Paris: Montmartre, Sacre Coeur, Musee d’Erotique and Pere Lachaise

Amelie’s Montmartre

La Fabuleux Destin d'Amelie Poulin ... de Montmartre

The bohemian district of Montmartre in Paris is everyone’s favourite district of Paris – especially after we all fell in love with Amelie Poulain. Audrey Tatou as the devilishly adorable Amelie danced around Montmartre in her schemes and drew me to visit the district when I went to Paris three years ago.

Montmartre - Moulin Rouge 2005

Montmartre - Streets and Pigalle 2005

So this is the area back when I visited it in 2005; nothing has changed: I’m still far too poor to consider going to the Moulin Rouge (125euro a ticket, thankyou very much).

I was lucky enough to stay with a lovely couch host who lives on the edge of Montmartre, and from her place I was able to visit Montmartre on foot. I was surprised to find crystal blue skies for my photos.

Tomb in Montmartre Cemetery

I visited the Montmartre Cemetery for the first time – somewhere in there lies Alexandre Dumas (author of The Count of Monte Christo and The Three Musketeers) and a few other French old school celebs. I was more interested in the cool, filtered sunlight and pleasant and beautiful surroundings in which to rest my feet and eat some soft cheese on baguette. That same camembert stunk up my bag for the rest of the day – note to self: soft cheeses not so brilliant for all-day sightseeing unless you have a refrigerated bag.

I did find this gorgeous little shop – Pylones – which sold everyday items in bright unreal designs. Very stylish, funky and Parisien – and like all things Parisien, too expensive. I’ll revisit it, I think, for Christmas presents. It’s near Sacre Coeur, down one of the side streets.

Teeny tiny cars outside Pylones.

Wallets, purses at Pylones.

Tres jolies parapluies!

Musee d’Erotique

A serious museum essentially dedicated to old school porn. One of the few museums I was prepared to shell out an admission fee for (back, early in the trip, when I still thought I had enough money to pay admission fees – didn’t last much longer than that). I had expected more Ron Jeremy, but instead got more Betty Page; if the Musee d’Orsay displayed porn, it would be like this. Quite tasteful, and taken seriously, it didn’t provide much in the way of explanations in English, so some of the more interesting stuff, I just didn’t know what it was.

Particularly interesting was the pornographic objects from ancient and distant civilisations. Now, hide your eyes if you’re sensitive:

Demons and devils - with women in various stages of ecstasy and undress - featured often in some of the statuettes

Peekaboo Japanese buddha statue

Some of my favourite pieces were the Japanese statuettes with little … surprises underneath them. Now, I deliberately chose this photo out of those I took because what’s in the little mirror is not clear … imagine just what the young girls are up to underneath his cloak. These statues were brilliant – so very Japanese: respectful, elegant and composed on the outside, absolutely fucking kinky on the inside.

The museum also covered the history of Montmartre as the home of legalised brothels in Paris. Some of the porn from this 19th to early 20th century era are on display – including films. And you thought they were prudes back then – good to see girl on girl action was going strong even in 1910.

Sacre Coeur

The main attraction in Montmartre – besides the Moulin Rouge, porn shops and general charmingness – is Sacre Coeur – the white Roman Catholic basilica built on the highest point of Paris in the late 19th century.

Sacre Coeur

Cheesy outstretched arm photo

Okay, so it was seriously bright. That’s why I look like a chipmunk in this photo.

View from Sacre Coeur

Sacre Coeur is on the Montmartre ‘butte’ – the highest point of Paris, so it is actually, I think, the best view in Paris. The only thing is that the Tour Eiffel is blocked by some trees (but if you ate in the restaurant that’s next to the Furnicular, I’m sure you could see it.)

The fella who makes puppys from pipe cleaners.

Now, this guy was here last time I was at Sacre Coeur in 2005. He’s still there, still attracts a crowd, making little dog keychains out of pipe cleaners. I don’t know his story, why he’s in a wheelchair, and how he came to make les petits chiens with pipe cleaners near the steps of Sacre Coeur, but he’s good at what he does. I had promised myself as I began the climb that if he was still there, I would buy one of his petits chiens – I got one in blue and black to match my backpack:

Mon petit chien! Tres mignon, n'est ce pas?

Actually, if any Parisiens read this and can tell me more about him, I would be keen to know.

I went back to Sacre Coeur my last night (it was near Gare du Nord – the train station where I was to catch the train back to Lille), to take night shots. The sky was magnificiently clear, and you could quite clearly see for miles.

View from Sacre Coeur at night.

View from Sacre Coeur at night.

View from Sacre Coeur at night.

My little pink tripod (I still have it Meggie!) with its retractable legs garnered a bit of attention from a teenage kid who quite excitedly watch me take these shots. It is my most valuable travel possession – there aren’t many tripods that stand a metre tall and can fit in a handbag.

Sacre Coeur at night.

It really is a beautiful church, from the outside anyway. The interior is a little dull. The approach, with the green grass and curved steps is magnificient. Watch out for the hawkers and con artists on the gardens leading to it, and make sure it’s on your Parisien to do list.

Pere Lachaise

Main entrance to Pere Lachaise

This is currently holding first place for my favourite place in Paris (with Saint Chappelle a close second). It is the largest and most famous cemetery in Paris: founded by Napoleon in 1804, it holds Edith Piaf, Moliere, Abelard and Heloise, Maria Callas, Collette, Chopin, Jim Morrison, and, most importantly for me, Oscar Wilde.

The whole intention for coming to Paris during these school holidays was a small suggestion I’d read on a forum somewhere – go to Pere Lachaise on Toussaint (1st November, All Saints Day, a sacred day on the Catholic calendar with origins in pagan holidays like Samhain / Halloween, where the devoted visit, clean and ‘flower’ the graves of relatives). The weather was dreary, but every visit to Pere Lachaise is a good one. This time I wasn’t famous-visiting – I was more interested in the general ambience. The only celeb I was interested in visiting was Oscar Wilde, who I’m a big fan of.

It hasn’t changed since I was there in 2005:

Pere Lachaise when I visited in 2005.

Pere Lachaise trees, 2008.

In France, on Toussaint, graves and tombs are cleaned and laid with flowers by relatives. Arriving earlier in Autumn than I did in 2005, I saw such beauty in the cemetery. Here are some of the better photos:

Door of Rossini's tomb decorated with (fabric) flowers.

The sea of flowers before the memorial to the dead.

Steps leading to above the memorial for the dead.

Towards the chapel.

Tiers of Pere Lachaise near the chapel.

Paths.

Red rose and Moliere.

Flowers on a well-visited woman's tomb. Im not sure who she was, though.

Paths through Pere Lachaise.

Beautiful mosaic on a tomb.

After a good hour of solid wandering, I went towards the general area that Oscar is at.

I wasn’t the only tourist visiting that day – there were crowds around him all day:

Tourists aplenty await.

I had been taken by the tomb back in 2005 – particularly by the outpouring of admiration for the writer:

Oscar Wilde's tomb (photos from 2005).

And the tradition of leaving a red kiss. I love this.

Even the matron in the tomb neighbouring Wildes gets a kiss.

And the angel too.

I shouldve bought some red roses to lay here. Next time.

Rant about crazies and cons in Paris

My previous visit to Montmartre was tarred by poor weather: this time it was tarred by ridiculously insistent scam artists desperate to sell me hand knotted wristbands and cheap, tacky and nasty Tour Eiffel keychains. Dodgy guys in Montmartre did drive me crazy this time around. I had been warned by various websites and Lonely Planet about the guys with their wristbands – they come up to you, speaking English, asking for your wrist, before tying a hand-knotted friendship band around it with cheap embroidery thread. Once done, you can’t get it off, and they demand payment. Back in 2005 I’d seen them but avoided them. This time, I was harrassed the entire way up the steps. What’s up with these guys? Even after I clearly told them to get lost, I was followed up the steps. T h r e e   f u c k i n g   t i m e s. Was a bit grumpy by the time I reached the top.

The night I went back to Lille I also dropped in on Montmartre. Been told not to walk around the area at night, especially as a) I clearly look like a tourist (not too many bespectacled, overweight, hoodie wearing French women, let me tell you) and b) the whole female walking alone in the dark thing; but there were still plenty of people around, admiring the view from the steps of the basilica, so I thought I’d be fine. To my utter delight, I was followed from the metro station (Anvers) right up the steps. I figured out what he was up to when I stopped at a shop to look at a scarf, and he stopped just a few feet away. I ended up going into another shop, turning around and staring at him and he went away. Prick.

I was a little on edge that day though – I’d spent the day walking around, and had been harrassed at every turn by people selling roast chestnuts (cooked on upturned trash can lids), a random crazy that followed me from the Louvre to the Orangerie asking me questions in English (major deja vu, I think I remember the same guy harrassing me in 2005!), and blokes selling marlboros in a metro station. It was a day for sketchy people. The crazy outside the Louvre was the worse. He stood at the top of the steps leading to the Pont des Arts (the pedestrian bridge nearest the Louvre), with a creepy smile, watching the tourists walk past. He yelled something out to me, I looked back thinking ‘what does he want?’, kept walking, then next thing I knew he was following me towards the Tuilieres Garden. The conversation went like this:

Crazy: Comment appelez-vous? (What’s your name?)

Me: Je ne parle pas francais (I don’t speak French).

Crazy: Vous ne parlez pas francais? Anglaise? You speak English!

Me: What do you want?

Crazy: Are you American?

Me: What do you want?

Crazy: Oh nothing! Nothing.

Me: Then go away.

Crazy: Are you Americain?

And so on. After a few more ‘get lost!’s he did. Went back to target some other hapless tourist. I actually don’t think he was crazy, he was just trying to sell something or had some con he usually plays on tourists.

So, this is a bit of a rant: I walked around at 2am, by myself, in New York and was never bothered. Sure, New York, Rome, London, they’ve all got their various sketchies hanging out on the streets. My favourite con is those dodgy fellas who think they can make a buck dressing up as a statue with cheap and nasty gold lame fabric, a Tutankhamen mask and a wooden crate – it’s like they saw some statue-busking-artists, saw they were getting coins tossed at them for ‘standing still’ and thought it was an easy buck. Except, they don’t realise how hard it is to stand still for hours on end; especially when they have to keep an eye open for the cops. When you compare them with our gold man and white bride back in Adelaide, they’re pretty hilarious.

Yes! I found a photo of the exact same buskers I saw in Rome – I mean, who exactly is he kidding?

Dodgy statue busker, taken by TravelBlogger 'Steve'

This pic from: http://www.travelblog.org/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Rome/blog-282058.html

Compared with, (with a serious wave of homesickness here), our Rundle Mall bride?

The Rundle Mall bride, ah, doing the busker-statue thing properly.

This pic taken by a bloke named Nathan Adams, which I inappropriately borrowed from his flickr collection. Actually, he has some really lovely photos of Adelaide: http://flickr.com/photos/nathan_adams/2400239603/

Usually they’re harmless, but what is it with Paris and these bloody con artists? They’re just more … insistent?