12.10 // 6:34pm
What an adorable place! Were I to live in Paris, the neighborhoods around Montmartre would be it. Sacré-Coeur looms on the top of the hill like the star at the top of the Christmas tree, and down from this the neighboring streets wind, cars occasionally tearing down them with all the speed of familiarity. Young professionals in suits and elderly ladies with leopard-print barets and long trench coats walk scruffy dogs, not bothered by the excrement left behind to be stepped in by the unwary tourist or child. The hills are steep to climb and even us youth with our weighty backpacks were winded by the effort. Nearby are restaurants and a movie theatre, a shopping center, Moulin Rouge with its bright red windmill raised next to the glowing Coca-Cola sign. There the streets were dirtier and busier, the people ruder and louder. The neighborhoods themselves were soothing so early in the day, though. The grey sky was just beginning to clear when I reached Sacré-Coeur, allowing the faintest glimpses of blue through the heavy blanket of morning thickness.
Sacré-Coeur almost doens't fit, conjuring up images of the Taj Mahal or Russian Orthodox churches or the Byzantine Empire maybe, with its collection of various-sized domes. The white and grey smoothed stone lifts the church into the sky among the clouds; the turquoise statues, saints or soldiers on horses, contrast appropriately, guarding the entrance. People were beginning to congregate on the stairs as a market sprang to life in the narrow streets around the church. Across the square, the view over Paris was less impressive than it has been, the morning greyness limiting the view. Still, though, people gathered on the stairs, snapping photographs of even the limited view. The market was far more interesting to me, vendors erecting displays for wooden toys, pickled vegetables, fresh breads, huge blocks of chocolate, vats of potatoes. The smells wafting from the white tents offering food were alluring, but prices are bumped up for the location; this is a prime tourist spot. Business was good in the morning and would only get better.
Already the artists were out in full force, propping artwork up on their easels in a crowded square and standing on the curb to call out to passing tourists. "15 minutes! Only 15 minutes! You and the lady?" Life-size paper mache mannequins in awkward poses decorate the streets alongside paintings posted onto walls. It's clear that artists are welcome there, even if the neighborhood seems to have taken on a more commercial, tourist-driven focus than I had expected. Crowded souvenir shops lined the streets between boulangeries, patisseries, cafes, and crêpe stands. Nonetheless, the neighborhoods of Monte-Martre seemed closer-knit, quainter, more welcoming than the daunting districts further south of the master hill.
