Monday began clear with not a rain cloud in sight. Normally Pascal's would be closed on Monday but since this was the week of the "Big Chocolates" he told Susie the day before when we stopped in the shop that they were all going to be there to begin the prep work on all this chocolate "stuff".
So Susan had left for Pascal's at a little before 6:00 a.m. She called me shortly afterwards to say that there was no one there. So she waited. And waited. And waited. Nobody. Nothing. Niente. Zilch. Zero. About 6:40 she walked across the street to a hotel, borrowed a piece of paper and some scotch tape and left a message on the door of the shop saying she had been there and left her phone number, and then came home.
Sometime after 9:00 a.m. Pascal called and said he was sorry about the miscommunication but could she come in now? (Apparently there had been a last-minute time change and he couldn't find her number.) So in she went. a little later we learned that she was probably going to be there the remainder of the day and so Joyce and I decided we were going to explore on our own. And so we did.
We walked over to pick up the no. 5 metro at Austerlitz and then switched to the no. 8 at Bastille, and got off at Barbes Rochechouart. We discovered that this area is not your average tourist stop: upon exiting the metro one is met by all shapes, sizes and ages of males selling everything from Marlboros (two-packs shoved through the iron grates of the metro stop at would-be purchasers) to watches to . . . well who knows. I mean would you buy a box of Chanel No. 5 shoved out at you by a man who looks like Saddam Hussein's older brother?
But it was a nice day for a stroll up the less-than-lovely-but-very-much-alive Boulevard de rochechouart and before long we left the teeming masses (and teeming they were) and soon found ourselves heading up rue de Steinkerque toward the big, white church of Sacre Coeur.
Climbing the steps toward the church and the top certain warmed one up fast -- but it also gave Joyce an opportunity to see the city sink beneath us bit-by-bit. The view from the top was wonderful, as always, and of course the place was packed with people. It was after all, a beautiful sunny day (more or less).
After walking through the interior of the church we strolled over to the Place du Tertre where a couple of dozen artists were set up, some working on their art, others working on the tourists. But it was nice not to have that terrible crush of flesh that one experiences in Montmartre in the summer. For that we were thankful indeed.
We walked down the hill toward rue des Abbesses and then on down toward Boulevard de Clichy so Joyce could snap a few photos of the Moulin Rouge. From there we hopped on the metro (no. 2), changed at Stalingrad (to the no. 5) and headed home. Susie showed up soon afterwards. She wasn't quite sure what they had accomplished that day since so much of it was all prep work for what will apparently come later in the week.
For our part, Joyce and I had accomplished quite a bit.
Wish you were here,
Steve
No comments:
Post a Comment