Montmartre

Christopher Robin asked Pooh, "What's the first thing you think about in the morning?" Pooh replied, "What's for breakfast?" Christopher Robin said, "I think: 'What wonderful thing is going to happen to me today.'" Pooh said, "It's the same thing."

The French call breakfast le petit dejeuner, the "little lunch," but there's nothing little about the way we do it. The croissants are by far the most popular, but quiches, fruit, sausage rolls, baguettes, olive oil, raisin rolls, cheeses, ham, and saucisson (salami) fill in the corners. It's a good thing we walk a lot here.

After breakfast we all piled into a maxi taxi (there are seven of us now) and went out to the Porte de Clignancourt to the Paris Flea Market, just outside the gates of Paris to the north. I had heard intimidating things about the event (vast acreage, crowds, avid salespeople, pickpockets), but this October Monday it was small and sedate. My family seemed happy with the merchandise and the prices. J.C. (aka Imelda Marcos) managed to buy a pair of fashionable shoes for 20 euros.

From there we walked up to the Montmartre. The Montmartre is Paris's most prominent hill, and before the second half of the 1800s it was sparsely populated. Since it was outside the Paris city limits and free from Paris taxes, and because it was settled by a convent of nuns that ran a vinery, it became a popular drinking hangout. When the Emperor Napoleon III and his architect Hausmann cleared the center of Paris to make room for the wide streets and monuments that we know today, much of the Paris population moved out into the suburbs, including the Montmartre. When Camille Pisarro moved there in the 1860s the area became a haven for artists, including Monet, Toulouse-Lautrec, Van Gogh, Matisse, and Picasso. Much of the revolutionary fervor of the Impressionist and Post-Impressionist movement was fueled by the freedom of the Montmartre. At the turn of the century it became known for its clubs and bars, including the famous Moulin Rouge.

To get atop it you need to ascend increasingly steep streets that inevitably culminate in breathtaking flights of stairs. All the way up the Parisians teach how to create a beautiful living space. Every landing has trees and flowers, every window a work of art. Each building has its architect's name carved in stone on the wall.

The greatest crimes against beauty in the history of the human race are created by builders (and their customers) who have no understanding or appreciation for principles of beauty in architecture. Help stamp out architectural ignorance! Study the history of architecture today!

Mom won the laurels and booked it to the top and all the way back down again with all the determination of Rocky Balboa.

At the top we saw the famously gaudy Sacré Coeur—

—as well as St. Pierre, reputedly the oldest church in Paris, built on foundations of a Roman temple to Mars, constructed by the first Merovingian kings, and extensively remodeled in the early 1100s. It has a Romanesque look on the outside and Gothic arches on the in, with modern stained glass by Max Ingrand.

The sunny day made the glass especially lovely and cast color all over the walls and floors.

I made friends with the church lady, who shushed
everyone who came in (including Mom) but who gave me a personal, generous, and detailed tour. She didn't want her picture taken, but Evelyn is tenacious.

The Montmartre hill also features a spectacular view of Paris far below. Truly worth the climb!










Tonight we had sandwiches in front of the fountain of St. Sulpice, and then walked over to Notre Dame, mostly because J.C. wanted a crepe with Nutella.