Paris - Montemartre

Hé, le miel, je suis sur le papier de toilette, pouvez-vous me jeter un rouleau?  Isn’t that pretty?  French is considered one of the romance languages, and it looks nice in print and sounds nice rolling off the tongue.  In English, the sentence above says, “Hey, honey, I’m out of toilet paper, can you throw me a roll?”  Dang, I feel unrefined just writing that.  The history of languages is long and involved and holds my interest for about as long as it takes to read a compound sentence, but French is a language that has endured through the millennia to the chagrin of many high school students who wish they had signed up for Spanish.  In the US, we give a lot of help to consumers by offering instructions in many languages on signage, food packaging, and product labels at the Home Depot.  The French haughtily withhold such assistance as I could attest while standing in the market aisle wondering if I was selecting goat cheese or spackling compound.  At least I can decipher labels on the wine bottles well enough.

Paris was settled about 300 BC by a Celtic tribe called the Parisii, and they began building at a major trade junction on the Isle de la Cite, a convenient point for crossing the Seine River.  I’ve taught a lot of history to my kids over the last few days; so forgive me when I say that a whole bunch of stuff happened in Paris over the last two-thousand years, and now it’s home to two-million people, the majority of them working in the commerce industry.  How’s that for an abridged version of Parisian history?  Paris is known as the City of Light due to its designation as a place of enlightenment in the 18th century and its adoption of street lighting in the late 19th century.  A lot of famous people were born in Paris including Voltaire, Marquis de Sade, Claude Monet, René LaCoste, Inspector Jacques Clouseau, and Pepe LePew.  In American schools, students are presented a romanticised view of the Lost Generation, a group of expatriate writers, including Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald, who lived in Paris, drank a lot, and wrote about drinking a lot.

Rene LaCoste Rocking a Throwback Izod

Our status as American expatriates living in Paris expires in three more days, so we reviewed our list of must-do activities and decided that we would spend the afternoon exploring the area of Montmartre and then splurge on dinner at a traditional French restaurant recommended by our host, Franck.  The children spent the morning with their laptops while Deena and I walked to the nearby markets and purchased supplies for the day.  Living within walking distance of well-stocked grocery stores over the last few weeks has introduced us to a way of life that we’ve come to enjoy very much.  We have the option to decide what foods we would like to eat during the next day or so, then enjoy a nice walk to pick out fresh breads, fruits, and vegetables along with meats and cheeses.  We’ve been eating simple meals prepared from quality ingredients, and I’m pleased with our overall diet.  Lest I sound too high and mighty with the superior diet, we’ve also been treating ourselves to the local pastries washed down with plenty of Coca-Cola, so in many ways we’re still rooted firmly in the States.

With a loose agenda for the afternoon, we boarded the metro bound for Montmarte, a famous neighborhood located on a 130 meter hill in the 18th arrondissement.  The area is known for its sweeping views of Paris, artists' community, restaurants, and our main target, the basilica of Sacre Coeur.  The sky was still cloudy, but thankfully the rain had moved on and visibility was promising.  The air felt cool and fresh as we walked from the metro to the base of the long stairway leading up to the pinnacle of Montmartre.  For the cost of a subway ticket, one can conquer the stairs by riding the funicular, the method of ascension Deena and I elected to employ considering my working man's knees.  Touting their superior physiques, the children decided to race us on foot and lorded their victory over us for several minutes while trying to disguise their need for extra oxygen.

The basilica of Sacre Coeur was constructed between 1875 and 1914 and sits at the highest point in the city of Paris.  The children enjoyed taking panoramic shots of the city, slightly disappointed that the Eiffel Tower wasn’t visible from this vantage point.  We took a leisurely stroll through the church and took notice of the fine art and stone work displayed there.  Located slightly downhill from Sacre Coeur is the artists' square surrounded by cafes and souvenir shops.  As we approached the square, I was thinking, “Cue the breezy accordion music,” and darned if someone didn’t start playing an accordion a few moments later.  I kept looking around expecting to see the ghost of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec prancing among the artists’ stalls as we matched steps with the rest of the tourists milling around the square.  Considering human genetics, the tourist gene is difficult to fight, and we had to resist mightily the urge to purchase watercolors and silhouettes. Joseph finally succumbed and bought a t-shirt.

Sacre Coeur - I like this one

The Kids at Sacre Coeur

With a dinner destination in mind, we took our time descending the hill and winding our way through the picturesque streets of Montmartre.  After walking a couple of miles, we arrived at Le Bouillon de Chartier, a restaurant established in 1896 and loved by locals and tourists alike.  It’s known for quality French cuisine at reasonable prices and ambience appreciated by foodies from all parts of the globe.  At 5:30 the big dinner crowd had yet to assemble; so we were seated right away by a friendly waiter wearing a crisp white shirt, black bow tie, and white apron.  It may have been the orange daypack, but somehow he knew we weren’t local and spoke to us in English and promised us guidance through the menu choices.  

The main dining room was airy with a twenty-foot ceiling and rich paneled walls darkened from many decades of varnish.  Pink and white cloths covered the tables which lined the rosy-veined brown marble wainscoting.  With our waiter’s help, we ordered three entrees including rib eye steak, roast chicken, and pork stew with a shrimp and avocado starter—a fabulous selection.  We shared everything, and there were plenty of pomme frites to go around. Our favorite item was the pork stew, simmered slowly with savory herbs, tender carrots, and buttery potatoes.  Dessert was 100-proof rum cake and a chocolate cake/ice cream/almond concoction that was so good I wanted to rub it all over me.  Our table was a six-seater and halfway through our meal, the waiter seated a very young couple, probably on their honeymoon, right beside us even though the restaurant was still sparsely populated.  We had already pilfered the extra napkins from the place settings and spilled wine on that section of the table, but hey, I guess that’s how they do things en Francais.  No big deal, we finished up, paid our bill, and walked out full of good French food and a fun memory.

Le Boullion Chartier

Le Food

Kids at the Metro

We walked along the large boulevard near our restaurant and did some window shopping. There was still a good bit of daylight left, but I sensed that everyone was getting weary of the surroundings.  I did what every red-blooded American Southern boy would do in that situation and said, “Hey, y’all wanna go see the Eiffel Tower?”  That question was met with wide eyes and eager smiles, and all of a sudden we had the spark we needed to finish the day Parisian style.

We have an appointment scheduled to ride up the Eiffel Tower on our last night, but the little preview we had from the Trocadero Plaza was enticing.  We took lots of goofy pictures along with the other tourists and I’m sure the social media channels were bulging from my kids’ postings.  The tower looked like it had been dipped in liquid plastic, and I determined that it must be maintained by a top-notch paint crew.  Fun fact:  since 1965 the Eiffel Tower has been painted with a custom color called Eiffel Tower Brown.  

What a fun day full of learning, culture, and food.  Deena and I fearfully went over the ledger when we got home ready for the guilt our fine living would bring.  To our surprise, even with the extra transportation expense and the dinner splurge, we hit our daily budget number right on the head.  Vive La France!