Quaint-O-Rama in Montmarte!

Montmarte has more quaint streets per square mile than just about anywhere on earth. The little village on the hill overlooking Paris has been a favorite of artists, actors, philosophers, writers and the folks who love to drink with them for centuries.

Topped by the imposing Sacre Couer, Montmarte offers some of the best views of Paris as well as a dizzying maze of narrow cobble stone streets that wander into open squares where you weave through an endless array of portrait artists who will gladly turn your Euros into a caricature that you will treasure all the way back to the hotel.

As you stroll through these little winding streets, and really, that’s the only way to travel these kinds of streets, its easy to both imagine what it might have been like 200 years ago, staggering up to one of the café’s to drink and talk with local intellectuals and bohemians; as well as forget that these ancient feeling streets are also part of a modern city.

We wove our way downward off of Montmarte and suddenly found ourselves in … a modern city, with traffic, grimy buildings, regular shops and noise. People were walking with purpose and direction. The spell of Montmarte, while not broken, was simply replaced.

Long Island to the Rue de Rivoli

The Rue de Rivoli is the street that borders the north side of the Tuileries and the Louvre. It is lined with a long series of arches that open to a sidewalk that fronts many souvenir shops, café’s and, of course, Angelina, the restaurant famous for it’s hot chocolate.

We had gone there specifically to visit Angelina’s and bring K****’s sister a bag of the precious hot chocolate mix. We had had our lunch and purchased the mix and were just strolling along looking for postcards when we were treated to that most American of American sounds, the classic Long Island Honk of a woman calling out to her husband, “Michael…They’re Jewish in here!”
She wasn’t content with just that, as she insisted on loudly repeating her call several more times, letting all of the tourists walking the street know that the proprietors of that specific shop were in fact Jewish.

I actually suspect that Michael has long since become deaf to that particular Long Island honk tonal range, or at least he wishes that it were so.

Statues are Bored

I noticed something today as I walked around Paris. Statues are, for the most part, bored. Not boring, as their beauty and the skill needed to create them is clearly evident, rather, if you look at their faces you see that they are exquisitely bored.

Their eyes are almost always dull and flat, and sit in a face that is the picture of bland ennui. It makes sense really because what has a statue to do to keep it entertained? After the first several thousand people walk by and point a camera at it, or the millionth gallon of water cascades off of it there just isn’t that much to do.

You sit or stand in some odd pose and then you…um, sit and stand in some odd pose some more. Even Rodin’s Lovers must really be getting tired of kissing each other. I can imagine them thinking, “Boy, it sure would be nice to put on some cloths and go get a ham and cheese sandwich”.