Mourning

Come with me dance, my dear
Winter's so cold this year
You are so warm
My wintertime love to be

They still come to Jim Morrision's gravesite in Père Lachaise Cemetery located in Paris's 20th arrondissement.  His grave was once covered in graffiti, but in 2004, cemetery officials erected metal barricades, so mourners no longer add graffiti to the stone that was cleaned.  Nor can they lounge on the grave while drinking bottles of wine.  Not as much fun, but there is a steady stream of people paying their respects.  

The grave is relatively close to the main entrance.  Unfortunately, it is deceptively placed in the 30th cemetery section.  It may actually be in that section, but it is best found by walking to the 16th section.  When officials scrub the graffiti from Morrison's grave, they also scrubbed it from the tombstones leading to the grave--"This way to Jim."  Although vandalism, those markings were helpful.  

I come to his grave because Père Lachaise is a regular stop for me when in Paris.  The terraced graves, decaying metal doors, and broken glass, all in a park-like setting are the draw for me.  I continue to stop by Jim's grave because he was what was happening and what I was listening to when I was 13 years old.  It's not classic rock or golden oldies.  People return (don't leave) their youthful musical experiences because those experiences track the first flow of hormones, resulting in those experiences being imprinted in the individual's mind.  

I had hoped for now on this trip, but that was not to be.  Instead, I received some nice afternoon winter light from the West.