Montmartre

The sun still shining, I caught a train to Montmartre, Paris' 18th arrondissement and home to Sacre Coeur. We've seen the Basilica previously, but had not wandered the area much. The walk up the hill was easy given all the vineyard hiking I've been doing. Place des Abbesses was quiet; a few people milling about but not much else. A big wine festival had ended the day before I arrived, so perhaps Montmartre residents were at home enjoying the quiet.

I then overheard an English-speaking guide, and followed the voice to a pretty garden and the "I Love You" wall.  I took the guide's word on authority that "I Love You" appears in over 300 different languages.

Didn't make it to your favorite Paris museum?  No worries. At €5 a pop, you can create your own personal museum of the masters.

And speaking of art, and tourists, before long I found myself in Place du Tertre.  All of the artists were very eager to paint, sketch, or caricature me, and I became easily annoyed with the constant, "Madame, Madame, I paint your picture?" every five steps. 

Won't she be surprised when she sees the finished sketch?

Worse were the "artists" who suddenly appeared in front of you with a sketchpad to create the next "masterpiece."

Dodging the artists gave me an appetite, and this little restaurant down a relatively quiet street called to me.   No more than eight tables, and run by a non-nonsense grand-mere; I settled into a table in the back for an enjoyable lunch.

Somewhere between the pot au feu and the apple tartin of my prix fixe lunch I lost my interest in wandering over to the Moulin Rouge, so I decided to wrap up the afternoon with a stroll past Sacre Coeur. 

Sweet. A wedding photo shoot.

I wonder if she's wearing tennis shoes, too?

I'm adept at avoiding the guys hawking tourist junk and knock-off handbags, but I did stop to ask this street vendor if the corn really was from Virginia.  I was more tempted by the roasted chestnuts, though, just the snack to enjoy as I made my way back to the apartment.