The Inaccurate Tourist

49. Underground (Guest Writer: SGL)

For a traveller with allergies, Paris in the late spring is very powerful. During this season it is lilacs, roses and millions of wildflowers that invade the nose and creep into the deep sinuses of your head that you otherwise take no notice of.

Luckily, Ryan, the ever charming and prepared host had a large shipment of allergy medications as he too is a sufferer.

One surefire way to avoid such mishaps is to sink below the earth's growing surface. Avoid the sun, the green grasses, the flowers, the nasty pollen and retreat to the safety of the dirt.

In Paris, however, you will find that much of this space is already claimed and being used in all sorts of ways. Coming from Vancouver it makes you fear for the safety of the average Parisian. With our constant seismic upgrades we are increasingly confident that our entire city will not turn to rubble when 'The Big One' finally hits. But what would become of Paris in such an event? They have managed to hollow out much of the earth below this ancient city. And if the massive metro system uses 20 foot tunnels how much can possibly be left to support the city's structure? I wish I had paid more attention in my geography course. I didn't even know which tectonic plate I was on.

Clearly it was a fleeting fear as I did spend a great deal of time underground. The metro was a daily adventure, of course, but I also saw the workings of Paris' underground water system. Okay, waste water system. Yes, I toured the sewers. Who wouldn't after Rick Steeves exclaimed, "If you lined up Paris' sewers, they would reach beyond Istanbul!" The thought of these intestine-like tunnels worming their way under the city seemed very intriguing. As my sinuses were entirely blocked, I feared nothing.

Unfortunately, sometimes you find 'museums' are little more than factories or worksites with historic photos on the walls (ie. Mauna Loa factory in Oahu or Medicine Hat's "Great Wall of China"). The sewer museum was basically a tour of a water treatment plant in any major city. And, surprise, it stunk.

Beyond these layers of sewers and metro stops that lie just beneath the surface is another layer of tunnels, at least in the 14th Arrondisement where Ryan lives. After descending about 100 feet near the Denfert-Rochereau lion you can see the work of the bone stackers. The catacombs are a collection of the bones of 6 million Parisians. Room had to be made for modern Paris to grow – modern Paris meaning developments in the last 300 years – so cemetery bones were gathered, carted, moved in religious processions, creatively stacked and labeled for posterity.

Leg bones and skulls seem to be preferred for the task of stacking. That is all you really see, everything else is tossed in behind. After the initial shock of walking down a hall of human bones, you begin to long for a hipbone or a backbone for a change of pace. Other than the creepy dripping ceiling it was a rather scent free, chilly place to spend a hot afternoon.

Really, the dead of Paris take up a remarkable amount of underground space.

As everyone knows, there is no shortage of beautiful cemeteries in Paris; I saw eight in all. My affinity for wandering in graveyards began with the North American version: a park with trees, open spaces and headstones no higher than 3 feet. Doubles can be found, but singles are the norm; family plots are rare. They are peaceful empty places with a few scattered maintenance workers now and again.

Paris cemeteries are quite different. My first stop, Montparnasse, highlighted some striking differences. Grass is rare. Thankfully, bathrooms are available if you don't mind the squatting type. There are benches for people to sit and chat or have lunch if they wish. It is in the middle of the city, with a regular street partitioning it in half, so it is used as a shortcut for people going on with their lives. The number of living people there surprised me. This idea of an active and vibrant graveyard pleased me well, so I had to see more.

If I had to pick a favourite, it would be a toss up between Passy and Montmartre. Passy has an art deco theme with the Eiffel Tower in the background and ornate family vaults. Montmartre is an older, tiered park under an overpass complete with an affectionate cemetery cat.

I must say, the famous Pere Lachaise was a bit of a let down. It has very broken down bits in need of a lot of repair. The huddle at Jim Morrison's grave was crazy. He has nothing on Edith Piaf, though. Ryan could do a fine Flower-and-Fan-Arama there. Although interesting, with its 8 million lipstick prints, I couldn't help but have sanitary concerns about Oscar Wilde's grave.

So I ended up having lunch with Abelard and Heloise, checking out the Columbarium and heading out.

The other four cemeteries were all near or beyond the city limits. They were generally flatter, with low headstones, few sculptures and grouped by age or military status. A few had some odd personal touches.

Some had sections tended so well you wondered if it was an award winning event while others were clearly left to their own devices. This could well have been an argument for procreation – no respectable family plot has its roof fall off!

Speaking of the family name... not a single LaLonde in any of the cemeteries.

Where ARE my peeps, anyway?

Perhaps in the Pantheon, I thought - in the crypt with the men and women who have valiantly or creatively served their nation and led the way to progress and triumph. Nope, not there, either. And the statue of Voltaire was mysteriously missing from the crypt as well. Frankly, he's better off. It was a little too much like a cement prison to want to stay for long.

The other crypt of kings I visited was clear across the city and outside Paris under St. Denis Basilica. It wasn't as disappointing as the Notre Dame Archeaological site, but the deepest portion had some similarities. I hate to offend any budding archaelogists out there, but nothing is more tedious than staring at holes in the earth. It is made worse with the large signs explaining what the item might be, or could be, and all the possible uses of this fine specimen from the ancient world... so similar, yet so different from our own... (insert dramatic pause followed by thunderous, inappropriate music on poor quality headset).

The crazy reliquary and the stained glass were certainly the highlights of this very first Gothic cathedral. That is, if you don't count the fact that my question, "Who the heck is Clovis?" was finally answered.

Once you step out of the crypt, however, you are back on the earth's surface. Prone to natures elements, but now fully aware of what lies beneath. Or rather, what is missing, in Paris' holey underground.

Posted by The Inaccurate Tourist at June 13, 2003 12:00 PM