Paris vaut bien une Messe.
That's what the protestant king Henry IV said when he married his Roman Catholic wife. And who could disagree seeing Paris? Henry became a Catholic, being born a Catholic, raised as a Huguenot, but changing to Catholicism not just once.
I took the fast train from Schiphol to Paris which got me there in 3 hours! It takes even more time to go from Leyden to Maastricht by train. But of course the train to Paris is more expensive, except if one can take advantage of special offers, which I did.
Mid July one hopes for some sun and summer. However, in northern Europe the summer of 2011 was in June. This also applies to Paris. I took a midday train, and although the weather was relatively mild and dry in Amsterdam, in Belgium the sky became more and more overcast and after Brussels it started raining. In Northern France the fields were soaked, almost inundated, with large puddles reflecting the dark clouds. Just as well we were speeding on, next to the motorway, at such a speed that the cars who do 130 kms an hour here, seemed to be on a very leisurely drive. The rain crawled horizontally across the window panes, in tiny beads. I kept wondering why it did not speed across. Unfortunately I never took science, just studied arts. Had it been the other way round, I might have been able to explain the phenomenon which fascinated me.
Anyway, it was still wet once I arrived in Paris and as the train was far too long to give carriage number 17 shelter under the roof of the station, I got wet.
Some interesting views from my hotel window
My hotel was simple but clean and adequate. I had chosen a different area from where I normally go, in the Rue des Abesses, boasting a original Art Deco Metro station. It is on the "Butte" of Montmartre, at the base, some streets up of Place Pigalle but a stiff climb to the top, to the Sacré-Coeur. It is a nice area, with hardly any traffic, certainly no through traffic, lots of local shops, boutiques and cafes, and clearly residential. All the sidewalk cafes had heaters and were canopied, so it was a joy to sit outside under the awnings enjoying a light meal and watching people. The slim French girls all wore very tight and fashionable blue jeans, with legs which were too long and so had folds and wrinkles around the ankles. I felt rather provincial. Office workers with neat suits, briefcases and laptops strode by on their way home. Young women were pushing prams. A middle aged man passed by with three shirts nonchalantly across his left arm. They were all striped, each in a different colour: red, blue and grey. Sometime later he came back with some folded shirts neatly packed in plastic, clearly from the dry cleaners. Why did I presume he had no wife?
After the meal the temperature became milder and the rain stopped, although there still was a light drizzle from time to time. I decided to walk up to the top. Apparently there is a funiculaire to the top just at the other side of the Metro station, but I never looked there and so never noticed it! I had only seen the Sacré-Coeur once or twice, not coming from this side. It is amazing what a nice place to live this area is. It is airy, there are little parks and trees, and spacious courts which I sometimes got a glimpse of as a gate might be open. Because the streets are narrow, there is hardly any traffic. Once on the top, the Place du Tertre was absolutely packed with tourists. I had not expected the Sacré-Coeur to be open, but it seems to be open 24 hours a day. Inside it was a blessing to sit quietly in the mysterious evening light and be refreshed by the atmosphere of peace and tranquillity , the tourists being shepherded around the nave by very vigilant wardens who told off everyone who as much as dared to whisper. Later I walked around the "butte", exploring the different streets, and the attractive looking museums which were of course closed. It must have been a lovely place to live and work for the artists who used to gather here. The air would have been a lot fresher than in the crowded streets of Paris down below.
The living artists trying to draw portraits of tourists were still at work late in the evening, and some did amazingly good jobs. The surprise of the evening was the most gorgeous sunset, painting the cupolas of the Sacré-Coeur a rosy gold, and illuminating the city as the red sun was reflected in the glass skyscrapers of Montparnasse and setting the golden Dôme des Invalides on fire. I had left my camera at the hotel as it was such unpromising weather, but bitterly regretted that! Hundreds of others weren't such fools and can now relive that spectacular sunset at home.
The following day after breakfast in a side walk cafe – the hotel has no reception apart from a very simple table, neither a lounge nor a restaurant – I walked up to the Sacré-Coeur again. The tourists hadn't arrived yet, most of the shops were still closed except for the baker's and the cafe's where the locals had their breakfast, and the atmosphere was totally different. I wanted to see the ancient former abbey church next to the Sacré-Coeur, the St. Pierre de Montmartre. It barely escaped being destroyed, as the abbey is no longer there. The interior is simple and seems rather empty, which is its beauty, the beauty of the architecture and the lines. It is Roman in places, and slightly Gothic in other parts as the windows are a bit pointed. A local woman came in to say her prayers. It was a good place and I am glad I saw it.
Walking on water. A modern window in the historic former Abbey church.
Notice the feet and the toes!
The Sacré-Coeur looked totally different in the unromantic daylight. No rose coloured sunset, no rain either, just sober morning light. This time I walked down the steps in front of the church, avoiding the souvenir sellers, mostly black people who spread out their trinkets on blankets, furtively looking around. In the middle of the stairs, halfway up or down, facing the Sacré-Coeur, a man was playing an electronic harp. He did quite well. I took a metro on one of the boulevards further down. Tourists were streaming in by now, and souvenir shops were raising their blinds and putting their wares outside.
It took me three metros to get to the Bastille, due to works on one of the stations.
My plan was to go for a walk through the Marais, an area which I did not know so well. Meandering through it was very pleasurable, discovering places, and alleys which were not in the guidebooks and seeing amazing churches as well. It was relatively devoid of tourists, except for the Place des Vosges which attracts many people. What struck me were the beautiful dimensions of the buildings, not just on the Place des Vosges, and the high and big windows which must have made the houses very light and airy. That was also obvious in the Musee the Carnavalet, once the house of Madame de Sévigné. It is a very large museum, and in fact I was happy that some wings were closed as it took me a very long time to walk through the whole museum, which also includes the Hôtel le Peletier next door. Apart from the history of Paris, there are beautiful period rooms and ballrooms, gilded and full of mirrors. I regretted not having packed my ball gown. All of us visitors looked decidedly out of place in those amazing surroundings: Ornate fireplaces, beautiful furniture, music rooms, very comfortable looking chaise longues and chairs, coffered and gilded ceilings, delicately decorated walls, there was no end to it. And yes, the windows were high and wide. It must have been wonderful to live here, with the various courtyards. Unfortunately they were also closed because of cleaning work being done to the outside walls, but from the windows we could see the formal outlay, the hedges neatly trimmed and pruned, planted in amazing curls and swirls. It was raining, so being stuck in a museum in Paris was no hardship.
On this walk I also come across a remarkable church, L’église Saint-Paul –Saint-Louis, which is very big. It was given by Louis XIII to the Jesuits and frequented by famous people and royalty living in the Marais, at that time a very fashionable area. During the Revolution the domed church fell into decline, but it is still standing. There is a big pipe organ, and recitals are regularly given, unfortunately not on the day that I am in Paris. Between 1688 and 1698 Marc-Antoine Charpentier was organist of this church. Among other famous musicians who played the organ in this church are Jean-Philippe Rameau, Louis Marchand and Michel-Richard Delalande . It is peculiar that none of the two guide books to Paris mentions this church, but I must admit they are simple pocket guides, just good enough for a flying visit to Paris. My fat and heavy guidebook which I left at home, does mention the church and its history.
I also walk through St. Paul village, a new residential area with apartments and little artist shops underneath. They were built in former gardens, next to a remnant of the old city wall. They look attractive, but there is no history here, so I do not stay very long. Another building which is far more interesting is just round the corner, the Hôtel de Sens, one of the few remaining medieval buildings in Paris, now a library, once an old palace.
The Marais has always been the Jewish Quarter and still is. As everywhere else in Europe the Jewish community was decimated after the war. I am shocked to come across a very small and unobtrusive plaque on the wall of a school.
Roughly translated:
In memory of the little children
of this nursery school
who were deported from 1942-1944
because they were born as Jews.
Innocent victims
of the barbarian Nazi's,
with the active support
of the Vichy government.
They were exterminated
in the death camps.
In its starkness and simplicity this strikes me as if I am being hit by a sledge hammer.
Sadly I miss the Memorial for the unknown Jewish Martyr, a memorial to all the Jews murdered during the Holocaust. Again, my pocket guide does not refer to this monument. Another reason to go back to the Marais one day, because it is just one of a list of things which I can't do in the short period I can spend here. After the Carnavalet there is no time nor energy left for the Picasso Museum or the Museum of Jewish Art and History. And next time I would like to see an opera in the modern Bastille. In summer there are no concerts, opera's or ballet performances between mid-July and the beginning of September. Too bad!
The nearer I get to the Hôtel de Ville, the busier the streets are. The main boulevard leading to the Hôtel the Ville is busy anyway, as there are so many shops, cafes and restaurants. Every now and then I try one, for a drink, a bite and to give my feet the necessary respite. The trouble is that I have no hotel to go back to to take a midday rest, except at the end of the afternoon to collect my small case which I have left there. But there is no lobby to put my feet up. There is an end to my stamina, and I can't face queuing up at the Hôtel de Ville to see the impressionist paintings from the Musee d' Orsay which are on view here as Orsay is closed to the public during a renovation. I'll wait till they have been relocated in the Orsay.
City beach along the Seine. Plage sur Seine, Paris Plage.
I do walk to the river Seine, where I have a look at the summer beaches which have been cleverly made along the lower banks. They are intended as a city beach, but are completely deserted. The hut next to it which sells ice cream does no business today. We have had showers on and off, and when I am looking over the parapet it rains again. Time to go back to the hotel. I like the location, lively but nevertheless very quiet with no noise at night, except for the collection of garbage at 6 am. But there are no trucks, honking cars or fast scooters. My room has big French doors which I can leave open at night. The disadvantage is that although near a metro, one can't go anywhere without changing lines. But there are buskers, also on the trains, which makes the journeys rather pleasant. One man who sings French chansons in a good voice even has speakers and a microphone with him. Quite a heavy load to carry around, I think.
I collect my bag at the hotel, have a last drink in one of the cafe's while I enjoy the bustle and homeliness of this street, and leave to catch my train, which brings me in 2,5 to Rotterdam, where I change for Leyden. 45 minutes later I arrive at Leyden station and my short adventure is over. But I hope there will be a next time soon.
Well-known organ music by Charpentier. I couold not find a recording which I really liked, but the music is festive. A joyful piece to end with.
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