Sacre Coeur and the Red Light District

Monday, October 21 in Paris

Cool, yet sunny weather greeted me as I left the apartment to hop the metro to what would be, so far, my favorite part of the trip. Montmartre!

Walking up the tight little road from the Metro, I found myself in crowds of tourists and bargain hunters. Boxes lined the streets with fabrics, lingerie, shirts, or other clothing, many of those items marked down to 2Euros. Even if I had wanted to, I would not have gotten close to one of those boxes without a fight. Not interested in shedding any blood, I continued on up the steep street. At last, there, I could see it, as if perched between the buildings: the Sacre Coeur.

To the left of me as I made my way to the bottom plaza was the double-decker merry-go-round featured in the film "Amelie." Quite a few scenes were filmed in this neighborhood, so it will be fun for me to see the film again when I get home.

The Sacre Coeur is a beautiful church, one that I remember quite well from my childhood. In an old home movie, my uncle Edi is shown climbing up the steps with great exaggerated effort, stopping every few steps to wipe the "sweat" from his brow. He was such a kidder!

One time at the old house in Etrepy, he scared me so bad with his imitation of the hunchback of Notre Dame—he had rolled his eyelid up, put some clothes under his jacket to create a hump, and hunched low and chased me all over that house—my little legs scurrying as fast as they could to escape him. I finally managed to squeeze myself between the mattress and boxspring of my parents' bed in hopes of eluding the monster. (Explains a lot.)

Entertainers come here in fair numbers, hoping to make some money whether they are playing the harp, singing popular tunes in French-accented English, playing "Au Vie En Rose" on violin (which was hauntingly beautiful), or being a mime. The mime on the post when I walked by was very, very good. Moving slowly to react to a situation, he watched everyone and made eye contact. As I put my euros in his jar, he made a look of joyous surprise, bent down and took my hand, and mouthed, "Enchante!" I curtsied and left before a real romance blossomed.

There are many steps up to the church, but if you keep up a good pace, the view at the top is well worth the effort. Along with the Sacre Coeur, I visited two other churches, and in each, I lit a candle for my long-deceased mother; I truly wish she could have been here to revisit these places from days long gone.

The Montmartre neighborhood is a beautiful section of Old France, with winding cobblestone streets, tight alleys, and a steep hilly descent to the other, flat part of the city below.

My meal at a café right across from where the artists ply their wares was expensive for what I got; I found out I paid 8 euros for a Coca-Cola! If I consider that while I was sitting there, I also got a show, it really was not too bad. People watching there was terrific, as the boys in their caps from the cafes tried to lure potential customers into THEIR café, and the portraitists chased down potential sitters by flattering them into submission.

Continuing my walking tour, I found many quaint side streets and at one café, a beautiful piano melody wafted out onto the street from a teeny-tiny restaurant; I could not quite see in all the way, but I spied a beautiful pair of men's hands playing songs so sweet that they stopped me in my tracks. I took a picture from my limited vantage point just to remember.

After my visit to the area, I walked down to the Moulin Rouge, the beginning of the sleazy district which only gets worse as you make your way down to Pigalle. According to my tour guide, if I were a brave voyeuristic type, all I would have to do is make my way down to a park a few blocks away and I would most likely be able to view varied sexual trysts out in the open as a source of entertainment. As a female traveling alone, I decided to venture only in the upper end of the district. A guy at the nude girls' club motioned for me to come in and get my own lap dance--no thanks! I noticed the Musee de l'Erotisme was open; not as interactive as the lap dance, but it could be fun--I paid my entry fee and walked in.

The sign outside advertised seven full floors of erotic art and history. Wow!

Could it hold my interest for that long? I doubted it. Upon entering the museum, a 1920s-era porn film was playing on a small-screen television. Black and white, one man and several women were frolicking in the scene I watched. Most interesting was how self-conscious the players were, occasionally looking to stage right or left or straight into the camera. Beyond that were rows and rows of phallic symbols, sexual toys from centuries ago, statues with oversized penises (hmmm, wonder if the artists were male??). This was quite an extensive collection, but instead of describing it; here is the link for your own perusal: http://www.musee-erotisme.com/fichiers/home.php?lang=en&PHPSESSID=2d0079008a78c10b621a446168cee217

One of the most awesome things actually sat in the front window of the museum; I took a video of it, but cannot share it on a public space. A leopardskin director's-type chair with the seat cut out in a U-shape; inside the U-shape was a motorized set of rubber tongues (yes, you read right) that flowed around and around (they were going a little slow for my taste, but if it had a speed control, well, then we could be in business!). There was even a small water trough to keep the tongues lubricated! Too much.

The art became more modern with each floor, with the last one venturing into the world of sado-masochism and such; quite tastefully done, but still put me a little on edge, which is most likely its purpose. As I left the museum, I had a laugh when the very first sign I saw on the street was a bright black and yellow sign "Deviation." Even though it means "detour," I giggled out loud at the appropriateness of its placement. Maybe the French DO have a sense of humor!