I spent my Saturday afternoon visiting the famous hill of the artists and Bohemians. Actually, explaining Montmartre in that last sentence is probably redundant. If any of my friends aren’t even vaguely familiar with Montmartre, well, consider yourself unfriended.
I caught the Metro to Abbesses, which is below the top of the hill. The station is the deepest in Paris, and the escalators weren’t working, so a clamber up the spiral stairs made me wonder how so many people can smoke in Paris. Montmartre, as it turned out, is awash in cigarette butts, so I assume they all have cars.
The area around Abbesses is nice enough, but not greatly different than any of the restaurant and cafe areas found in the centre of Paris. I headed (uphill) to the Musée de Montmartre, for a look at a collection of mostly lesser known drawings, posters and paintings dating to the Belle Époque. The Musée occupies the oldest house in Montmartre, and still boasts a small vineyard, albeit I suspect it’s there just to add to the vibe.
I had a most civilised coffee and cake in the garden cafe, and the weather had turned positively balmy. I’d left my apartment rugged up for an Antarctic expedition, so I performed a discreet striptease between spoonfuls of cheesecake. It’s a worry that Paris is still quite warm. I have a shipping container’s worth of thermal underwear in my suitcase, and it’s yet to have the pleasure of my nether regions. I can see myself dressing stray dogs in the Jardin des Tuileries. Today was rainy, but no colder.
The highlight of the Musée de Montmartre for me was the collection of materials related to the Chat Noir cabaret(s). I’d only vaguely heard of it, but it seems it was a wild old time at its multiple iterations. They had posters, drawings, letters and this lively oil painting which once decorated its walls:
No mention, strangely, of Le Moulin de la Gallette and only a little on the Moulin Rouge.
It’s not exactly a grand gallery, but the peace and civility were welcome. The best Paris might yet be revealed by its small treasures.
I caught the Metro to Abbesses, which is below the top of the hill. The station is the deepest in Paris, and the escalators weren’t working, so a clamber up the spiral stairs made me wonder how so many people can smoke in Paris. Montmartre, as it turned out, is awash in cigarette butts, so I assume they all have cars.
I had a most civilised coffee and cake in the garden cafe, and the weather had turned positively balmy. I’d left my apartment rugged up for an Antarctic expedition, so I performed a discreet striptease between spoonfuls of cheesecake. It’s a worry that Paris is still quite warm. I have a shipping container’s worth of thermal underwear in my suitcase, and it’s yet to have the pleasure of my nether regions. I can see myself dressing stray dogs in the Jardin des Tuileries. Today was rainy, but no colder.
The highlight of the Musée de Montmartre for me was the collection of materials related to the Chat Noir cabaret(s). I’d only vaguely heard of it, but it seems it was a wild old time at its multiple iterations. They had posters, drawings, letters and this lively oil painting which once decorated its walls:
 |
| Image Wikimedia |
It’s not exactly a grand gallery, but the peace and civility were welcome. The best Paris might yet be revealed by its small treasures.