Life, death.... and chocolate chips

Chocolate chips are called pépites de chocolat here. Isn't that like, the cutest thing ever? They're in a lot of stuff too. My favourite is a type of pain au suisse (full name = brioche suisse à la crème pâtissière et aux pépites de chocolat), which is basically a doubled over crossaint-type-pastry thing with custard in the middle. And pépites de chocolat. Yeah, I know. 

OMFG

The best one I ever had was last year, somewhere near St Sulpice. I went looking for the same boulangerie the other day and I couldn't find it. I'm very upset. Those pain au suisse were pretty much the only reason I came back here.

The search will go on. Watch this space.

Relevance of pépites to today's post? Pretty much nil (you'll find more pépites de chocolat in your breakfast pastry than this blog entry). I just wanted to start on a light note as the rest of this entry may well be a bit, erm, grave. Literally.

Inadvertently, I have just spent two days in cemeteries. Two VERY different cemeteries I might add, but graveyards nonetheless. I didn't plan to do this; I only realised it once I started writing.

Yesterday I visited Les Catacombes of Paris. Definitely one of the strangest experiences of my life, and one thing that I have ticked off my bucket list.

I felt like a kid from The Goonies navigating through tunnels beneath my favourite city. There was even some dripping water (though no boat or pirates at the end). Plenty of bones though. Rows and rows and rows of neatly lined skulls with femurs and other long bones stacked above and below. Trust the French to make sure that it all looked nice.

Some of Paris' older inhabitants...

You should be able to see more photos here.

It's very odd how our bones remain and that burial is not necessarily the "end of the line". The city of Paris ran out of space and was having some health issues so had to find alternative accommodation for the residents of one of its cemeteries.

Imagine that at your Monday morning meeting. "So, Georges-François... Have you and Xavier come up with any ideas for that graveyard issue? I'm going to need a Gantt chart on that by COB Wednesday."

Yeccccch. Well, anyway, glad they sorted that one out, and unwittingly created one of the most unusual tourist attractions in the world.

The other place I have just visited is Villers-Bretonneux. This village was the site of heavy fighting in WWI, and where many Aussies died.

The town is a sister to Melbourne, and has streets, schools and restaurants named after Melbourne and Victoria. Which is kinda weird and nice at the same time.

There is a museum there which documents many of the events that occurred. It was very touching to see the way that Australians are still appreciated. A school hall adjacent to the museum even had wooden carvings of Australian animals on its walls. Très bizarre!

Fancy seeing you here matey!

Villers-Bretonneux is a tiny town. There are hardly any shops, and of these, only a few were open. I don't know why because it was not Sunday, Monday, a public holiday or time for a siesta. Pickings for lunch were slim - I had a choice between two optometrists, a chemist, a kebab shop and a rather dubious buffet at a restaurant named Le Victoria. (I wasn't kidding about stuff being named after our Melbournian friends.)

I went with the buffet. It was... interesting and involved green beans, beetroot and boiled eggs. Enough said.

Afterwards, I began to make my way towards what was to be the most profound part of my trip. Thousands of young Australian men are buried in a memorial park about 2kms out of town.

Trekking through bucolic farmland on a sunshiny day, it was hard to imagine the incredible pain and useless suffering that occurred here. I picked a few wildflowers along the way, including one of those famous red poppies.

A stunning landscape

(I was also offered a lift to the cemetery by a random man, but I said no, of course. My propensity to attract inappropriate men has not abated. This morning when I asked about which platform my train would depart from at Gare du Nord, the attendant suggested that I abandon my journey and spend the day with him and his friend instead. Um, no. Why can't I attract any NORMAL men?!)

Anyway, as I made my way along I focused on the young Australian men who had taken the same path, under such different circumstances, almost 100 years ago. I really felt as though I had flung myself to the end of the earth. I was in the middle of nowhere. I wondered how that felt, back then.

It took about 20 minutes to reach the cemetery and memorial. It is very beautiful and well-maintained. Bright red roses bloom amongst immaculate white graves. There were so many. They were so young. 

"Their names liveth for evermore"

There isn't much more that I can say about it other than that without sounding trite. It was upsetting but I'm glad I went. It was a quiet, reverent place. I thought that I could sense a bit of the camaraderie that existed there, before they all died. I hope so, anyway. 

Here is a video I took from the top of the monument tower. It shows how truly idyllic the surroundings were today. Lest we forget. 

Apart from that, I love being a pseudo-Parisian. I love the house I'm in. I love my room. I love the people. I love le petit chien Bob. Am having a great time à la maison.

I spent some time in Amiens after my trip to Villers-Brettoneux. It's a very pretty town, with wide boulevards of shops, beautiful buildings and a spectacular cathedral. But when I walked down to the platform for my train back to Paris, I was grinning like an idiot. I was going "home".

À bientôt x

P.S. In case anyone is wondering, I am doing ok health-wise. I had horrible anxiety initially, but it is easing up now. I still shake. I have tablets, but they now seem to make me feel more anxious while I'm on them so I've decided to avoid them during the day. I'd rather shake. I'm kinda used to that now I guess >:[