Sacre Bleu It's Sacre-Coeur!
Apr. 17th, 2016 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lupestripeWe had arranged to meet with Matt at 5pm, but fearing a lack of time to do everything we wanted to do, I dropped him a message asking him whether he could push things back until 5:30pm. Fortunately he consented, which gave us a little extra time to get to the Montmarte area of Paris to visit the Sacre-Coeur. I had feared that taking the Metro across the city and having to change lines would result in quite a lengthy journey but the Paris Metro is surprisingly efficient and it didn't take us too long to reach Anvers, from where it was a short walk uphill to the most famous basilica in Paris. As it was a warm sunny afternoon, the entirity of Paris seemed to have congregated in the narrow streets and upon the steps leading up to this hilltop church, meaning that getting up to the top proved somewhat fraught. We could have gone on the fernicular but we were quite surprised with how few steps there were leading to the summit, and as we were heading towards the highest number of steps ever walked on my Fitbit, we opted to push on and do some climbing. Alas the crowds made it difficult as finding a walkway up the steps proved tricky, as they were festoomed with people enjoying an accordian show and drinking Heineken which was being sold by immigrant labour with ice cooler boxes for undoubtedly exorbitant prices. There were also the usual groups selling tourist tat, including our friends the miniature Eiffel Tower model salesmen, but we navigated all of this successfully and were soon standing on the narrow roadside in front of the basilica, gazing at the wonderful panoramic views that such a climb had afforded us. Of course these didn't quite match the view we had had climbing up the stairs of the beautiful symmetrical white domed basilica exuding a crisp whiteness untainted by pollution due to the natural calcite being exuded from the stonework. Founded in 1873 in penance for the French defeat in the Franco-Prussian War, it was constructed on the highest point in the city in an attempt to instil conservative morals in a socialist rebellious neighbourhood. It is certainly imposing and there was a small queue to go inside but surprisingly not as large as I was expecting. This meant we were soon traipsing around in file formation, which did make the visit feel somewhat rigid, but then I suppose it was just an honour to be inside the building at all. The most striking aspect about the interior of the Basilica is the pipe organ and the striking frieze 'Christ in Majesty' on the dome above the main alter designed by Luc-Olivier Merson in 1922 and one of the largest in the world.This adds a brightness to the church which is otherwise quite dark, in deep reds and browns. Interestingly, attonement has been a key theme here since its consecration, with perpetual adoration to the Blessed Sacrement taking place upon the high alter continuously. With photography verboten but most people ignoring the signs, I snuck a few pictures myself before heading back outside, with Wolfie and I deciding to eschew the Dome and Crypt due to my partner's fear of heights and the bohemian streets of Montmartre calling us.
In the latter half of the nineteenth century, Montmartre developed from a small milling village into an artistic hotspot where the likes of Manet, Degas, Renoir, Van Gogh, Toulouse-Lautrec, Picasso and Dali all stayed. Incorporated into Paris in 1860, the affordable and picturesque nautre of Montmartre was a huge draw and indeed in places this rural feel endures. Walking around the narrow streets near Sacre-Coeur, you would be forgiven for thinking you were not in Paris at all, and unsurprisingly there is a fair amount to see here due to its artistic past. We saw the place where Van Gogh lived (54 rue Lepic) between 1886 and 1888, as well as the statue dedicated to Marcel Ayme, which depicts a steel man walking through a wall. It depicts Dutilleul, the protagonist in his short story 'Le Passe-Muraille' and indeed Ayme lived in an adjacent house from 1902 to 1967. Getting a picture of the statue proved tricky as it seemed to be the backdrop to a professional photoshoot, thus proving the area's artistic legacy endures, but we did manage to sneak a quick shot of it. In contrast to the business of Sacre-Coeur, the streets around it were surprisingly quiet, and we enjoyed a thoroughly pleasant stroll looking at some of it's more quirky sights. We spotted the only vinyard in Paris, the Clos Montmartre, dating from 1933 which produces a mere 800 bottles of wine per year. We also saw the quirky Le Lapin a Gill, a characteur of a rabbit jumping out of a cooking pot above the main entrance to local nightclub Au Lapin Agile. Down towards Blanche Metro station, which is where one of Paris's red light districts now is, we were toying with going to the Musee de l'Erotisme but we decided instead to be more high-brow and head over to The Pantheon, near where we were going to meet Matt for dinner. On our way back though, at Abbesses Metro station, which was very difficult to find as there was a market going on around the entrance, we saw one of the most prestine examples of art nouveau design on its 'Metropolitain' sign. Hector Guimard was particularly famed for these and this dark green on lemon version is definitely one of the most striking.
We really were pushing for time now and I feared we wouldn't have enough to see The Pantheon, but as it turned out, the Metro system was efficient and luck was on our side. This meant we surfaced at the Jardin du Luxembourg, only two minutes' walk from The Pantheon, at about 5pm, meaning we had just enough time for a quick look around. The building itself is rather stately, with its neoclassical dome overlooking the Left Bank of the city, and although it did once function as a church, now it is a mausoleum of France's most famous luminaries. Upon entering, the main thing that strikes you is how empty it is, assumedly because its previous function has rendered a lot of the space useless. Set in the middle of the Pantheon however, underneath its impressive dome, is a 67m Foucault pendulum. Through it, in 1851, Léon Foucault demonstrated the rotation of the Earth and it still ticks to this very day. On the walls of the Pantheon there are some interesting frescos but the main area of interest is in the crypt, where the final resting places of many of France's most famed sevants are. There are quite a large number of military heroes here, most of whom I had not heard of, but in amongst them in the warren-like catacombs were Victor Hugo, Voltaire, Rousseau, Louis Braille, and Marie and Pierre Curie. Voltaire's tomb in particular was memorable, of deep red stone with gold flecks, and with grey ornamentation. The reeths over the Curie tombs were also poignant.
Sadly, we didn't really have much time here as we were already running late, so after picking up my third commemorative gold coin of the day (you can't forget the important things), we headed down Rue Saint-Jacques again towards Port Royal and the bar where we were due to meet Matt, Le Academie de la Biere. The range in this place was phenomenal - with a good 100 different bottled beers and twelve on tap - and after noting that Matt was not seated despite us being fifteen minutes tardy, we found a table on the outside terrace and waited for him to arrive. It was only after dropping him a text that he did appear, with him anticipating we would be at Port Royal RER station rather than walking down from the Pantheon. Still, at least we found each other, and with a little time to kill ahead of the meal, we decided to try some of the beer on offer. Matt wasn't drinking as he wanted to work on the train to Bordeaux, where he was heading at 8:30pm for a conference the following week, but Wolfie and I tried two distinctly French beers from their tap list once they had finally got around to serving us, which must have been a good twenty minutes after arriving. To be honest, the beers were okay but not much more than this, while we all ravenously devoured the complementary popcorn which came with it. Indeed, we ended up having a second wicket basket full of popcorn such was its moreish quality and although I know it was only served to get us to drink more, I do wish that establishments in the UK did something similar. That would be most brilliant.
After two evenings having sampled French cuisine, Matt thought we should try something different and recommended a Moroccan restaurant very near the station where he had to catch his train. Called Chez Bebert, this is one of the many restaurants of North African origin in Paris, reflecting the colonial relationship between France and this part of the world. It was a little gaudy inside, of dark mahogeny and gilded gold, perhaps stereotypical in a way but the food was truly excellent. Matt recommended the tagines and although we had had similar gastronomic experiences during our trip to Morocco last year, we thought we would give them another try. We weren't disappointed. Over a half bottle of Algerian wine, we were treated to some of the finest food I have ever had. Matt opted for chicken in lemon, very similar to what I had had in Marrakesh, but I decided to go for lamb and aubergine served with couscous and it was absolutely exquisite. So much so, that it was probably the best meal in Paris and that is saying an awful lot. Furthermore, because the tagines were slightly (but only very slightly) delayed, the proprietor gave us a free sharing starter containing seven or eight different Moroccon tapas dishes which we could dip into. There was potatoes, pickled onion and beets, as well as some olives that Matt and Wolfie attacked wholeheartedly. There was also some cabbage thing which was incredibly difficult to pick up with a cocktail stick. Still, it was a very kind gesture from the owner and I repaid in kind by buying Matt's meal for him in thanks for showing us around the city, sorting out our accommodation and sharing some memorable experiences with us.
Alas soon it was time for his train so we walked him over to the station, saying goodbye before admiring the super-sleek TGVs, wishing we had something like them in England. With a little time before we needed to go back to the B&B, we decided to go to La Fine Mousse in the eastern part of the city, a bar that is widely reputed to be the best in Paris for craft beer (certainly it came up time and again when researching the trip). With my step count close to 35,000 - a good 8,000 over my previous record - we were walking up every set of staircases rather than using the escalators just to get the total higher. This delayed us slightly but we were soon at the bar, finding it pretty easily from Rue St-Maur Metro station. Along the way, on the train, we had an unfortunate experience with a larey Frenchman who wanted to borrow someone's telephone. We refused, along with two others, before he found a nice girl who would lend him her phone to make a call. He pointed at the four of us and complained about none of us helping him, to which I responded that we were English and my phone was out of action (all of which was true). He pulled a funny face and backed down but it was all rather unpleasant, with the rest of the journey feeling somewhat heavy. Still, a good beer was what was needed and La Fine Mousse had them, including at least half from their 20 taps showcasing the best French craft beer available. At least, this is what their website said but when we arrived, only two of the 20 taps were French, with the others coming from largely little-known places from elsewhere. Settling in, we decided to try a good number and although the bar was as expensive as the others for craft beer in Paris, it didn't feel quite so ridiculous here such was the quality of the beer and the service. Indeed, the barkeep was very talkative and told me a lot - in English - about the beer while a little later on, an American from Columbus, Ohio, overheard us talking and asked if he could join us. He was a really nice guy and very knowledgable about beer, telling us that he was in Paris on business related to the energy sector. He had been to La Fine Mousse before but as he was travelling on his own, he was grateful for the company. We ended up spending a good hour talking to him about a range of subjects, including Donald Trump from memory, before we all needed to head off shortly before 11pm. He even invited us back to his hotel room to sample some more beer but we had to get back to the B&B as it was getting late and we had to be up reasonably early for our trip to the Louvre the next morning. After swapping contact information, we said goodbye, but not before I bought two cans of Moor Brewery beer for our B&B hosts, who had intimated on the Saturday morning that they wanted to try some British craft beer. Hopefully they will like them. Due to a different final destination, we walked to another Metro stop, Menilmontant, which we easily found before embarking on a rather uncomfortable hour long journey home where I rather desperately needed a pee. Fortunately, we got back just in time.
In the latter half of the nineteenth century, Montmartre developed from a small milling village into an artistic hotspot where the likes of Manet, Degas, Renoir, Van Gogh, Toulouse-Lautrec, Picasso and Dali all stayed. Incorporated into Paris in 1860, the affordable and picturesque nautre of Montmartre was a huge draw and indeed in places this rural feel endures. Walking around the narrow streets near Sacre-Coeur, you would be forgiven for thinking you were not in Paris at all, and unsurprisingly there is a fair amount to see here due to its artistic past. We saw the place where Van Gogh lived (54 rue Lepic) between 1886 and 1888, as well as the statue dedicated to Marcel Ayme, which depicts a steel man walking through a wall. It depicts Dutilleul, the protagonist in his short story 'Le Passe-Muraille' and indeed Ayme lived in an adjacent house from 1902 to 1967. Getting a picture of the statue proved tricky as it seemed to be the backdrop to a professional photoshoot, thus proving the area's artistic legacy endures, but we did manage to sneak a quick shot of it. In contrast to the business of Sacre-Coeur, the streets around it were surprisingly quiet, and we enjoyed a thoroughly pleasant stroll looking at some of it's more quirky sights. We spotted the only vinyard in Paris, the Clos Montmartre, dating from 1933 which produces a mere 800 bottles of wine per year. We also saw the quirky Le Lapin a Gill, a characteur of a rabbit jumping out of a cooking pot above the main entrance to local nightclub Au Lapin Agile. Down towards Blanche Metro station, which is where one of Paris's red light districts now is, we were toying with going to the Musee de l'Erotisme but we decided instead to be more high-brow and head over to The Pantheon, near where we were going to meet Matt for dinner. On our way back though, at Abbesses Metro station, which was very difficult to find as there was a market going on around the entrance, we saw one of the most prestine examples of art nouveau design on its 'Metropolitain' sign. Hector Guimard was particularly famed for these and this dark green on lemon version is definitely one of the most striking.
We really were pushing for time now and I feared we wouldn't have enough to see The Pantheon, but as it turned out, the Metro system was efficient and luck was on our side. This meant we surfaced at the Jardin du Luxembourg, only two minutes' walk from The Pantheon, at about 5pm, meaning we had just enough time for a quick look around. The building itself is rather stately, with its neoclassical dome overlooking the Left Bank of the city, and although it did once function as a church, now it is a mausoleum of France's most famous luminaries. Upon entering, the main thing that strikes you is how empty it is, assumedly because its previous function has rendered a lot of the space useless. Set in the middle of the Pantheon however, underneath its impressive dome, is a 67m Foucault pendulum. Through it, in 1851, Léon Foucault demonstrated the rotation of the Earth and it still ticks to this very day. On the walls of the Pantheon there are some interesting frescos but the main area of interest is in the crypt, where the final resting places of many of France's most famed sevants are. There are quite a large number of military heroes here, most of whom I had not heard of, but in amongst them in the warren-like catacombs were Victor Hugo, Voltaire, Rousseau, Louis Braille, and Marie and Pierre Curie. Voltaire's tomb in particular was memorable, of deep red stone with gold flecks, and with grey ornamentation. The reeths over the Curie tombs were also poignant.
Sadly, we didn't really have much time here as we were already running late, so after picking up my third commemorative gold coin of the day (you can't forget the important things), we headed down Rue Saint-Jacques again towards Port Royal and the bar where we were due to meet Matt, Le Academie de la Biere. The range in this place was phenomenal - with a good 100 different bottled beers and twelve on tap - and after noting that Matt was not seated despite us being fifteen minutes tardy, we found a table on the outside terrace and waited for him to arrive. It was only after dropping him a text that he did appear, with him anticipating we would be at Port Royal RER station rather than walking down from the Pantheon. Still, at least we found each other, and with a little time to kill ahead of the meal, we decided to try some of the beer on offer. Matt wasn't drinking as he wanted to work on the train to Bordeaux, where he was heading at 8:30pm for a conference the following week, but Wolfie and I tried two distinctly French beers from their tap list once they had finally got around to serving us, which must have been a good twenty minutes after arriving. To be honest, the beers were okay but not much more than this, while we all ravenously devoured the complementary popcorn which came with it. Indeed, we ended up having a second wicket basket full of popcorn such was its moreish quality and although I know it was only served to get us to drink more, I do wish that establishments in the UK did something similar. That would be most brilliant.
After two evenings having sampled French cuisine, Matt thought we should try something different and recommended a Moroccan restaurant very near the station where he had to catch his train. Called Chez Bebert, this is one of the many restaurants of North African origin in Paris, reflecting the colonial relationship between France and this part of the world. It was a little gaudy inside, of dark mahogeny and gilded gold, perhaps stereotypical in a way but the food was truly excellent. Matt recommended the tagines and although we had had similar gastronomic experiences during our trip to Morocco last year, we thought we would give them another try. We weren't disappointed. Over a half bottle of Algerian wine, we were treated to some of the finest food I have ever had. Matt opted for chicken in lemon, very similar to what I had had in Marrakesh, but I decided to go for lamb and aubergine served with couscous and it was absolutely exquisite. So much so, that it was probably the best meal in Paris and that is saying an awful lot. Furthermore, because the tagines were slightly (but only very slightly) delayed, the proprietor gave us a free sharing starter containing seven or eight different Moroccon tapas dishes which we could dip into. There was potatoes, pickled onion and beets, as well as some olives that Matt and Wolfie attacked wholeheartedly. There was also some cabbage thing which was incredibly difficult to pick up with a cocktail stick. Still, it was a very kind gesture from the owner and I repaid in kind by buying Matt's meal for him in thanks for showing us around the city, sorting out our accommodation and sharing some memorable experiences with us.
Alas soon it was time for his train so we walked him over to the station, saying goodbye before admiring the super-sleek TGVs, wishing we had something like them in England. With a little time before we needed to go back to the B&B, we decided to go to La Fine Mousse in the eastern part of the city, a bar that is widely reputed to be the best in Paris for craft beer (certainly it came up time and again when researching the trip). With my step count close to 35,000 - a good 8,000 over my previous record - we were walking up every set of staircases rather than using the escalators just to get the total higher. This delayed us slightly but we were soon at the bar, finding it pretty easily from Rue St-Maur Metro station. Along the way, on the train, we had an unfortunate experience with a larey Frenchman who wanted to borrow someone's telephone. We refused, along with two others, before he found a nice girl who would lend him her phone to make a call. He pointed at the four of us and complained about none of us helping him, to which I responded that we were English and my phone was out of action (all of which was true). He pulled a funny face and backed down but it was all rather unpleasant, with the rest of the journey feeling somewhat heavy. Still, a good beer was what was needed and La Fine Mousse had them, including at least half from their 20 taps showcasing the best French craft beer available. At least, this is what their website said but when we arrived, only two of the 20 taps were French, with the others coming from largely little-known places from elsewhere. Settling in, we decided to try a good number and although the bar was as expensive as the others for craft beer in Paris, it didn't feel quite so ridiculous here such was the quality of the beer and the service. Indeed, the barkeep was very talkative and told me a lot - in English - about the beer while a little later on, an American from Columbus, Ohio, overheard us talking and asked if he could join us. He was a really nice guy and very knowledgable about beer, telling us that he was in Paris on business related to the energy sector. He had been to La Fine Mousse before but as he was travelling on his own, he was grateful for the company. We ended up spending a good hour talking to him about a range of subjects, including Donald Trump from memory, before we all needed to head off shortly before 11pm. He even invited us back to his hotel room to sample some more beer but we had to get back to the B&B as it was getting late and we had to be up reasonably early for our trip to the Louvre the next morning. After swapping contact information, we said goodbye, but not before I bought two cans of Moor Brewery beer for our B&B hosts, who had intimated on the Saturday morning that they wanted to try some British craft beer. Hopefully they will like them. Due to a different final destination, we walked to another Metro stop, Menilmontant, which we easily found before embarking on a rather uncomfortable hour long journey home where I rather desperately needed a pee. Fortunately, we got back just in time.
