When good Americans die, they go to Paris

.
One of my favourite cities in the world is Paris.

I spent a short time there which included Christmas Day in 2006. One could only marvel at the history, the architecture, the beauty of the city. A thrilling experience was seeing Mass at Notre Dame and having some surprising adventures in Montemarte.

Exterior details, Notre Dame

Notre Dame

Prior to leaving Australia I had booked some day tours. I would arrive in the morning at the designated office, catch a bus with the other happy campers, and spend the day on a tour. This was really helpful when going to Versailles as it's some way out of Paris and we were given a guided tour of the Palace.

Oooh La la, I did love all the chandeliers, gold and finery. Those French royals really knew how to live in luxury. Too bad those smelly peasant's couldn't appreciate that! No Ms Antoinette, it is you who can eat cake!

Hall of Mirrors, Palace of Versaille

I booked a show at the Moulin Rouge. In my stupidity, I thought that it would mean some kind of hotel pick up or meeting point, as it was a nightime event and I was in Paris alone. Sadly, this was not the case. We were left to our own devices and had to pick up the ticket at the venue.

Off I went into the bitter cold winter night excited about visiting Montemarte, inspiration to the Impressionists, one of my favourite schools of art. I asked my concierge for directions to Sacre Coeur, told her I was heading to Moulin Rouge and was informed that it was in fact the red light district. ewww errrr..

I loved the Paris subway!

A little dismayed by this news, I shrugged my shoulders and ventured forth. Surely it would be ok, was one of the few thoughts going through my deluded mind. I have been to St Kilda, sure the hookers stand around looking like bored, drunk, drugged up manniquins, but really St Kilda is only scary when one tries to walk on the beach and remembers how the druggies leave their used syringes in the sand.

I got lost in Montemarte while it was still daylight and had to take out a map. An elderly man approached me talking in French trying to help. I said, 'Sacre Coeur'. He pointed and replied, 'Up good, down bad'. Bless him and his smattering of English. I followed his advice and sure enough, the impressive Romanesque structure loomed before me as I followed a windy road. It was spectacular. Christmas night and people were everywhere. From the front of the church one could see all over Paris, including the brightly illuminated Eiffel tower. The streets behind were a labyrinth of cobbled stone streets, lively cafes and eateries and the delicious sounds of the French language.

Rear view, Sacre Coeur

Sacre Coeur

I made my way down the massive hill to the Moulin Rouge but here things took a dreadful turn. I should add that on my train ride to Montemart I was accosted by a Japanese man. Having been to Japan I was shocked by his forwardness. Normally the Japanese are ever so polite, but here was this guy, feeling me up on a train.

He started rubbing my leg, and I rather roughly removed his hand. So unlike the polite manners one normally finds among the Japanese, I was flummoxed by this odd turn of events. I told him to keep his hands off me and he proceeded to do it again, this time he held up a bag and said, ' I have French pastries'. Well, that was something to think about. My first thought was...'what kind of French pastries'.

Was I being offered pastries so that he could cop a feel? Should I be insulted or reach for the paper bag cointaining the delicious delights? What's most bothersome is that I look like such a cheap date, throw me an eclair and off we go!

Fruit flan and Coffee Eclair

I had to be quite stern with this guy and eventually got off the train a stop earlier to get away. Out of the frying pan and into the fire as they say. Montemarte truly is the Red light district. The place was crowded with sex shops and even a three story, Porn Palace. I was numbed with shock at the blatant display of pictures and all kinds of things in windows I passed. Things that a delicate mind like mine should never be exposed to. The horror.

.My hair was white blonde, I was obviously a foreigner, and I was perambulating the crepuscular streets in a seedy red light district on my own. Did I look like a hooker?

A man started following me down the street whispering something constantly. He was saying, J'etame, (sorry for the misspelling but I can't spell in English let alone French). I didn't know what that meant. Was he telling me he was going to kill me? Eventually I found out that it means 'I love you'. Just as disturbing really. Then a group of men walked past. Two broke away and were persistent in taking Chichi off for a coffee. One of them kept looking at me all starry eyed while his friend was doing the translating. I did get a kiss on the hand, from a French man in Paris, but really, it was a bit scary. Not that the gentleman in question was not handsome, I was just overwhelmed by the whole Montemarte thing and being chased around the streets.

Street behind Sacre Coeur

I eventually got away from these two, only to find another one hot on my heels. The show was still an hour away and I had had enough. I jumped into the only cab I could find and said..'Drive'!

The driver laughed when I told him of my travails and said, "hey it's Montemarte, what did you expect?'. I expected to see the Moulin Rouge unmolested thank you very much. I spent $260 on that ticket and never picked it up. Safely back in my hotel room I did not mind missing the show at all.

Moulin Rouge from the outside, I never did make it in.

Aside from that little adventure, I thought Paris was a beautiful city, the people were lovely and kind. I even walked past Woody Allen and his daughter/slash wife on a quiet street. Woody looked at me, I looked at him and in my head I wanted to say, 'These pretzels are making me thirsty'. What a buffoon. I have seen that Seinfeld episode way too many times.

Paris, the city of love, or in my case, the city of cheap thrills. The pastry shops are unbeatable, the scenery was resplendent in the winter sunshine and all in all it was an amazing time.

“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you. Paris is a moveable feast."

Ernest Hemingway.

Title quotation by Oscar Wilde.
All photographs are my own.