Footloose in Paris

We awoke to another wonderful morning in Paris. After we showered and got dressed we headed off to explore Paris. Our primary reason for coming to Paris had been to go to Le Cordon Bleu –we did that on Monday so now we were free to do whatever, wherever. Our objective today was to check out Montmartre and so we left the hotel, walked across the street and hopped on the metro. (photo: wall in Montmartre.)

We didn’t have to switch trains since the no. 12 went right from our stop to Abbesses, where we got off and walked into a very different world. Montmarte, with panoramic views of the city, is certainly unlike the Paris where our hotel is located, funkier and with a flavor of what an older Paris might have looked like before the age of steel and glass, commercial yes but on a very small scale only – neat shops, fruit and vegetable stands along the sidewalks, plenty of exotic food to go, and of course cheese shops – filled with every sort of goat cheese imaginable, or so it seemed to me.

Of more immediate importance we quickly found the one thing we had been looking for since we arrived in Paris: a boulangerie that was also a café, and in this case we struck gold: Coquelicot. Located on the rue des Abbesses, just a block or so from the metro stop, the café looked fascinating from the street and so the food and service proved even more so. Nor would this be the last time we would visit this wonderful little café -- we returned there for lunch where I had one of the best goat cheese salads I have ever eaten. We had a delicious breakfast of croissant and coffee, talked about what we would like to do that morning and then headed off in the direction of – what else – a cemetery.

We walked down rue des Abbesses and found our way in ten minutes or so to Montmartre cemetery, the final resting place of Hector Berlioz, Edgar Degas, Alexandre Dumas, Heinrich Heine, Adolphe Sax (that’s right the inventor of the saxophone), Francois Truffaut and although we couldn’t locate Albert Dreyfus’ grave the day before in Montparnasse we did find his strongest and most vocal defender, the writer Emile Zola! What a place – what lives, what history. (photo: Dumas' resting place.)

We spent a wonderful morning wandering around this fantastic place, taking in the sculptures, the flowers, and the lives of these “permanent” Parisians before heading off to find the famous Moulin Rouge. Located about 5 minutes from the cemetery entrance the Red Windmill is in the midst of a variety of sex-shops, movie theaters and video arcades advertising their one-dimensional features, with a sprinkling of cafes and funky shops.

(The word of the day is “funky.”)

We walked up rue Lepic back to rue des Abbesses and then over to take the funiculaire (cable car) up to Sacre Coeur, the massive church overlooking Paris. (You could walk but we thought why not take the cable car up and walk down? Which is what we did of course.) We took a swing through the church – fairly unimpressive after the churches of Italy I’m afraid and of course after Notre Dame but the views are stunning to be sure. We then walked around the “butte” before wending our way back down to rue des Abbesses – which is still pretty high up above the city mind you – where we had lunch at Coquelicot.

After lunch we left the cool little area around rue des Abbesses and walked down to the metro stop at Pigalle – a name that somehow seems to perfectly describe the ambience of this particular area, an are quite similar to what we found just a short ways away near the Moulin Rouge if you get my drift. Anyway we got on the number 2 line (dark blue) and took it to the Pere Lachaise stop – our objective? Yes, that’s right, Pere Lachaise cemetery, probably Paris’ most famous cemetery, and the final resting place of: Balzac, Sarah Bernhardt, Georges Bizet, Maria Callas, Chopin, Delacroix, Gustave Dore, Isadora Duncan, Jim Morrison, Pissaaro, Poulenc, Proust, Rossini, Gertrude Stein, Oscar Wilde, and Richard Wright. And the place is HUGE! I can’t wait to do some serious exploration later this year. And the place just begs to be photographed (over and over and over . . . ).

We thought Jim Morrison’s grave rather disappointing – it’s sort of tucked in between a couple of large graves and the stone itself is somewhat unassuming with very few flowers at least when we visited. There is a security guard there all the time now to prevent anyone disturbing the other graves or defacing any of the surrounding stones with graffiti etc. Nor would they let anyone take pictures – possibly having some to do with the Bush administration’s fear of intelligence leakers -- although many (of us) did photograph surreptiously. Moreover, We found it curious that just below his name and dates of birth/death is an inscription in Greek.

The one other person in the cemetery which everyone we encountered seemed to be looking for was also a musician and we thought he garnered at least as much attention if not more than Jim Morrison: Frederic Chopin. People were having their pictures taken in front of his headstone and the entire area was filled with freshly cut flowers too. Remarkable.

As the cemetery readied to close we strolled back to the metro stop and took the next train to Notre Dame. We strolled in the Latin Quarter and quickly appreciated why the better guidebooks recommend not staying in the area. One example will suffice: we were strolling down a tiny sidestreet not far from the Seine, choked with tourists – at least they all looked like us rather dazed and slightly clueless, and lined with Greek food shops which sported middle-aged men standing out front hawking their menus in loud voices, sort of like the “girlie” show hawkers at the old county fair carnivals in the American Midwest. Nothing looked attractive in the least, neither the people nor the menus so we scuttled off and headed toward St. Germain a short distance by foot but light-years away in virtually every other respect.

We found a nice outdoor café, sat and had an aperitif. From there we walked 10 minutes or so over to rue Dauphine which runs into the Pont Neuf at the Seine, and found the Indian restaurant we had eaten at 8 years ago, Yugaraj. We stepped inside – and immediately commented on how small it seemed now. Of course my memory had expanded the size considerably over the years. But the service was still terrific and the food outstanding, if a bit on the pricey side. (14 rue Dauphine; ph: 01 43 26 44 91, www.yugaraj.com.)

After dinner we walked over to the Odeon metro stop on St. Germain and headed back to the hotel.