Paris Is Always a Good Idea, Part IV

We are sitting outside the La Maison Rose, the Montmartre bistro located just north of the Place du Tertre, taking a break from the steep climb that brought us to its summit and to the Sacre-Coeur Basilica.  Our waitress, a smiling, short-haired French girl, brings us four large glasses of Saint Omer, a sweet tasting beer that slides down easily.

To my right sit Liz, Kevin and Eric, who are together for the first time since they huddled around their dying mother in a hospice room in Iowa two years ago.  Our meeting today is a much happier affair, and it is great to see them laughing, messing with each other's hair and telling childhood stories.    Our hope that Kevin would find time to join us in Paris came true -- so far we have spent time at the Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower and Bastille Day fireworks.  We decide that tomorrow will be spent at the palace grounds of Versailles before Kevin flies back to work.

 

So today we are spending the afternoon on Montmartre -- a 427 foot high hill in northern Paris -- exploring the historic neighborhood of artists Salvador Dali, Claude Monet, Pablo Picasso and Vincent van Gogh.

This hilly neighborhood offers some of the most picturesque views of Paris I have seen so far.  The steep streets that wind their way to the top feature artist shops, colorful cafes and historic locations like Moulin de la Galette (one of the original windmills still found on the hill), the stairs of the Rue Foyatier, Bateau Lavoire (Picasso's art studio) and Place du Tertre which is a beautiful square where artists gather to draw and paint under the watchful eye of the awe-inspiring Basilica Sacre-Coeur.  Red, blue and white umbrellas shade the artists as they sketch portraits of wandering tourists.  The cobbled stone streets lead to restaurants where waiters -- wearing black aprons over white shirts -- eagerly invite you in for an afternoon beverage.

Montmartre means "mountain of the martyr" and is named after the martyrdom of bishop Saint Denis who was decapitated by pagan priests atop the hill in 250 AD (the French have a thing about losing their heads). It is said that he picked up his head and continued for 6 miles from the summit of the hill, preaching his sermon the entire way.

During the nineteenth century, Napoleon III gave much of the prime land in proper Paris to his wealthy friends, so that meant the citizens (who were moved out) settled here on the outskirts of town where they quickly established their own rural existence without the rules and regulations of Paris.

As a result, Montmartre quickly became a popular place to drink and be entertained, which led to the establishment of nightclubs like Moulin Rouge and Le Chat Noir.  It was also during  the late 1800s that avant-garde artists began calling Montmartre home.  Pissarro, Degas, Renoir, and Picasso -- who at the time were penniless -- were some of the earliest artists to live in the area.

On par with the twisting and narrow streets is the Basilica Sacre-Coeur, which was built between 1875 and 1914.  The basilica is designed in a Roman-Byzantine style which is in contrast to many other buildings throughout Paris, which were mostly built in a Romanesque style.  Its white travertine stone is interesting because it will exude calcite when it rains.  This reaction is like a bleacher, which ensures that the basilica always remains white.

A highlight of our visit to the basilica is a climb up 300 narrow steps (can you confirm that Colin?) to the top where we look out over the city of Paris.  I am still amazed at how dense and closely constructed the buildings are.  From this height, Paris looks nothing like the city below, with its charming shops and cafes.  Nonetheless, the view -- at 272 feet -- is spectacular with the Eifel Tower in the hazy distance.  We shout down to Liz and Sharon, but the height is too much and our voices get carried across Paris like fog on a cool evening.  As badly as I want Liz up here with me, I don't think she would feel too good about the tight squeeze up the spiral staircase or the dizzying view before me.



"Laisse-moi seule!"  (Leave me alone!)

It is six o'clock in the morning, and the shout can be heard even from the fourth floor of our apartment.  Moments later we hear it again -- "Laisse-moi seule!"  This time with more force and a promise that a punch to the face is not far behind.

Liz and I step to the window and look down on a young couple who are on a bridge walking over the River Seine.  She is wearing a nice dress and high heels, while he has his dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck.  Despite the early morning, it looks like they are just returning from a late night on their way home.

"Wow -- what is she so mad about?" I ask as we watch them stop directly below our window. 

With a push she continues down the river as her partner struggles to stay close.  "Degage!"  She yells again and throws a punch that hits him in the chest.  Having received the message, he wanders to the other side of the street and continues to mirror her step by step.

How appropriate, I think as we turn our back to the window and continue packing our bags.  It's almost like Paris is sending me a message that it is time to leave.  I have been here long enough that I am comfortable walking the streets and no longer feel like I am a stranger in a strange place.  But like all good things, my time has come to leave the excitement of Paris -- with it's historic sites, wonderful cafes and interesting people. 

 

I will miss our end-of-day visits to Berthillon for ice cream, stepping out onto the balcony of the Palais Garnier, the wonderful risotto with scallops at Le Temps De Cerises, and how it stays light until almost eleven each night.  I will close my eyes while in my bed in La Crosse and listen for the boisterous river boats floating by our window -- and miss them.

In some ways, I'm looking forward to returning home.  Away from the constant buzz of traffic, the  thump! thump! of late night music and laughter.  They can have the Metro.  I am not going to miss washing my clothes in a hybrid washing/drying machine that never does what I want.  Nor will I miss climbing these 100 twisting steps that never get easier.

But the good outweighs the bad by a lot.   

I realize that spending time in Paris -- and by osmosis, Europe -- has made me appreciate how different we are as Americans than the rest of the world.   We pride ourselves on being free, and yet it seems so much more relaxed and less restrictive over here.  The French appear less interested in news, politics and money; they enjoy coming in late to work and think nothing about taking the day off if they were out too late the night before.  I am jealous that the French turn off the television and come down to the River Seine with a bottle of wine and some cheese and watch the sun set behind Notre Dame.  

I'm sure I'm romanticizing life in Paris, but I don't care.  This city does that to you.

As I finish packing my suitcase and prepare to leave, I catch a glimpse of a painting on the wall that shows two lovers standing in the rain at the base of the Eiffel Tower.  I have heard Paris called the city of lovers and light.  Having spent just seven days in this beautiful city, it is a little easier to understand why.  

Audrey Hepburn once said "Paris is always a good idea."  For many years that has been a very popular movie phrase when talking about this city.  She is also known for saying that if her world were to end today, she would look back on all the pleasures and excitements -- not the sadness, but the joy of everything else.  In looking back on our short time here in Paris, I can't agree with her more.  I will never forget our time together for one week in July of 2014.

Au Revoir, Paris!