Paris Travel Diaries: Montmartre and Sacre Coueur

This blog post relates to our Paris City Break, taken in April 2011. On our second day, we explored Montmartre and Sacre Coueur. And I put on a little show of my own in a public toilet.

It’s Day 2, and another church bell alarm call. I awake in a panic – someone appears to have cut off my feet in the night. I can’t feel them at all. And when I step out of bed, I almost fall to the floor in a graceful heap. Mr Fletche reassures me that my legs are still intact, and points out that walking ten miles the previous day, and then sleeping in one position all night has resulted in this bizarre numbness. And sure enough, the feeling slowly starts to return, and I am once again complete.

The idea of walking strikes fear into my heart, so we plot our Metro route to Sacre Cœur. Emboldened by our introduction to the Metro by Mr Pepper on arrival, we head to St Michel metro station to catch Line No 4 (aka the Purple One) to Chateau Rouge.

Purchasing tickets is simple from the automated machines. You can handily select your native language if you don’t trust your French.  If you can use the London tube, then Paris works exactly the same. Oh, apart from the manual door handles – no automatic opening doors here. Most tourists going to Sacre Cœur must embark at some other Metro station, because we find ourselves almost alone in a slightly grim area. There’s no sign of the huge basilica which must be around here somewhere. We appear to have disappeared off our pocket “Heart of Paris” map, so we decide to stop for a coffee and a pastry while we find ourselves again.

We figure that that we need to go upwards – and there’s a handily placed flight of steps next to the cafe. Steps, more steps, one more flight… and finally, we approached Sacre Cœur from the rear. As we make our way around the front we find where all the other people went. It’s bustling with tourists, taking photos, chilling, gossiping, listening to the wonderful harpist playing familiar French tunes. I love it up here. The views are marvellous. You can see from here just how tightly packed Paris is. The sun is out and I could spend all day up here just people-watching.

The peace is disturbed slightly by the arrival of the tat-sellers. No, I don’t want a metallic purple Eiffel Tower key-ring. Or a wooden train with my name on it. Or a genuinely fake designer handbag. Which Mr Fletche suggests would be handy to carry all the tat home in.

We wend our way through tiny streets before reaching Place du Tertre. Yes, it’s touristy and I know the ‘traditional’ cafes and stalls and street artists are exaggerated to please the visitors, but hey, I’m a tourist. And I fall under it’s spell completely. The sun is past the yardarm. therefore it’s perfectly acceptable to have a glass of wine at Le Sabot Rouge, whilst watching portraits and caricatures being created right in front of us. We also spy the Frenchest man we think we will ever see.

We leave Place du Tertre behind; and descend what seems like a thousand steps. I am hounded by a ‘bracelet man’, eager to weave me an individual and unique bracelet for “very cheap price”. I am polite but firm with my rebuffal and look around for Mr Fletche to rescue me. Mr Fletche is attached to a bracelet man by a length of string. How can I escape now, when Mr Fletche has been captured? We now have two matching ‘lucky’ bracelets, we’ve lost 10 Euro but gained the “guarantee” that these bracelets will bring us five babies.

As we’re in the area, we have to visit the infamous Moulin Rouge. For a start, it’s the setting of one of the only films that is guaranteed to make me sob my heart out. I can already hear “Come What May” playing softly in my head. To get from Montmartre to the Moulin Rouge, you have to walk through a district that I could only describe as “colourful”. Or maybe “seedy”. You wouldn’t feel comfortable taking your grandma for a stroll down to the famous Red Windmill past some of these shopfronts.

It’s red, it’s iconic, it’s a windmill. But I was a little disappointed. However we’re not here to see a show, simply to pose outside (although I stop short at recreating a full-blown can-can). In fact, I almost create my very own cabaret show right in the middle of Boulevard de Rochechouart. NEVER trust those public toilets with the automatic doors. Only quick-thinking and a well-placed hand protect my modesty. Mr Fletche of course thinks this is all hilariously funny. He can’t quite understand why I refuse to enter another one of these monstrosities. I will wait, I declare haughtily, until I can ensure that my privacy will be assured.

Our Metro Station of choice – Barbes Rochechouart – is quite a trek, but this returns us on our favourite Purple line to Chatelet. Our ultimate destination from here is La Bastille, via Place Des Vosges. We eat a picnic lunch in the shadow of Tour St Jacques. The weather has been much nicer than the previous day, and it’s lovely to just sit and people-watch in Square de la Tour Saint-Jacques – a peaceful oasis among all the hustle and bustle.

The walking is relentless. Mr Fletche keeps dragging me down little streets and alleyways. I’m never quite sure if we’re heading to or away from our destination. We admire the carousels and fountains at Hotel De Ville; the inside-out architecture of the Pompidou Centre; people enjoying the afternoon sunshine around the Stravinsky Fountains and at the beautiful Place Des Vosges; the falafel sellers, bookstores and bistros in Le Marais; finally finding ourselves at the site of La Bastille. I expected something more, well, monumental than a monument surrounded by a traffic roundabout.

It’s been another day with lots of walking so it’s back to home base to rest our aching bones (via Erik Kayser Boulangerie for a couple of chocolate pastries). There’s just one evening left but still so much to see in Paris. So, a quick freshen up, a pastry and it’s back out on the road once more.

First stop is the Pantheon. This is just five minutes from our hotel, and an impressive final resting place for such notable names as Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas and Marie Curie. There are also wonderful views across the city to the Eiffel Tower from Place du Pantheon. We continue on to Jardin du Luxembourg, and enjoy the evening sunshine, joining the ranks of many others doing the same. Leaving the park, we continue on to Saint-Sulpice, another magnificent church and fountain.

Hungry again, we make our way back towards the Seine, and we decide to eat at Rue de la Huchette. It’s still touristy, colourful and noisy but we select a suitable looking establishment and settle down on the heated terrace. I can’t remember the name but the food was good quality and plentiful considering the tourist menu price. The onion soup was amazing (of course, it’s not French Onion soup in Paris) and the wine – quelle surprise – is wonderful.

We purchase the obligatory souvenirs (no metallic purple sparkly Eiffel Tower keyring though). We intend to extend our final evening as much as possible, despite an early start tomorrow morning. So we decide to finish as we started, with a glass of wine of two at The Long Hop. We linger on the outside terrace until they start clearing tables around us, a sign that they want us to move inside.

There’s a music quiz going on inside. Mr Fletche and I LOVE a music quiz. Sadly, this one is halfway through (and they throw in a random French record every so often which throws us completely) so we content ourselves with smugly muttering the answers to ourselves while others struggle and argue. It would be very easy to carry on drinking but we have a 7am alarm set for tomorrow morning, and I don’t fancy the train journey back home with a wine hangover.

Final Morning and Final Thoughts

Happy Birthday Mr Fletche!

It’s harder to get up today than any other – the 7am alarm means we’re going home. No lounging around in a Parisian cafe drinking coffee and eating pastries. No watching the clock to see if it’s ‘wine-time’ yet (always). There’s no time for more photographs of stunning buildings and interesting alleyways. No walking miles and miles and miles. Ok, so I’m thankful for that last one.

It’s time to check out – bill as expected although there’s a slight mix-up when I’m trying to use Mr Fletche’s pin number with my credit card. A taxi is called. We arrive at Gare du Nord with enough time for a final coffee and pastry.

We approached this trip knowing that in two and a half days we wouldn’t be able to see, do or appreciate everything in Paris. However we made the most of every minute that we there. We walked as much as possible, so as not to miss anything between sights. We strayed down alleyways and tiny little streets, and we sat and people-watched – a favourite hobby. And most importantly, Mr Fletche and I enjoyed experiencing this city together.

Bad points? The amount of people demanding money or cigarettes was astounding, particularly around the station and at tourist hotspots. We politely answered everyone; however in a few cases we were met with shouting and muttered insults. This happens in all major cities where there are lots of tourists, but I found that Paris was the worst that I had experienced for this. Although you could eat cheaply with a little research, the price of water and soft drinks was astonishing. Maybe sometimes I didn’t want a glass of wine, and would have preferred a nice chilled Coca-Cola? Ok, who am I kidding?

But despite these minor points, Mr Fletche and I had a wonderful time in Paris. Don’t worry about visiting all the tourist hotspots – they will be there next time – but will you ever again stumble upon that interesting little alleyway which may lead somewhere amazing? Explore!

All photos in this post are a mixture of my own and some of CPF Photography’s very early shots 🙂