Sacre Couere

Day 7
Saturday, May 20

Sacre Couere from the front

We had another leisurely morning this morning, then headed back to the Monmarte area to visit Sacre Couere. Tourist central...am I still lumped in that group? Sacre Couere (Sacred Heart) is a massive white church on a hill, actually just a five minute walk up the hill from Cecelia's apartment. We climbed a million stairs through thousands of people (probably should have gone on a weekday to avoid the crowds), but the whole scene is truly spectacular. You can see the whole city from the top, and people sit and eat and mingle on the steps. There was a guitarist with a microphone singing "Brown Eyed Girl" and "Over the Rainbow" and street performers ranging from acrobats to puppeteers. We joined the line to enter the church, but I was disappointed with the interior. Not the architecture--the stone walls and floors and gilded fixtures are beautiful. There's a sapphire blue painting of angels and the trinity, and the dome outside makes for massive vaulted ice-cream scoop vaulted ceiling within. The crowd is guided by velvet ropes around the perimeter of the sanctuary, walking past (at first) alcoves of dozens of lit candles, then past a sign asking for donations, then past one of those machines that presses coins into collectible medallions, then past another sign asking for donations, then finally to a gift shop. And you have to pay to go to the upper levels. I was distracted from the truly magnificent basilica by the constant focus on tourism and money. The sense of awe and tranquility I was expecting to feel was conspicuously clouded by the commercialism. There were people praying in the pews as gawking crowds filed past, and I got the sense that they were there for show--the token pray-ers that every good church needs. It was disheartening. A man in front of me raised his camera to get a picture of the painting on the ceiling (ala Sistine Chapel), and a security guard immediately pounced, "Monsieur, please no pictures! Respect is very important!" I wonder what he thinks of the gift shop that abuts the confessional, or the votive candles that cost 10euro to light.

Sacre Couere from the back

I was happy to get back outside. While Diana climbed the stairs to the top of Sacre Couere, I walked around the back of it, and got a whole different view. There's a park that gets the shade of the church, and you can see the castle-like architecture close up, no noise or crowds in your face. I liked it much better back there. As I meandered back to our meeting place to wait for Diana, a portrait artist approached me and asked if I wanted my portrait done. I didn't, but we got to talking about art and literature (those were his majors in school thirty years ago) and we mutually moped about the lack of careers for artsy types like us. Behold my future.

Diana met me, and we headed to Place de Tertre, a bustling little square full of street artists and artists selling their work, surrounded by shops, cafes, and galleries. At this point, our stomachs are reallllly chatty, so we picked a place and sat down to eat. I ordered soup a l'ognion gratinee and Diana ordered a crepe with poulet, fromage, et champignon, and we split a nutella crepe for dessert. There were four girls from Illinois sitting next to us, and they had ordered everything from escargot and oysters, to duck and chocolate mousse. The only thing they would eat is the baguette, spaghetti, and ice cream. The french are insulted if you don't clean your plate. Their waiter was not amused. Wooooo America! We hoped we counterbalanced the impression they were making.

We then headed to the park behind Sacre Couere and sat down to do some writing. I popped a bottle of wine and wrote my assignment for Heather, a poem on L'Heure Verte, the green hour. Verte refers to absinthe ala Baudelaire and so many other writers, and while our professors condone neither absinthe nor alcoholism, she did ask us to write about an experience with a drink we have, be it luke warm bottled water or my deelish bottle of wine. I think the poem came out rather well. Its in the final stages now.

The culprits...pre-crap

But. I must say, my patience was tested by the pigeons. Birds of all varieties are usually high on my list of things to like; however, in my placid little spot under the shady tree, I got crapped on...twice...in thirty minutes. Pigeons, this is uncalled for. I have been your champion, defending you to all the haters who think you're dirty, ugly, rats with wings. And this is the thanks I get. That's just really nice.

ANYWAY. We decided to swing by the Moulin Rouge on the way home now that it was getting dark. Don't worry, Mom. We stayed outside. We had a train connection outside of it so we people watched (laughed) at the spectacle for a minute. No one under the age of 50 seemed to be going inside.

So we get home and get ready to head to our first french discotheque, Nouveau Casino. Its on Oberkampf, 5 minutes down the street from our apartment, and you get in free if you get there before 1am. We got in line at 12:50 and dodge attempts of random dudes to latch on to our group to accelerate their admittance. We got to the front of the line at 12:57 (winners) and head inside to the hottest (temperature-wise) dungeon of a room ever. But, the lights are wild and the music is good, and everyones speaking french, so I'm happy. We do clubby things for awhile, then two of my fingers got caught in the world's heaviest door (they turned all purple and fat...cute), and we head on home.

Day 7. Voila!