bovine. Loud, rattling lowing filled our tiny room and kept the three of us awake. In the morning, one of the girls confessed she was hoping he'd choke at one point. She was kidding and we laughed of course, but it's only a matter of time until he swallows his tongue.

Maybe he and the snorers from Fukuoka should hang out.