Trying to Get Lost in the City of Love, Part 1: Climbing a Cemetery

The scene: a vast graveyard to the east of Central Paris, mid-morning. Grey clouds hang tentatively overhead, threatening a relieving drizzle which, unfortunately, never comes.

The protagonist: me, puffing and panting as I crest one of far too many sets of stone steps. I turn and look upon the grim panorama, much of the eerie view obscured by trees, before turning the other way and facing the tombs and gravestones which rise up above me, glowering down from the ridge which raises them above the level of the path. There is no direct route ahead. Sighing, I turn to the left and plod on, following the path as it curves around and joins the tombs on the ridge.

Somewhere, I hear the cawing of a crow. I round the next bend and see it, perched on the dirt path which crosses my neat cobbled one; as I step forward it gives a crow of alarm and flies off, and I am alone. Alas, for just a moment; a flutter of wings, and another crow is just getting settled on a farther distant headstone, its head turned to fix one eye on a point far below, away from the direction in which I am heading.

My goal: one grave in particular, a grave I am certain is up here somewhere! For this is not just a cemetery; this is the Cimitière du Père LaChaise (or the Cemetery of Father Chair, if you want to be a smart alec) where famed poet and writer Oscar Wilde is buried.