July 2002:My first trip to see Jim! by Alex Patton

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

Paris July 2002:My first trip to see Jim!

Took me 31 years to actually get to Jim Morrisons grave and here are my thoughts from the trip....

“Are not the joys of morning sweeter”….
Alex Patton’s first ever visit to Paris to pay his respects to Jim Morrison at Pere Lachaise!


First Impressions…..July 2nd
Never been to France before…flew over it once and that’s it.
So after an age sitting on various trains I came out onto the French side of Le Tunnel and what struck me most was how similar it was to Kent on the other side. If I’d slept in the tunnel the only reason I’d have known we were in France would have to have been that the train was actually doing more than 30 mph.
Same cultivated fields, same trees, same little villages….very weird.
Got of at Gare du Nord at around 6 pm and hopped on Metro to the Pigalle.
Metro a piece of piss to use….impossible to get lost if you use the Metro.
Gets to my hotel (smack in the centre of the Red Light District would you believe) and hoping for a quick shower and off to La Renaissance for a bevy with the gang. Always a catch with me..life is never that simple!!!
Find out that they are doing my hotel up and I am now in a hotel in the Bastille area (where I wanted to be when I booked in the first place) which actually was a hell of a lot posher. So have to wait for taxi and a 30 min hop across Paris to get to my room. At bloody last. Say hi to guy at desk get key run up stairs throw my case on deck change T-Shirt to one of my Scorpywag ones quick splash of water on face and am back at the desk with my key before the guy had even sat down and picked up his paper again. I made the international sign for ‘I’m off on Le piss’ and I was off to the nearby Metro. Getting of in the early evening gloom, (maybe just after 8 pm) the weather was very cloudy and murky, I get my first glimpse of Pere Lachaise. I’m not sure of my exact orientation but what I presumed to be west of me when I reached the top of the Metro steps was a corner of a high stone wall with a small gate. Above the wall I could see the tops of tombstones and ornate sarcophaguses. Cool!! I thought. (absolutely true that was the first thought that went through my mind as I stood in silent homage for making it at last after 31 years.) The craic called so looked around for the bar. No sign of it (not that I had a clue what it looked like as it’s been years since I visited the website.) anywhere soon so as I knew it to be on a corner I followed the wall in my perceived north as I could see some bright lights along the wall in the distance. My nose was right as I soon saw A La Renaissance was in fact my destination. Deep breath and coolly walk in…<br>I had arranged to meet my friend Nyree and her guy Laurie as well as London dude Mark Fairclough which was why I had my Doors4Scorpywag T-Shirt on.
Laurie is in a wheelchair so was the first person I spot. Said ‘hi’ shook hands and then met Nye.
The bar was pretty full with a collection of dubious looking types with straggly long hair, strange tattoos, spiky hair, leather trousers, jackets, denim and the cloying atmosphere of fag smoke and booze.
The sort of place normal people would cross the road to avoid but as it happens my sort of pub and my sort of people. I felt instantly at home and in no time at all had a pint and was having the craic. Met people I had talked to from various message boards and clubs as well as total strangers. Mark I found out the next day had left just before I walked in but I was delighted to find one of Scorpywag’s original contributors Graham Mills had turned up. He was the dubious looking one with straggly long hair and leather pants and tattoos I was talking about earlier. So my first night in Paris was perfect.
A bunch of loonies to talk to about The Doors and lots of beer.

Cemetery Cool & Quiet……July 3rd Pere Lachaise 8am
Woke up this morning but was too drunk and knackered to get myself a beer.
Woke with a start out of a drunken coma??
Could not remember how I got to the hotel, who I was, where I was….
God I am getting too bloody old for this shit!
Had a shower and nearly broke my neck several times.
Went down for breakfast and I remembered who I was around 6.30 am.
Took one look at what was on offer and nearly threw up. No disrespect to the continental breakfast but I was not in the mood for food..so settled for a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. Felt a little better for that.
When my memory fog cleared I recalled Nye and Laurie had arranged to meet around 9 am to go into the cemetery. So got ready in another Scorpywag T-Shirt and set off back to Pere Lachaise. I still had a few blanks such as what time I left and where I had ended up. I got a flashback here and there of wandering around looking for a taxi or a metro station. (BTW my previous comment about not getting lost on the Metro only applies when sober….piss drunk anything can happen)
Back on the Paris sidewalk about 8 am outside Pere Lachaise metro I decided to try my luck alone at finding the grave as I was well early.
Weather was crap. It was tanking down but very warm. Sky was angry grey peppered with black clouds and I was soaked. But what the hell.
Rather appropriate I thought.
I will digress here a little as a story a friend of mine told me in about 78/79 motivated me to look myself for Jim’s grave.
A mate from Stockton-on-Tees visited the grave in 77 or 78 and he told me that not speaking a word of French (like moi) he arrived alone and set off for the grave plot. He said he never had visited Paris before, never spoke to a soul, looked at a map or asked a direction but walked to the grave straight away without one wrong turn. From the moment he walked through the gate he simply followed the arrows proclaiming JIM this way or that.
So I thought I’d try my luck.
Things are not always what they seem though. I walked through the main gate.
That was a very impressive moment as I had not paid a great deal of attention to the outside as I’d passed last night.
Beautifully doom-laden is the best expression I can think of to describe it.
A large square stone opening juxtaposed by two massive carved columns each with what may have been a circular wreath atop. A feeling of delightful trepidation passed through me as I walked in the rain up the cobbled road toward the graves.
Not speaking French I did not know whether asking directions was worthwhile but what the hell.
Two security guards standing nearby merely smiled and pointed when I asked ‘Jim Morrison’. Cool!
So at least I didn’t turn left and walk around like an idiot for hours.
Turning right I wandered through the stone cobbled avenues in a state of abject wonderment at my wretched state, wet clothes and bad head.
This place was Fucking Amazing….I have always disliked cemeteries and was a bit unsure what I’d feel in Paris but after 5 minutes walking I was in disbelief mode at how cool a setting for Mr James Douglas Morrison this really was.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

The place was colossal and seemed to stretch off into forever in every direction. Trees of every shape and size cast myriad gloomy shadows and shades over tombs, monuments and gravestones that were a cornucopia of artistic and architectural styles. It was like a mad passionate sculptor had gone berserk on acid with a hammer and chisel carving his insanity into a wonderment of tombstone shapes. I bet this place would scare the shit out of you at night!!!
Anyway I was by now lost as the graffiti ain’t here no more dudes!!
They have cleaned up the place and the few Jim followed by an arrow I found led me up blind alleys and some dickhead had even put an arrow on the other end to confuse the unwary even more. Also what was weird was that only me and an old woman were wandering about. I thought the place would have been crawling with fans. Very strange that one as I’d hope to have found the grave by following the 'hippies'. Alas not a bloody 'hippie' in sight.
I bet last year it was packed at this time. Personally I liked it quieter but not this quiet for God's sake. Not a fan in sight when I got there and I know the weather was atrocious but still.....
I asked several workmen and one or two funeral guys who were sitting in a car but as gauche and droit were about the best I could do I could only get back to the general area. Must admit the words ‘Jim Morrison’ always seemed to get a reaction. Bit unsatisfying I know but I gave up and worked my way back to the gate intending to meet Nye in La Renaissance.
So soaked but by no means disheartened I walked back to meet with the guys back in the bar. So this was Pere Lachaise?
I could not think of a more appropriate place for Jim to be buried.
Walked back in the rain to La Renaissance and found Laurie and Nye chatting with several regulars.
I ordered a Coke as my head was rather fragile and recounted my tale.
They said they were going up themselves in a while and would show me the easiest way to get there.
Just about this time a tall guy in denim came up to me and said ‘you must be Alex’ obviously noticing I was the only one in the bar wearing a ‘Doors4Scorpywag’ T-Shirt.
Mark Fairclough had arrived and after brief introductions sat and had the craic for about an hour joined by Michelle Campbell the photographer and Leon and Marcel from Rotterdam whom I had met the night before along with several newer strangers. The talk was all Doors and was a unique experience for me as I told my new friends that it was the first time in my life I had been in a room with more than two Doors fans.
Somewhere about 10 am we set off up the cobbled hill in front of the bar and walked into the cemetery from the gate there. Me, Laurie & Nye, new buddy Mark, Leon, Marcel and one or two others trouping along in a little procession with me probably the only one who didn’t know the way.
The grave itself is easy to miss (as I did-I must have passed it several times earlier) but once you know the way it will never again be a problem
We walked unerringly upward towards a small copse of trees and tombs and after negotiating several quaint little paths I got my first sight of the JDM plot.
I had not as yet noticed the grave as I looked about the adjoining tombstones and was taken with how peaceful this little niche was.
There were no crowds. I guess maybe one or two people there as we arrived in our small group. It seemed a world away from all the hype and hassle of being a Doors fan outside the cemetery walls.
And at that moment I realised how wrong I had been to criticise those I knew who had made the trip before me.
Digressing slightly I used to always vow I would never come to Paris and some of my friends (Doors fans and non Doors fans) who had made the trip were accused by me of being tacky and morbid. ‘You’ll never see me there’ I used to drone. As Rod Stewart once sang ‘Funny how wrong you can be’.
I moved closer and at last got my first site of the actual grave.
I cannot say I had any great emotional upheavals (I will qualify that remark when I tell you about my return the next day) as I did not feel tears, sadness or any great feeling of being moved. It’s hard to say what I felt but I did remark to myself (and one or two of my new friends) how absolutely perfect Jim’s final resting place was.
A little grano stone rectangle with a cut out for floral tributes and a carved rectangular block with a brass plaque. Here lay one of the icons of the last century (he actually won the BBC poll in 2000 for that honour polling three times more votes than John Lennon) whose picture adorns posters and record covers all over the world and he lay in a small indistinct little part of France seemingly oblivious to the hustle and bustle a couple of hundred metres from where he lay. Talk about cool. Even in death he was a Universe away from all of rocks silly little posers and wannabee rock Gods.
A glance to the left or right was all you needed to understand why he had wanted to be laid to rest here after he died. I have seen hundreds of pictures of the grave from all periods and let me tell you folks none of it means shit until you actually stand there and just feel the atmosphere of the place. As I said I felt no great emotional upheaval it was not that sort of moment but as I stood there in the rain with my fellow Doors fans I knew I gave my silent approval to this place of pilgrimage and I knew it would not be my last trip here. Several people laid little gifts on the grave and posed for photos and as my turn came round I ran my hands along the carved stone block on which lay a large wreath of roses from the Morrison clan just so I could say I touched it. (nothing from his Doors friends which saddened me...guess no publicity in the 31st anniversary and no TV cameras) Very strange feeling but I knew it was something I had to do. As I said previously the grave was very sparsely attended with no more than ten to a dozen people standing around. A stark contrast to the insanity of the previous year which my friends recounted was like a mad house with people scrambling for a view. And I must admit I did prefer my first view and was thankful that I missed the 30th anniversary.
The weather was appropriate with driving rain that dripped down from the trees that protected our little vantage point and under a solemn gloomy sky we stood with our thoughts for a while with ancient shapes all around us and for a fleeting moment probably understood more about the Lizard King than a thousand movies, books or documentaries could ever say. You had to be there my friends to understand. I did not understand that until I actually got there.
I thought I was right and everybody else was wrong. Now I knew and felt the truth. Did that moment change me? Probably. Whether I am a better person for it I dunno but it was an awesome moment seeing the grave for the first time and even though hard to explain (each Doors fan must experience this for themselves) it made me glad I had come.
Our private eulogy over we tripped back down to the cobbled road chatting in our little group still pretty much oblivious to the intermittent downpours and made a return to La Renaissance.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

Return to the Severed Garden!…….July 3rd around 2pm
When we returned the bar was quite full and Michelle Campbell was in full swing taking photographs of everyone with a tattoo.
I had a bite to eat and then got myself a beer and we then settled into some Doors chat and talked about what we were going to do regarding the Lizard Kings gig that evening at Olivia’s in rue Beautreillis opposite Jim’s flat.
The weather was beginning to change and the sun got a big hand from the drinkers when it finally showed its face. It had been pretty warm but with a bit of sunshine the next couple of days would become a lot more humid.
Most of last night’s faces were in the bar again by lunch time and the atmosphere was very cool with a lot of good Doors craic.
Something that surprised me a bit was that many there did not believe Jim was actually in the cemetery and when I asked why they came here then?
They simply pointed to the dozens of Doors fans sitting in groups around the bar and did not have to say anymore.
La Renaissance is not particularly a great pub but it plays Doors music nearly all day long and has a good Doors atmosphere so is without doubt the place to be at this time of year. Beer is expensive but food is nice and is not overpriced which was surprising. One pleasant surprise later in the afternoon was to see Gilles Yepremian walk in the bar. Very cool to see someone who hung out with Jim in his last days here in Paris. Didn’t get the chance to chat to him but he seemed to get on well with some of the regulars and was standing at the bar chatting away with a drink when we set of in the afternoon sun to return to Jim’s grave. As the sun was now shining it was a lot more pleasant to wander slowly back up the incline toward the gravesite. I noticed a lot more than I had first time round. This place was truly beautiful. The styles on view ranged from the sublime to the eye to frighteningly insane as the shadows grew more pronounced in the afternoon sun. Weird angles jumped out at you from every turn as the seemingly haphazard tombs and sarcophagus lurked in wait around each twist and turn of the quaint little paths that criss-cross the cemetery.
Some of them seem to have been constructed slightly out of square to deliberately cause unease when looked at. I got the feeling of a serene agitation just looking about me. Relaxing but at the same time a little unnerving.
Night-time must be a blast around here! Returning to Jim’s grave saw more people this time around and several more little tributes had been laid on the grave including a nice poem by some guy in Scotland.
I must admit during the four visits I made to the grave I saw only the utmost respect paid to Morrison. People behaving with decorum and coming and going in a quiet respectful way.
Security guards kept a watchful eye on proceedings and cameras added another level of security and we heard talk that pressure sensors in the grave area were used at night to discourage some of the more insane devotees from their nocturnal wanderings. I guess it’s a sign of the times and an indication that Paris may well be starting to realise the value of it’s third biggest tourist attraction. We had been discussing earlier in the day at the bar the possibility of Jim maybe returning to LA at some point and were to a man/woman certain this would be a disaster if it ever happened. Seeing the grave earlier in the rain convinced me that here is the last bastion of what Jim and The Doors stood for all those years ago. Untouched by The Doors PLC. and too far away for them to exploit, Jim Morrison lies in death as he lived, with integrity intact and among those he admired most. We laughed at the thought of laying Jim to rest in a tacky LA Theme Park Cemetery with flashing lights, $25 a head to see the grave and maybe a headstone that doubles as a juke box and plays the bands greatest hits at a dollar a shot. Sounds daft but a lot has happened these last 20 odd years and stranger things have transpired than that little scenario. No my friends Jim is where it best serves Jim. Let Ray, Robby and John have the material side but allow Jim to keep the spiritual side of what The Doors stood for.
For Jim to be anywhere else would be an insult to every word he ever uttered.
Just looking around at the quiet dignity of Pere Lachaise would convince you in an instant that this place was in Jim’s destiny from the day he was born.
No other rock artist in history has ever equalled Morrison for cool and even in death he puts them all into the shade with the ambience of his final resting place. We stood in little groups for a while in contemplation of what the day meant to each of us and then quietly wandered back to the Renaissance Bar once again and the warmth of our little Feast Of Friends.
Second time around I felt a bit more poignancy at the moment but it did not really hit me until the next day probably due to the excitement and meeting a group of Doors fans at last. I’m in no way religious but I did no doubt feel the spirituality of the place. It’s impossible not to really with over a million graves dotted about an area the size of a small town. So we returned to the bar and sat around drinking and chatting about The Doors for a couple of hours before drifting off to our various hotels to get ready for the Lizard Kings gig which was due to take place that evening in a small bar called Olivia’s which was directly opposite Jim’s flat in rue Beautreillis. I obtained directions and found, thanks to my new Dutch friend who marked it on my map for me, that I was only a few minutes walk from the centre of Jim’s universe during his stay in Paris…<br>Jim’s Place July 3rd rue Beautreillis 7.30pm.

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

A quick shower and change later I decided to walk the kilometre or so to rue Beautreillis, as the evening was rather sunny and humid. Out of my hotel onto the rue de Faubourg Saint-Antoine it was a straight wander to the Place De La Bastille along a street that one could find in any city in the world. Only the names changed as I walked past fast food joints and department stores keeping the rather impressive Column de Juillet (dedicated to the start of the Revolution) in sight until I emerged onto a huge square with a roundabout in the middle which was home to the massive carved column. As I looked around at the impressive Opera House and the wide avenues I thought ‘I’ve seen this place before!’ No I was not re-living a past life as a French Patriot storming the Bastille hoping to get the mad Maquis de Sade to autograph my copy of Justine. The previous night I had been staggering around here in a drunken stupor trying to find a) a taxi b) a Metro and c) a few un-pissed brain cells.
Negotiating the traffic and armed with Leon’s directions I quickly saw the rue Saint-Antoine and set off along its wide tree lined avenues. Leon had said 4th or 5th on the left and lo and behold I found it to be 5th and looked up at a street sign that proclaimed rue Beautreillis . The street itself was pretty unremarkable as I had passed these sort of streets all day but looking down I saw a building on my right that I had seen many times over the last 30 years. 17/19 rue Beautreillis had been Jim’s world for the last few weeks of his life and could not have been more perfect for such a sensitive soul as Jim Morrison.
Walking along the street I saw opposite Jim’s flat a couple of adjoining little bar/bistros and thought for a moment ‘you have got to be fucken kidding!’<br>Olivia’s was about the size of an average Brit telephone booth. The guys had said the place was small and that we should get there for about 7.30 (the gig was due to start at 9) and now I knew why!
Nye and Laurie arrived a few minutes later than me as I was wandering up and down the street where Jim Morrison must have gone about his business all those years ago. Nyree told me a guy had given her the code to get into rue Beautreillis and did I wanna photo in the courtyard.
Well I had to think! Not!!
So me and her pop inside and stand inside Jim’s little world for a few pix.
Got to admit (I had seen some photos Nyree sent me of last year here but to actually stand there myself was really cool) it was so tranquil inside the courtyard trees and plants in pots adorned the stone yard and the early evening shadows were very relaxing. Jim and Pam may have had many faults but Taste was not one of them. He may have been a drunken asshole from time to time and his poetry could be on the edge of cheesy but he can never be accused of not having Style. What a truly beautiful setting for the last few moments of the Jim’ sojourn on this planet. Wonder how often he came here?
Now I understood how Michael White must feel on his frequent trips to walk in The Lizard Kings footsteps. Talking of which we went back into the street then with Laurie got ourselves settled in the bar. We were the first to arrive and placed ourselves to the right adjacent to the guitar amps a few feet from the stage. The place was so cool and it is inconceivable that Jim never visited this place in whatever form it took in 1971. It had a very small bar but was a long room maybe 15ft wide so could actually get a lot more people in than you would imagine from outside. For some strange reason it has a stone font shaped ‘wishing well’ in the middle of the room which had coins dotted about in the water. Weird! Suppose it came in handy if the single toilet was full!!
I got the beer in! Bit disappointing as they only had bottles and cans-no draught! The place began to fill as Mark and Graham arrived along with all the patrons from La Renaissance and a nice atmosphere began to build.
Leon and Marcel arrived along with several more mad Dutchy’s and the spiky haired Swedish guy I’d been talking to earlier that day. Some very cool people who I hardly knew but liked a lot. Mark quickly discovered some fruit punch was on offer and brought me a plastic cup full. Very deceptive flavour…bit like grapefruit and oranges laced with sulphuric acid.
The Lizard kings had a neat set up with a Vox continental organ and Fender bass keyboard but I was disappointed that there was no sign of a Gibson SG. Just a cheap copy and a Fender Strat. After a small ocean of craic and beer a tall guy sat at the organ and began to blast out the intro to ‘When The Music’s Over’ to a ripple of applause. The Lizard Kings had landed.
The lead singer moved to the mic and let out a pretty decent scream and we were off. One of the things we all discussed later was how nice it was to see a bunch of guys who did not make a big deal out of trying to look like the band. Having seen Nigel and his LA Doors pretty silly impression I think I liked the Lizard Kings better. They played a bloody good gig and by the end of the night were applauded to the rafters in appreciation of a great evenings entertainment.
The lead singer had a German accent that could easily have been used to ridicule the band if not for the utter enthusiasm the four guys showed in their Doors cover interpretation. These guys were obviously fans and their set included such diverse gems as ‘Someday Soon’ ‘20th Century Fox’ ‘Strange Days’ ‘Cars Hiss By My Window’ ‘Riders On The Storm’ and ‘People Are Strange’. They did a brilliant version of ‘Soul Kitchen’ and brought the house down with a dead cool rendition of ‘Roadhouse Blues’.
It’s easy to take the piss and I do on many occasions but these guys really did put their heart and soul into the set and as a tribute to the memory of a great man deserved nothing but praise for doing a free gig for our entertainment opposite Jim’s flat. Musically the guys were cool with a neat drummer who had a similar style of kit to John and the guitar player and keyboardist did excellent jobs. As I said the singer (who obviously had leather trousers on) did not do to much Jim posing and surprised us all by strapping on the Strat and getting into some great guitar breaks giving it rock on during ‘Roadhouse Blues’.
They handled the ‘hits’ just fine doing great versions of ‘Light My Fire’ and ‘Hello I Love You’ and won a genuine encore to which they treated us to ‘The End’. After the show we had a bit of craic with the band and enjoyed a few more drinks and then Nye suggested we pop back over the road for a few more pix.
So sneaking back into no 17 about a dozen of us posed for photos in Jim’s courtyard at around quarter past midnight. Marcel who had been shushing us saying ‘we don’t want to bring the cops down on us’ was later seen trying to ‘break in’ so we could all go upstairs but I think luckily could not get the door of its hinges.
The place was even cooler in the absolute darkness that now enveloped the courtyard.
Inky black with hardly a break in the sky to shed any light.
I thought how amazing it was to stand here drunk as a skunk breathing in the atmosphere in the same way Jim Morrison must have 30 years previously.
What we did not know was that the residents did not share our enthusiasm and after about 20 minutes chatting and posing we drifted back into the street and broke up into groups some going back to hotels and my little group of Mark, Nye and Laurie fancied something to eat and saying bye to everyone walked back to the Place de La Bastille and finding a café ordered some more booze and some burgers. We found out the next morning that just after we left a bunch of cop cars pulled up in front of Olivia’s as someone had narked on us and called the law. We had a laff next day when Leon recounted how he had he turned around and saw cops crawling around everywhere.
Nobody got into trouble and everything was cool but Jim was still causing bother 31 years on. We missed out on all the excitement by mere minutes.
So having a burger and a drink we sat in the pleasant Paris night till around 2.00 am and had the craic until drunkenness and tiredness forced us to seek the refuge of our hotels once more. I was well drunk but actually remembered how I got back this time. Retracing my steps along Faubourg Saint-Antoine and finding my hotel easily. The hard bit was I had to remember my room number which I could not do. ‘720’ I said to which the night porter looked at me like I was an idiot. Thought for a while and remembered ‘207’! He smiled gave me my key and wandered off, probably thinking dumb-ass Englishman, back to his late night TV. Me I had the daunting task of negotiating two flights of very rickety spiral stairs and crashed out in a coma onto the bed!!

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

July 4th Pere Lachaise 9 am
Awoke with a start about 5.30 am and felt bloody awful. Could not risk a shower so had a cold wash and felt a little better. At least I could remember my name!
That fruit punch was leathal..thanx for the bad head Mark!!.
I decided a walk might do me good.
Out in the street I retraced last nights steps and felt quite good in the warm morning Paris air walking down the street with my shades on to protect me from the brightness of the sun that had made a worthwhile appearance at long last. I decided that it would be cool to have a look at the area around Jim’s flat to see what attracted him to an area like that. Crossed the street at the July Column and checked out the view. It was a lovely little area around the Place de La Bastille. Lots of little cafes such as the one we had sat at earlier that morning and an abundance of bars down quaint little side streets. I bet Jim felt at home here. Wandering up and down the streets adjacent to rue Beautreillis I found little trinket shops and tiny little places where you could buy cakes, omelettes and dozens of tasty little snacks. I must admit to feeling a little sick at all the wonderful aromas but then I was still slightly drunk. The rue Saint-Antoine and Henry IV were a colour box of tasteful shops, street musicians and deadbeats and it is inconceivable that Jim and Pam did not wander these streets and sample the wares on many an occasion. This was where Edith Piaf was born and what sort of scene those two would have gotten up to if fate and time had ever dropped them in a bar near here makes the mind boggle.
The Lizard King and The Little Sparrow…..weird!!
Trees cast the most amazing shadows to my beer addle brain and I could see just what Morrison saw in a place like this as opposed to some of the more glamourous parts of the city. Last night I witnessed the atmosphere and this morning I felt the ambience of the place. Rue Beautreillis is ideally situated for a lot of Paris culture as the place is littered with museums and art galleries and Pere Lachaise is a stones throw away so Jim could go visit his heroes and the famous Latin quarter is hardly more than a brisk walk away. Whomsoever of the two picked the spot Jim and Pam were in style heaven and back there in the 70’s this area must have lived and breathed colour and class.
I wandered along the wide Paris avenues until I reached The Seine and walked for a few kilometres marvelling at some of the fine buildings (old and new) and clearing my head with large gulps of refreshing Paris air. I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower (just to say I’d seen it) and walked along the river until it came into sight. Bit of a bummer as I thought it looked a pile of tat and our smaller version in Blackpool pissed on it. So feeling fresher and not feeling to arced about seeing anymore sights I hopped a Metro and made my way back to Pere Lachaise.
I must admit that my early morning walk was quite bracing and it was really interesting to wander the streets that Jim must surely have snaked along back in 1971. History is always most interesting first hand and to walk in Morrison’s footsteps was certainly history to me! By this time (around 9am) the sun was becoming decidedly hot and donning my shades as I exited Pere Lachaise Metro and walked toward the main gate. Pere Lachaise is a nice area I must admit obviously dominated by the 12ft high stonewall that runs the circumference of the graveyard it too has some cool shops, very cool graffiti decorated flats, neat cafés and it was nice to see the news-stand pay homage to the areas most famous resident. Nowhere were there any tacky sort of Morrison hawkers but the paper stand had some cool postcards, prints for sale as well as Rainer’s Doors4Ly Paris guide and a nice T Shirt (which I bought on the way home).
I thought this time that I would miss La Renaissance this time around and have an hour or so to myself in the cemetery. So remembering the way from the previous day I took a stroll along the tree lined lanes and avenues in the glorious Parisian sunshine. The place had a glow about it that the rain had seemed to stifle somewhat yesterday and as I wandered between the tomb and mausoleums I really began to feel a lump in my throat that I had not the day before.
A sort of cheerful melancholy overcame me and I kid you guys not, even a little tear formed in my eye. It was if it had just hit me for the first time the importance of this place in the last ¾ of my life. As I approached in a roundabout sort of route Jim’s plot and recognising the huge ornate monument cum tomb that stands nearby I felt really strange here for the first time.
The grave had a helluvalot more flowers on than yesterday afternoon (but still nothing from his so called friends!! Which I found a little sad. As I said earlier no TV cameras!) and about a dozen people were checking it out.
Interesting to note the kind of people who were there. A bunch of Brit school kids was arriving as I walked up a slight incline to the grave and soon joined the obvious hippies and the mom and dad types who were queuing patiently for a look and a photo to remember it by. There were a lot of youngsters present as a bunch of Yanks arrived as I stood nonchalantly to one side under the shade of a nearby tree and simply watched the watchers. Whether they were fans or not they all posed for pix and they all took the time to stand for a moment quietly in respectful silence and thought.
That really impressed me as I am used to seeing scenes of crazy people scrambling to get the best vantage point. Here people just behaved with the utmost respect and deference. Made me feel proud to be a Doors fan. A few people smiled, probably noticing my Doors4Scorpywag with it’s picture of Jim leaning against a wall with the black mutt replaced by my cartoon Ginger Scorpy, but I was not in the mood for conversation. I was experiencing a few strange sensations and I felt a little insignificant standing amongst all the stone memorials and enclosed in the uncanny morning shadows that the trees playfully fashioned in the early morning sunshine.
It was bloody weird I tell you. The day before I felt little but the day after…..it was truly bizarre.
One of the most remarkable things about Jim’s grave has to be how unremarkable it actually is. Sitting detached in an unassuming corner amongst the grandeur of some of his neighbours it is beyond doubt a fitting locale for the nearest rock music ever got to a true poet. To the uninitiated it would seem small and insignificant in the midst of a sea of majestic tombs and monuments to the icons of music, poetry and drama but to me it is a testament to the impression some of these people made on a 20th Century poet-to-be that he would feel drawn to the romantic splendour of such a place.
I decided to have a walk among the tombs for a while to and as I did I wondered how often Jim Morrison must have wandered these well trodden paths in search of his heroes and what thoughts must have went through his mind at the inherent magnificence that makes up ever yard of the place.
Words cannot really describe this place and the feeling it fills you with.
Eerie yes! Even in the magnificent sunshine of that July 4th morning and uncomfortable sometimes I do admit but it also gives you a feeling of intense reassurance. A very contradictory place if ever there was.
For some strange reason a bit of Darryl Read poetry jumped into my mind as I walked among the twisting paths and shadows. I offer no explanation for it but this is what came to me as I wandered deeper into the cemetery
“My pulse beats your heart life,
I am the dark angel,
and I come from the last poets land,
We have deep soul here,
We are winters angels.
Thirty birds shall call on you in deep dream,
Marsh gods will unfold scenes.
Come all that are right, across soil and sand,
I am the dark angel,
We are the last poets
from the summer lands.”

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

I would have imagined a bit of Jim but strangely enough other than humming the odd bit of ‘Light My Fire’ this was the only poem that entered my head in the four days I was there.. very strange I think!!
Tombs now just seemed to sprout out of the ground at the most amazing angles and looking through the trees toward the steep inclines surrounding the Morrison plot seemed to hover menacingly at the periphery of this eerie little
sub-world I now occupied. Very unnerving I can tell you. I worked my way back to Jim. At one point finding myself atop a hill with a magnificent view of the nearby part of town. From where I stood a sweeping vista of Paris suburbs bathed in the rapidly warming glow of the sun. Truly spectacular.
Back again with Jim I saw another couple of tours pause for a moment of reflection at the grave as well as several groups of foreign school kids.
Talk about cool. I felt immensely proud just watching them.
My mood had undergone quite a few transitions in a little over an hour and now I bid Jim good morning and thought a pint well worth investigation so wandered down the wonderful tree lined boulevard toward the main gate.
Quite an interesting morning so far but I needed the craic and a pint!!
Renaissance & Pere Lachaise. July 4th 2 pm
When I reached the bar only the Greek lady and her Dutch pal were present so I said good morning and chatted a while until Graham Mills popped in.
I felt very thirsty but settled for Coke to try to clear my head ready for a pint of lager but Graham having youth on his side went straight for the booze as usual.
Oh to be 20 years younger!! Soon Nye, Laurie, Mark, Michelle Campbell and most of last night’s crew made an appearance.
Gilles Yepremian even came in about lunch time and started autographing his final picture of Jim taken in Paris in June 1971. Several members of The Matrix Doors and their friends also wandered in and the place began to buzz.
As the place gradually filled and the craic became livelier I thought I might as well try a pint and goaded on by Mark had a Kronenbourg.
Michelle was off on her tattoo hunt and soon had people posing here there and everywhere showing off arms, backs and legs. Clare and Darren a couple from Swindon with magnificent tattoos on their backs and the likes of Graham and Laurie with Jim on their arm. The woman does seem to be obsessed with Doors tattoos. I must admit I was glad I hadn’t one!!
Then she dragged everybody outside for a photo in front of the gates and we waited in small groups whilst she photographed…. Yes! You guessed it everybody with tattoos outside the gate.
Then we all trouped over for several group photos and then someone suggested we all wander up to the grave and so I made my final visit to Jim.
It was nice trouping up the hill from the main entrance with all my new friends and I was aware that this would be my last visit this trip but also aware that it would not be my last visit to Paris. The sun was at it’s height and the day was hot and humid after the torrential rain of yesterday but even though worn out by the last 48 hours it was no problem walking up the twisting cobbled paths towards Jim’s plot. Chatting away like school kids we joined the dozen or so people who were already at the grave and began to take photos and share our thoughts. I mentioned to several about my morning walk here and found that my feeling was far from unique. Several people told me of feeling strange here even some of the more seasoned veterans who had been coming here regularly for ten years or more. Once again (and not because of the proximity of the guards) all the people I saw treated the Morrison plot and the surrounding graves with utmost respect. Once or twice the guard would mention that we were standing on a section of grave we should not have but these minor transgressions apart I was proud to be a part of this gathering.
I spoke to one or two who had been present at the famous Doors riot here and the last two days could not have been more different.
Michelle once again was photographing tattoos in front of the headstone and I had to marvel at her dedication to the cause of the Morrison tattoo.
Some of us were already discussing next year and I readily signed up to being here next July. Possibly even this December and definitely next December for Jim’s 60th birthday celebrations which will be a blast here in Paris I am assured.
We spent about half an hour chatting and posing around the grave and then with Laurie, Nye and Mark went for another wander around Pere Lachaise.
Nyree wanted to see Oscar Wilde but when we discovered how far away he was decided bollocks to it!. So we just walked through the tree shaded avenues and paths admiring the splendour of the place.
One little incident I will recount was that as we walked along a nearby path we discovered a little ginger kitten who obviously lived in the cemetery and we all petted him and I remarked that Scorpion must have managed to get here as well. Not being a great believer in cat or any other form of reincarnation but he did remind me of my much missed ginger friend.
Eventually we made our way back to the bar via a quick stop to say bye to Jim and settled into a beer and a chat. The bar was quite lively and most of the guys I had met the day before were dotted about in small groups here and there.
Gilles Yepremian was still there chatting with Ian from Scotland and most of the mad Dutch people were present.
A suggestion to visit The Hard Rock Café was put forward but most of us wanted to spend our final night here. A lot of the guys were not leaving till Saturday but me and Mark would be on our way back to London and Leon and Marcel were driving back to Rotterdam the next afternoon so we preferred to hang out here. Arranging to meet Leon and Marcel later we had a few more drinks and drifted off to get changed.
Nye, Laurie, Mark and I made plans to have a bite to eat in Olivia’s and finish of here in La Renaissance with the rest of the gang.
As I left to head for the Metro this thought made an appearance….
For the first time in my life I actually understand what Morrison meant by
“Prefer a feast of friends to the giant family”

[TheWallsScreamedPoetry]

Are not the joys of morning sweeter
Than the joys of night
And are the vigorous joys of youth
Ashaméd of the light?

July 4th 2002 Olivia’s 20 Rue Beautreillis 9pm.
The evening started off with a few minor catastrophes for me……I spent rather too much time drinking with Mark in La Renaissance and left well after 6 pm to get back to my hotel. My travel pass ran out half way and as the ticket office was shut where I landed and as it was only one stop from my hotel I walked the rest of the way.
This meant I was in rather a hurry if I wanted to meet the guys at 8 pm.
So to save mucking about I ordered a taxi.
The taxi dropped the hurriedly refreshed and changed me off on the far side of Place de la Bastille and as I had left my map in the hotel I (for the first time on my trip) took the wrong street and got bloody lost. I was only one street away but could not get out of a maze of streets and dead end so it took me nearly 40 minutes to get to Olivia’s.
What a treat I missed.
Mark and Nyree told me of their little adventure when I got seated.
The pair had keyed in the code and gotten inside 17 rue Beautreillis taking photos of the stairwell and Jim’s front door. Mark being mad and Australian shocked Nye rigid by knocking on the door. No answer! So he knocked again.
What they would have said we never got to find out as no one was home.
I was gutted and applauded Mark for his ingenuity and next morning when Mr & Mrs No 17 woke up I wonder if they missed their doormat?
Luckily no cops swarmed about outside so all the busybody’s must have been out.
We had a nice meal and a few drinks.
Beer and some sangria and chatted about our last couple of days and plans to meet again in London or maybe the IOW.
Olivia’s was playing Doors music at Mark’s request and the atmosphere was very cosy and cordial. Not at all like 24 hours earlier when it was a crazy house…but very cool nonetheless. I had gotten on well with my new friends and was missing the guys already. We had arranged to meet up with Leon and Marcel in the Renaissance around 10 pm for a final few jars and after completing our meal we wandered out onto rue Saint-Antoine and flagged down a cab.
Half way there Nye got a text message from Leon that Renaissance had closed early which was a bit of a downer. Apparently it only stays open after 10 pm if there are a good number of patrons and there were only a handful of Doors fans in so he closed the bar. Bummer!
The two Dutchmen were at a bar down the road and exiting the taxi at
La Renaissance we wandered along the street to Philippe August where the boys were enjoying a coffee in a bar next to their hotel.
So settling in for beer and craic I spent my last night here enjoying a beer on a warm Paris evening sitting at the sidewalk table.
It was a bit sad as the Dutch guys, Mark and me were leaving Paris the following morning whilst Nye and Laurie were staying a day or so (they apparently had a cool trip to the Hard Rock Café with Graham next day) so it was a bit of an anticlimax after two blinding nights but I guess all trips anywhere end like this. We all knew we would meet again either in December or next July so were not too downhearted.
Eventually Marcel and Leon left to get some sleep.
As Marcel noted... two days at such a pace took a hell of a lot out of you.
So wishing them a great journey home we bid them adieu (two really cool guys) and shared a last pint together as a foursome and had some great craic about the last couple of days that was only interrupted by a strange female French Doors fan who had very strange toilet habits.
I agreed to pop into Renaissance for a last time in the morning but Mark had to leave early and we had to part that night so we bid another good friend adieu and I shared a taxi back to my hotel with Nye and Laurie.

The End…..July 5th La Renaissance 9 am.
Got ready and once again missed breakfast (all I ever had in three days was two cups of coffee and a glass of orange juice) then set of on the Metro for Pere Lachaise.
When I got to the bar I found it sadly empty and without all its Doors inhabitants it really is a pretty ordinary place.
The fans make the place what it is and without them it cannot shine the way it did on the last 3 days. Didn’t feel like beer so just had a coke.
Nye and Laurie turned up at around 10.30 am.
They said a few of the guys would pop in later but I had to be off by 12 noon to catch the Eurostar so could only stay an hour or so.
So we sat and remembered our last couple of days and were joined by Clare and Darren from Swindon as well as the Greek girl Maria and her Dutch pal Hermine.
I was glad I had made the effort to pop in to say farewell as I had met a hell of a lot of really nice people. I did not have the time to say ‘hi’ to Jim but know I will get another opportunity when I return.
So what was the highlight for me?
Guess it was trouping up to the grave for the first time in the rain but all of July 3rd was an incredible experience for me.
Great people lots of beer and craic, ‘Lizard Kings’ cover band, Doors music, a lot of walking to and fro really exhausting but great fun.
If you have not made the trip I can honestly tell you that it is an experience to behold and well worthwhile.
The Doors are indeed ‘dead’ regardless of the dollar induced talk of tours and new albums but they do live on in a quiet little corner of France untouched by the avarice of Elektra and BM’s money men, safe from the squabbling and the finger pointing and secure in the hearts of Doors fans all over the world.
Jim Morrison does indeed live and all of those I met in Paris will ensure that everybody they meet knows it!!
Alex Patton.
TheDoors4Scorpywag Summer 2002

[thebadcowboy]

fuck.......!

[ensenada]

cool account mate! shame that 2002 wasnt my first year! infact its a damn shame olivias aint there any more!

[nick]

got lost in that damn place too the fist time I went in there, the 6th I think it was… Later Marcel took me up to the grave.
Tis awful easy to find to be so hard to locate, like it’s tucked away. Perfect.