Oct 31st Montmartre and Orso

Friday - Vendredi

Morning coffee then gathered our wine-soaked wits and headed out for Montmarte, intending to see the Sacre Coeur church and more. 

Our local #2 line took us directly to the base of the hill and we avoided the funicular and got in some steps going up and up.  I can report that we were not the only people to have that idea in that the crowds were fairly large.  Nonetheless, the steps and access is spread out so it’s an easy enough climb.  The ascent affords some amazing views of Paris, including the cemetery next to where we are staying and the park we walked on Monday.

From the steps leading to the Sacre Coeur Cathedral

There was a long line of folks to do the walk through of the church so we passed that on by to seek a quieter area and came upon the Musèe de Montmarte where, for 15 euros, you can be transported back to when Renoir and one Suzanne Valadon among many others created the Ècole de Paris art and cultural scene. 

Metallic silhouettes used in filmic projections used to tell stories behind music and song. Sort of grand, sad tales of struggle and loss around the approaching modernity. Or just something to ooh and aah at while drinking absinthe.

This museum was well worth it, not only for the absence of hoi polloi with their baby strollers and grandma’s and bored kids and harried looks, but also because it gives out a great history of the area, its rise and fall as an artist colony and vibrant scene, but includes plenty of original art arranged to help tell the story.  Also, we had quiche.

A quiet place to contemplate both for Renoir and for us.

A lot of it has to do with this guy. Sad faced, if fashionable, ennui amidst the turmoil of life.

Also, her. Same ennui in between songs.

And a whole lot about the Chat Noir. Lurking everywhere.

This too. A parade of sybarites and sylphs and ballerina angels led by a guy who has just blown his brains out.

After that, we did get in the church line -- lot of souls to save! -- which turned out to be quick and we wandered through Sacre Couer and stopped at the gift shop which has everything for the Catholic in your life.  (only 2 euros to light a small candle).

Built in the late 1800's to mitigate the sins which had brought France low, and to great dismay from the locals, (see above) Sacre Cœur is nonetheless quite impressive.

There was no place to go but down from there.

Downward we traveled to see the lowest of the low, the Moulin Rouge, the fanciest joint on a street lined with strip clubs and cabarets and  sex shops, with names like “Sex Shop” and “Hot Sex Shop” and a pop-up Halloween-themed shop called “Boo-lingerie”. (Just kidding, but not.)   It was like suddenly emerging on a kind of sex-definitely-a-positive Bourbon Street, but the barkers took one look at us and didn’t even bother to raise their eyebrows hopefully. 

By the way, moulin just means mill.  The Red Mill.  Like Bob's, instead of ground flax seed you get spelt. That was the dirtiest sounding obscure grain I could think of. Here’s a picture:

Yes, you Can Can! We did Not Not.

We looked for a Metro to get to the Latin Quarter and  more respectable places, like Shakespeare and Company.  We bought a couple of books — I got Kerouac’s Satori in Paris, in tribute to the two middle-aged American men talking Beat bonafides wistfully, whom I avoided engaging on the topic though every fiber of my being was trying to pull me in — and wandered around there and eventually down the street until we found an excellent little restaurant for wine: Bistro des Augustins. Just a little gem of a place tucked on the Quai des Grands Augustins, next to the Seine. The little restaurants are often the best.   We would have stayed for dinner had we not already planned for a full dinner at Orso.

Once again, our little local restaurant (cantine?) did not disappoint.  But this time we did the whole dinner.  I started with four more of the Normandy oysters, amazing and succulent and served with only a small squeeze of lemon as the languid half shell oysters are laying in a liquor which is as clean and salty as baby tears.  I have eaten millions of raw oysters.  I really don’t remember any off hand.  But I will never forget those.  For my main I had a cabbage leaf stuffed with a pork sausage and carrot mixture that was impossibly perfect. A combination of pork fat and soft green leaf.  Kathy had the grilled sole dish.  Dessert was some ridiculously dense and decadent chocolate cake and a sort of cookie with a meringue on it and blueberry sauce.   People around us were doing the same with the dessert which was to keep scraping the dregs out as if you could dig more out of the porcelain cup it came in.  I embarrassed myself praising the chef before we left.  Simping it up with bad French and appreciation.

Je t'adore!

From there, we weaved our way the few steps to the apartment, knowing tomorrow was our exit.