A couple of years ago I fell in love with a dead woman. I had found Dalida. I had never heard about her earlier even though she had had an amazing career in the French speaking world. She was a super star of her era, the Marilyn of France without even being French by her origins. Dalida was Egypt born Italian. Her life seemed to be full of passion, tragedy and loneliness. If life would have been more kind to her, she would still be here. Now she rests at Montmartre Cemetery in Paris.
On my last weekend's Paris getaway I visited her grave. It is as grand as its owner. The statue with the sun beams have a strong reference to Dalida's origins and stardom. I almost got sick of Stendhal syndrome.