Café, Graves, and People Watching

Café, Graves, and People Watching

While on my trip to Paris this summer, I was able to experience what only Parisians know how to do best, people watch. Granted I was in Paris for a school class, I was surprised to find out that people watching is something that the French seem to do all day every day. We would go on walks and pass by endless amounts of beautiful cafes with tons of French people sitting outside watching us all walk by.
Their eyes would follow us like a dog follows a ball their master is playing with. I felt like God was putting us right in front of all these Parisians like toys, dangling in front of their faces. I could feel their eyes piercing my skin as I walked by the countless eateries, and I constantly would stop and think, “why are these French people always looking at me? Do I look this foreign that they can pick me out of a crowd of thousands like I stick out like a sure thumb? Why don’t these people have jobs?”
We walked over to one of the Cemeteries in the Moulin Rouge area of Paris., the nitty gritty peep show side of Paris. It was beautiful despite all of the windows with the neon lights of eyes and peep show signs. Brilliant tall buildings surrounded these storefronts on all sides with a huge island with benches, bathrooms, and parks in the middle of the main street running through this sanctuary of Paris.
The graveyard was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was compiled of mausoleums and grave of families, and single people of all different religions and races. I got the feeling that all of these dead people were too close together, that they weren’t happy, but perhaps that’s just the overall feeling in graveyards, I have never been to one before this.
We paused at Emil Zola’s beautiful reddish colored grave, or small monument to his life. As I sat there listening to my teacher talk about his accomplishments and how he stood up for what’s right and how he was not afraid to tell not only people but governments and nations when they are wrong. His grave seemed more alive than ever, that death was not the end of all things, possibly just a new beginning. I felt a sudden rush come over my body and I couldn’t stop and think about if my life had meaning, or if I was ever going to be accomplished or do something right with my life like Zola.
The cracks on the sidewalk slowly started to dissect my soul. I finally realized that I was being watched by a dead Frenchmen. This time however, I didn’t feel like they were judging me.