Paris Trip 2012

It is cold and drizzling this morning. Regardless, I am excited by my prospects of fishing in the canal. I need a fishing pole. I reasearch stores. Rêve de Pêche in the 17th arrondissement, seems promising. From there, I can explore Montmartre, the windmills, and Sacre-Coeur.

I eat breakfast at Cafe Deguerre, outside the Denfert station, board the metro, make several changes, and arrive at Malesherbes. I walk Rue Cardinet watching for the store. Wait, did I pass it? I turn around. Damn, it is gone.

I stand beneath a pigeon cote with my disappointment. Now what? There is nothing more to do but proceed to Montmartre.

I don't know how I get there but I find myself in a market called Marché Poncelet. I find my mushrooms! Boxes of fresh Chanterelles and Boletes. I breathe deep and smell the odor of the forest in rain. After the market, along the narrow Rue des Dames, I pass an painter's atelier where I watch a woman paint. Further down, I stop at a shop that sells antique plumbing fixtures. I strike a conversation with the proprietor. He restores antique plumbing fixtures and creates reproductions. His reproductions are well made. We speak in halting English. He is the first French person I talk to other than a waiter/waitress.

I make a mistake and travel the north edge of the Cimetiere Montmartre to see the last two windmills in Paris. I need to walk the entire circumference of the cemetery, then uphill to Rue Lepic. It is a big hill. Plodding along, I come abreast of the first mill. Trees block the view and since it is privately owned, you can't get close to it. The view of Paris down Rue Tholozé is beautiful. Further uphill stands the second mill, the Moulin de la Galette. It sits atop a restaurant. I am hungry and need to sit for a spell but a group of German tourists enter the cafe just before me. I continue the ascent.

I find a cafe in the square, Place du Tertre, at the top of the hill of Montmartre. It is a festive place, bustling with tourists, and reminds me of a village preparing for feast day. I order an espresso and sit for half an hour at Chez Eugene. I am shocked at the bill. 5.30 euros for a cup.

From the square, I round the old Montmartre reservoir and catch my first glimpse of Sacre-Coeur. Its white stone and classical grand stairs remind me more of Rome, than gray Paris. I take the tour and sit on the steps in the sun and gaze at the city stretching below. A harpist plays. I don't want to leave. When I do, I am accosted by aggressive vendors. My New York blood is riled and I shoot them murderous looks.

I walk down the innumerable steps, onto the Boulevard de Clichy, through Pigalle and the x-rated shops. I am invited to see the girls. I take a picture of the famous Moulin Rouge (windmills are the unexpected theme of the day), and board the metro at Place de Clichy.

I take the 13 metro line. I should change to the 4 at Montparnasse-Bienvenue to get home but continue to Pernety. I am not done exploring. I spy Rue des Thermopyles on the map. I must take it. The cobblestone street is narrow. It is a small village street. The houses have wooden shutters, vines, window boxes. A cat sits on a stoop and watches the people. At the far end, where the street borders a small park, the ways are covered in children's paintings and graffiti.

I drag myself down Rue d'Alesia to the apartment. Despite the awful disappointment over the closed fishing store, it was a good day. I fall into bed and pass out.