Taking the subway to Montmarte drops me off at Pigalle, the middle of the sex district, which according to my geography is at the very bottom of the hill that is Montmarte. The Moulin Rouge can be found here.
Heading up the hill, and many flights of stairs tucked in alleyways, I make it to the top of Montmarte to find... tourists. Montmarte is known for being a neighborhood where many famous artists kept their studios. Many of the same artists whose work I loved seeing at the Musee d'Orsay. A centralized area at the top of the hill capitalizes on this with many artists selling their work, reproductions of many French posters for sale in gift shops, and the occasional street musician and living statue (not nearly as well done as the ones in Barcelona).
The Sacre Coeur cathedral also sits at the very top of this hill, which has a lovely view of the entire city, except, sadly, the Eiffel Tower cannot be seen.
I wandered around this area, did some shopping. I picked up several French posters to add to my collection back home and I purchased a more expensive scarf, so that I could feel even more Parisian.
Leaving the touristy area, I wandered around Montmarte, which seems very quaint and residential. I wished I could live here.
Some signs pointed the way to the Montmarte Cemetary, and so I thought why not, I'll have a look. I loved seeing the cats sunning themselves on the crypts.
My plan for the evening involved taking the subway back to the Champs-Elysees to pick up some of Paris's most famous cookie, the colorful macaroons at Laduree. I waited in line with many other people who had the same agenda.
I took my Vanilla, Butter Chocolate, Coconut, Pistachio, Lemon and Raspberry treasures to the Eiffel Tower. I found a spot on the grass and intermittently, ate the cookies, read a book and contemplated the Eiffel Tower.
I was hoping to see the light show, but as it were, I had time to get just one photo of the tower as they turned on the floodlights before it began to downpour. Everyone scattered, including me, to the nearest subway. No sparkly light show for me this time.
I got on the subway train, and saw the Eiffel Tower one last time before the train disappeared into the tunnel.
The silly image of Paris I had was one of accordion players on every street corner wearing berrets and playing La Vie En Rose constantly. I didn't hear it once. The closest I came to that reality was hearing the man in the apartment directly across from my hotel window practice his accordion on his open balcony. Maybe I should have called out a request.
So I put Louis Armstrong's version of the song on my iPod, while I rode the subway back to the Bastille, and was sad at the thought of leaving tomorrow.
This is the hotel where I stayed. The quiet bar next door, Cafe du Passage, is where I spent most nights. I had a total crush on the server, but was too chicken to strike up a conversation. :(
I also ate a few meals here, at the Le Bastille. Right out front was the entrance to the subway, which made for some good people watching.
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