Today, we went to the Pere Lachaise cemetery for our Art History class. We described each tombstone in very elaborate detail. Even the seemingly simple ones had at least three pages of descriptions beautifully painting a picture of the tombstone, before looking at any pictures of the tombstone. We even ran into Delocroix’s and Jim Morrsion’s, which were surreal to be standing in front of, even with the lack of detail and disappointment in terms of elaborateness and detail in tombstones.
My roommates and I then ventured off to Bastille and went to a Turkish restaurant. We were given a super spicey, tomato puree spice with our sliced baguette bread prepared at the table when we arrived. We ordered the couscous with chicken, and I was adventuresome enough to devour the heart!! The heart tasted a little odd and was very tough. It may have been because of the idea that it was a heart I was eating. It looked very beef/ steak-like and tasted like a very thin tough piece of beef slightly overcooked on the grill. With our meal, we were given a vegetable stew with chickpeas. At the six-person table, three were three from our party and then two from another. I noticed the older man sitting next to me. He was staring at us for a good ten minutes before he blurted out a few words in French. He didn’t know any English based on our response and his confusion. He eventually couldn’t handle whatever was driving him crazy after we didn’t understand his numerous explanations in French and with his very confusing hand motions. He grabbed my spoon and delicately spooned my entire bowl of soup onto my couscous! I wanted to eat them separately and tried to stop him politely, but it was hopeless!! He continually kept dolloping all of my soup onto the couscous with a dollop with a smile on his face! I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, not that he understood English enough to let him be hurt. The waiters and cooks serving us knew very little English. They were clearly not from France, and struggled to learn France as quick as they were able to, so they kept refilling our empty soup bowls and bread basket, even though we were clearly stuffed with food. After our feast, we were given a very yummy minty, green tea, with what seemed to be honey. The people at the other end of our small table filtered out and a man came in and sat by himself after his meal was set down prepared on the table. He talked to us a little, offering us to sample what he was eating. After refusing us, he somehow got into his profession as a security guard at a club downtown. He knew English better than the rest of the employees at the restaurant so we decided to ask him how to get our bill and pay after waiting another twenty minutes or so. He told us, “No, there is no bill! Come to my club. Here’s my phone number! You can pay for my meal next time, I have this one!” It went on and on. I thought he was the owner of the Turkish restaurant for how generous he was, but my roommates just assumed he was a regular at the restaurant. We left very amazed by our free meal, despite our persistence on paying as we’d already been offered “free drinks” by young Irish bartenders, and then being billed at the end of the supposed happy hour. We were very hesitant to believe this offer until we were forced to accept it by this older fellow.
After this feast, we decided to walk all the way from the Bastille to our apartment in the 15th district, which was a great way to uncover Paris above the metro. It seemed shameful to know my way around Paris only through the metro, especially when there’s so much to explore above ground. Over our three and a half mile walk home, we came across numerous parks and bakeries that we hope to return to!
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