After my brief detour into porno Paris i headed off to Pere Lachaise cemetery to take some pictures for one of the photo projects i'm working on. Since i'm currently listening to A la Recherche du Temps Perdu on my ipod, i thought i would make a little stop and see the grave of Marcel Proust.
I stopped near the entrance and checked the helpful map for the grave location and then wandered in. There were tourists around, but as it was monday not too many and it was a beautiful sunny, warm day and i wasn't in a big hurry or anything. I found the site quite easily and there was a man already standing there, just quietly looking at the stone.
The stone is quite simple, just a black slab with Proust's name and his brother on the side, but it was covered with metro tickets and chestnuts. There were also quite a few little handwritten notes that people had left, thanking Proust for his work and describing how it had impacted their life.
I spent some time reading some of the notes and a couple other people came by and quietly took photos and paid their respects. Then i thought i should get to work. As i walked away from Proust's grave, all of a sudden i started to cry. Manly, silent tears of course, but they took me by surprise. It wasn't sadness so much as awe at what this writer had accomplished and that people were still so moved by his words. Then i got back to work.
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