Once unpacked, we made our first excursion to one of the local boulangeries for a real baguette. A few raindrops started to come down, so I had to protect the goods.
We also stopped off at a grocer and stocked up on supplies for the kitchen. All that smooth-talking French that floats around in my head comes to a screeching halt when I open my mouth. Oh, well, they are plenty used to the American pantomimes and we managed to fill our basket and pay the bill. We weren’t up for trying to eat out. After the long flight we just wanted to settle in and crash. No hurry. We’ve got four weeks to fill up. Did I say we were nearly at the top of the hill? Now I know why there are few fat Frenchies.
Loni worked some miracles in the kitchen with our limited goods, and we toasted our first night in Paris, champagne courtesy of our apartment host, Marianna. Thanks!
Our flat is in the XVIIIieme district, called Montmartre, or “Le Butte” (the hill). It’s considered a village within the city, as it sits above and overlooks the rest of Paris sprawled below. The best view is from the steps in front of the Sacre Coeur cathedral. This is about three short (but up) blocks from our flat.
We’re looking south in this shot, and a side view of Notre Dame is visible to the right of center. This was to be the site of the annual wine festival that they have in Montmartre the second weekend in October. Well, all right, that’s this weekend!
No broad boulevards here on the Butte, it’s full of winding streets, cobblestones, old streetlamps, tiny hidden squares, and tons of stairs. Just below the cathedral is a pretty touristy area, that has a lot of charm nonetheless. Loni’s in the red hat; Sacre Coeur’s dome looms behind.
Louis VI founded the Benedictine abbey of Montmartre in 1133. There’s a small church of St. Pierre that sits in Sacre Coeur’s shadow, consecrated in 1147, which is all that remains of the abbey. Like most of the medieval abbeys, Montmartre became involved in wine production and soon much of the hill was covered in vines. Real estate development gradually wiped those out, and today there is only one vineyard left. It provides the excuse for the upcoming celebration, the Fete des Vendages. They do produce wine from it, but apparently it’s more for show than for drinking. They auction off the bottles to raise funds for charity.
In the 19th century, Montmartre was a magnet for artists, writers, poets, and musicians, and this fostered a community of cabarets, dance halls, and brothels that gave the quarter its decadent reputation. One of the most famous spots opened in 1860 as the Cabaret des Assassins. In 1880, artist Andre Gill painted a sign outside featuring a nimble rabbit (lapin in Fr.) in a bow tie avoiding the cooking pot. Playing on his name, the cabaret became known as Au Lapin Agile. It’s still here, and still operating, and sits directly opposite the vineyard.
We decided to go visit some dead folks, and headed down the Rue Lepic
towards the Cimetiere de Montmartre, built on the site of abandoned gypsum (plaster of Paris) quarries. Like the rest of this area, it’s not level, but was fun to walk around in to view the famous, and not-so-famous, departeds. If you can’t read it, that’s Dumas that Loni’s looking at.
I found this eerily beautiful scene hidden away behind another tomb.
The French either have a good sense of humor, or are willing to honor their “artistes,” no matter the profession, as the Can-Can lady’s tomb reflected. And, who knew there really was someone named Sax who invented the darn thing? My middle digit is extended towards an old tormentor. You’d do the same if YOU had to read “Le Rouge et le Noir” in the original French. Torture!
Not all the whimsy was confined to the graveyard. Montmartre has some unusual modern touches as well. Han Solo could sympathize, I’m sure.
That was enough for one day. It was very nice to kick back that evening in “our” flat’s living room. The gramophone is a repro, but plays as badly as an original. There’s a collection of vinyl to play, but it’s very screechy, and no volume control. We treat it as an ornament. A bientot.
No comments:
Post a Comment