From the Winding Streets of Montmartre to the Fields of Monet

Finally, the long-promised account of the previous weekend. Before starting, I want to share a few odd tidbits.
Everyone in this country thinks I’m Spanish. At first I thought it was interesting when people asked me if I was from Spain, but now even when I ask people where they think I come from with my bad American accent, they still think I’m Spanish. I’ve had people also guess Italian, Cuban, and British. I asked a couple people about it and they said that my features and coloring are very Spanish. I was especially flattered when a woman in a shop said that I reminded her of someone in a Velázquez painting.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love apples. The French take apples to a whole new level, in fact they put apples in everything. In the United States, applesauce is for babies, but here, it’s served after a meal like a dessert. I’ve also found apple yogurt, which has little pieces of apple in it. You can even find a croissant with an apple filling.

In the afternoon, we made the standard tourist pilgrimage to Montmartre. Paris is much flatter than San Francisco, but Montmartre, could rival any of our hills. In order to get to Sacre Coeur at the top, you have to climb both steep slopes and endless staircases. At the top, you’re rewarded with a view of Paris and the church itself.

Since it is a church, Sacre Coeur is free. It’s different than Notre Dame and some of the other Gothic churches in heart of the city, because it was built in the 19th century. It’s domed and the windows have symbols, rather than images of saints.

Montmartre itself is an interesting neighborhood. It still has the small, windy streets you’d expect to find in Paris. At the same time, it is one of the most touristy areas in the city. If San Francisco Chinatown is what white people think China is like, Montmartre is what Americans think Paris is like. The restaurants are the small cafés, but there really are only tourists. There are also shops selling the standard souvenirs and hoards of artists who come up to you and try to insist on drawing your portrait.


As a side note, I saw the Moulin Rouge on my way back. It’s much smaller than I would have imagined.

The Muée D'Orsay also has a reputation for being a tourist magnet, but it is definitely worth braving the crowds and going. I’ve seen pictures of Van Gough and Monet paintings, but they come to life when you see them for real. Van Gough in particular is much more vibrant when you can see the texture and the color in his paintings. I was also startled by the contrast between the two painters. The room with the Van Goughs is right next to the one with the Monets. I definitely felt calmer and more comfortable when I left behind Van Gough’s intense works for Monet’s calmer, quieter, and equally beautiful ones.



These two artists are obviously not the only ones there, but their works struck me the most. There are plenty of paintings by Renoir, Degas, Cezanne, Gauguin, and many others. Toulouse-Lautrec always reminds me of the presentation I did for French in high school with Cynthia. I’m not sure she’s ever forgiven me for the dreadful beginning.

In the afternoon, I went to the Opéra Garnier, which is the majestic opera house in the center of Paris. I think it’s the opera house in The Phantom of the Opera. You can take tours or explore the building yourself, but they still do show operas and ballets. The building is gilded beyond belief and you feel regal even when surrounded by fellow tourists. My goal for the fall is to see an actual ballet there.


As if all this wasn’t enough for one weekend, I took Monday off to go visit Saint Denis, which is the church just outside of Paris where all the kings were buried. During the Revolution, a number of the tombs were smashed up and looted, but today you can still see the effigies of most of the Kings of France, as well as a number of assorted consorts. I was understandably in raptures, especially with the ones I knew well. I have to admit; there are some French kings that I don’t know all that much about, which made me very frustrated that I left my book of French kids back at school. This is Henri II with his wife Catherine de Medici. I do actually know a fair amount about him. He died in a tournament when his helmet failed to deflect a blow to the head. He was also a notorious lady’s man.