Death From Below / Ramen
August 4, 2016
Leaving a legacy is one of the many things humans strive for. Only a handful of humans actually leave something meaningful, significant or beautiful. Usually, its attempts end up in relative futility. They're forgotten and withered down to a post in some unknown, averagely written blog -- a blip in the unfathomably long (or short) existence of the universe.
Browsing through human remains in the Catacombs of Paris reminds me of going through old vinyl records in old record stores. I find myself amidst a collection of remnants of pain and happiness, ideas that took lives and sacrifices that were made. In the end, all of the work put in is left stacked in a dusty, cold basement, forgotten, where strangers come by every now and then to look at what you had to offer. Maybe they'll look at it for 5 seconds. Maybe they'll smile a little or maybe they'll scoff at it. But, inevitably, they'll move on -- forgetting.
It is a humbling experience.
During the bus ride and walk to the catacombs, we came upon a work by Space Invader.
We tried to see the catacombs two times now. And at both times, there were two-hour long queues. So, we postponed for later when we thought we were able to come earlier. So the plan today was that: to leave early and get in front of everybody. What actually happened is that we left the apartment late and the bus and train app led us to a combination of long walks in between stations and long waits for the next bus. When we got there the line was already snaking around the block.
The queue going into the catacombs.
After 2.5 hours, we reach the door:
This is where it starts. A long downward spiral of steps:
Which leads to a long tunnel where at some parts, the ceiling was so low, I had to lower my head:
One is immediately enveloped by an eerie briskness.
“He who has learnt to despise life fears not death.“ Google is your translating friend.
“The memory of our ancestors.” ~ Latin, Google Translate
My muse among skulls.
The catacombs started off as limestone mines. This well might have been were the miners got their water from.
It doesn't smell like anything down here. All you smell is just wet rock.
One thing I realized in the catacombs is how light skulls and femurs are. It must be because it's so dried up and so porous.
In some parts, the ceiling was dripping.
“Dead bodies everywhere!” ~ KORN
I heart you!
The place is so metal.
It felt like I'm inside a Slayer album cover or something.
Everything comes to an end. Including the catacombs. Here is the upward spiral. Somehow you feel like you're walking up it for forever. Maybe the exit is deeper than the entrance:
Then all of a sudden you see the light at the end of the tunnel and you jump out and you're in a regular residential area. Here's the exit:
Just outside the door, you'll see a gift shop of course, and advertisements for food because they know your sucker ass has been waiting in line for 2.5 hours and you just walked through a dark and slippery tunnel with dead bodies, so you must be hungry:
I was in the mood for ramen, though. So I mapped out a ramen place with a lot of positive yelps.
A bus ride and 30 minutes later, we arrived at Rue Des Petits Champs (Rue means street) which looked like Japan town because the whole street was lined up with Japanese food joints.
Their ramen was exquisite. And they had actual Japanese (and a white guy speaking Japanese) serving. It brought back memories of when we lived in Tokyo.
After devouring bowls of heaven, we went back to our usual Paris tourist activity: walking around aimlessly until we became hungry again.
Look! More shops!
We found a glove store that sold only gloves. Mostly driving gloves.
A shot for my wife's “Doors of Paris” project. This door seemed like it's missing a building.
Some fancy shopping center that sold a lot of expensive antique watches, furniture and books.
Antique books and pigs. What?
A government building.
During the walk and bus ride back, we stumbled on Space Invader's again:
Paris, je t'aime.
