Saturday we drove from Aix back to Paris, ditched the car at Charles de Gaulle (good riddance), and took a taxi to Montmartre. In Aix I *loved* going out every morning to the boulanger and trilling "Bonjour Madame! Un pain au chocolat et deux croissants!" in my faux poseur French singsong. I know it was wrong, but it was so fun. So, we rebelled against the 15 euro breakfast at the hotel, and I brought some pastries back to the hotel. Coffee-to-go, however, could not be found, so our first stop on the tour of the day was a cafe around the corner for cafe au lait. Mom and Roberta were delighted to discover that it was the Cafe des Deux Moulins, the cafe in the movie Amelie. Mom and Roberta with Amelie:
Coffee fortified, we headed out and wandered up the hill toward Sacre Coeur. The Rick Steves guidebook I borrowed from mom was from 2007 and was kind of crapping on Montmartre as being a bit seedy. I suspected gentrification had set in a la Times Square, but not entirely, as evidenced by this crack pipe we noticed on the sidewalk:
View of Paris, sort of, from Montmartre:
Right around the corner from Sacre Coeur is the Place du Tertre, lined with cafes and absolutely jam-packed with artists eager to sketch your picture. It was still early enough when we got there that there were few people to sketch, so the paint-splattered artists were still relaxing and drinking their coffee:
We made the obligatory pass by the crowded and apparently urine-drenched Sacre Coeur (man, it stunk on the plaza in front of the basilica), then headed off to better-smelling environs on the back side of the Montmartre butte. Mom, in front of the Lapin Agile, one of the cabarets attended by the likes of Picasso and Toulouse-Lautrec, still going:
A view of the last vineyard in Paris, from the recommended Museum of Montmartre:
Sweet Montmartre ride:
The Moulin de la Galette, one of Montmartre's few remaining windmills:
Lovely Sacre Coeur, later in the day when the pee smell had somewhat dissipated, but the hordes had moved in:
Coffee fortified, we headed out and wandered up the hill toward Sacre Coeur. The Rick Steves guidebook I borrowed from mom was from 2007 and was kind of crapping on Montmartre as being a bit seedy. I suspected gentrification had set in a la Times Square, but not entirely, as evidenced by this crack pipe we noticed on the sidewalk:
View of Paris, sort of, from Montmartre:
Right around the corner from Sacre Coeur is the Place du Tertre, lined with cafes and absolutely jam-packed with artists eager to sketch your picture. It was still early enough when we got there that there were few people to sketch, so the paint-splattered artists were still relaxing and drinking their coffee:
We made the obligatory pass by the crowded and apparently urine-drenched Sacre Coeur (man, it stunk on the plaza in front of the basilica), then headed off to better-smelling environs on the back side of the Montmartre butte. Mom, in front of the Lapin Agile, one of the cabarets attended by the likes of Picasso and Toulouse-Lautrec, still going:
A view of the last vineyard in Paris, from the recommended Museum of Montmartre:
Sweet Montmartre ride:
The Moulin de la Galette, one of Montmartre's few remaining windmills:
Lovely Sacre Coeur, later in the day when the pee smell had somewhat dissipated, but the hordes had moved in:
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