Europe, episode 4: Montmartre

Cheesy and narrow as it may sound, Montmartre is like the Holland Village of Paris - chilled, quaint and artsy.  We spent an overcast morning wandering round the Basilica and the artists' market and although the sun only came out after we left for the Louvre, it was pretty charming anyway!

Before we even made it up the slopes of Montmartre, we found a chocolatier called Georges Larnicol and, of course, we practically ran in and threw a mix of pralines, nut clusters and beautiful painted-egg chocolates into a takeout bag.  (The ones called cormorant eggs were splashed with olive and brick speckles and filled with a heavenly dark ganache.)

Eating our loot, we got to the base of the Sacre-coeur and admired the famous carousel for a little while.

It was quieter than usual, a solitary couple on skates wobbling over for a few photos.  We picked our favourite horses then started the climb up to the top of the hill.  I love how there is always music in the air, people lying casually all over the grass.

The inside of the church was cool and dark and subtly tipped with stained glass.  It's an interesting church because when you enter, it looks a little subdued but as your eyes adjust to the light and you walk in towards the dome, a surprisingly bright and ornate ceiling reveals itself over the nave.  I can't quite tell if I like the ceiling or not; it feels a bit out of character with the rest of the building.

On the whole though, it's a wonderfully peaceful basilica, and like I do in every place of worship I visit on holiday, I stopped to say a little word of thanks to the universe.  I'm not religious but I think houses of worship are good places to gather feelings of gratitude and appreciate life.

After our stop at the Sacre-coeur, we walked around the back streets to look for food and found ourselves in a colourful, lively tangle of cobbled ways and wandering people, everything screaming to be photographed.  Rebecca firmly steered me in the direction of lunch - one thing we'd realised was that we both get exceedingly grumpy when hungry - and we decided to leave the photos for later.

It was a very French lunch with onion soup, escargots, confit de canard, beef bourguignon and a large creme brulee that we slowly, richly licked off our spoons at the end.  Once we'd nibbled a few more chocolates with our coffee, we forced ourselves to our feet and staggered over to the artist market which was in full swing.

I love the market with its elderly men in paint-stained aprons and bouquets of canvasses and we strolled through stalls pointing out our favourite pictures, mine daubed with pastel window boxes, hers more rich and real.  Time slowed then, people waiting only for portraits and pictures and the whole world was scented with oils and the chill spring wind.

One of the artists had a dog, a compact black creature sleek as a seal.  He would click rapidly round the market sniffing the air and looping round easel legs, then come back to his master, leaping at him on his hind legs.  Suspicious at first, he ran just outside my grasp, but eventually let me scratch his back. 

As we snapped, we drifted away from the market and into random streets to watch the scruffy-handsome hipsters and girls with almost unreal peaches-and-cream skin.

Rebecca took her favourite portrait of the whole trip right here (her portraits are incredible so believe me when I say this one was the creme de la creme) on a street corner, as a lady reminiscent of Audrey Tautou came out for a cigarette.  We were both taken by her gamine elegance, the way she brought her hand lightly to her mouth.

So often thoughout our journey, we were torn between taking natural candids, like all good street photographers must learn to, and asking for posed portraits.  More than once, I stooped quickly to my viewfinder only to find my subject staring right back at me through it, catching me red-handed.  Luckily for us, most Europeans were amused by this and flashed obliging smiles.  Rebecca and "Audrey" had a little moment and eventually, Bear snapped a beautiful portrait. 

On the way back to the train station, we found an attractive pair of buskers setting up shop and we made a large donation for the pleasure of standing on the street corner and smiling at them for an abnormally long time.  That their music was sublime (and it was, harmonies and all) was just a bonus.  I mean, look at Mr Blue-eyes up there... Hello!

Filled with good food and good music, we took a few more shots and started the slow stroll back down to the bottom of the hill.

Don't ever change, Montmartre!  I know you'll continue be a great place for portraits; a slightly warmer, gentler Paris. 

No outing is complete until I make my (very unwilling) partner-in-crime pose for some cool-street-hipster-wannabe shot...

... aaaand proof that "we wuz here".