We both had a much better night's sleep and woke up refreshed and ready for our last day in Paris. After showering, packing and checking out, we decided to take the bus to a stop near the Dali museum, where we had a 10:00am booking.
The local bus, the number 40, is a great little service that hurtles around the streets of Montmartre and is very handy. There are stops everywhere! We took a short walk from the hotel, and within ten minutes we were boarding, using the travel cards we'd bought yesterday. It was only a couple of stops to the area near the Dali museum, and we started to look for somewhere for coffee and breakfast.
We soon found Le Mère Catherine on a pretty square full of restaurants, and ignored a Starbucks a little further along the street. We took seats on the pavement and chose the continental breakfast at 12 euros. It consisted of bread, a croissant, jam, coffee and orange juice. Perfect!
The area was still quiet, and artists were arriving to set up their paintings and easels. I watched one older, grey-haired man stroll by smoking a cigarette... he looked a little rough, but then I noticed his Levi's jeans and Puma trainers. He caught my eye as well, but carried on strolling along the street.
It was sheer bliss to sit in the sun and enjoy our French breakfast. We were able to do lots of people watching and observe the comings and goings of the locals. As we were finishing (the croissant was the best I'd ever eaten, so flaky and buttery), our strolling man returned, and this time he had an artist's pad under his arm. He asked if we wanted a portrait? Er, no, thank you very much! He persisted a little, and I thought he was going to become annoying, but after asking where we were from (as everyone seemed to do), he said we had come a long way to say no, grinned at us, and wandered off, no doubt on the lookout for another victim!
We asked for another coffee and watched as yet more artists arrived. A woman had been setting up when we arrived and had strolled over for coffee. Her paintings were set up right by the restaurant, which had tables across the street, and we wondered whether she paid them anything to use some of the pavement. She seemed to be on good terms with the waiters.
Reluctantly, it was time to go, so we paid the bill and stood up. Our strolling man had another go at trying to get us to sit for a portrait, but realised we were not up for it. Who knows how much it would cost? We walked around the corner to the Dali museum, and they checked our tickets, which we had bought online in advance.
The exhibition was beautifully laid out on the lower floor and was very interesting. It had been curated by a man called Beniamino Levi and consisted of sculptures, paintings, some furniture and the pornographic etchings, the same as which we'd seen in Figueres. Shortly after we arrived, a school group came in, and I can only imagine what they thought of some of the artwork!
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| Melting clock, inspired by Camembert softening in the summer sun |
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| Venus de Milo with long neck |
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| I snapped this and then realised it was entitled "The Grand Masturbator"... |
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| The Venus de Milo reimagined |
It was fantastic to be reacquainted with the mad genius that is Dali, and very interesting to read about his life and the way he saw art (I must read that book I bought last year in Cadaqués!). One of the most fascinating things we learnt was that Dali went to the US in 1945 to work on a short Walt Disney film called Destino. He worked solidly on the project for eight months, only for it to be shelved. It was finally produced in 2003.
The cat and the accordion!
The school group showed no interest at all in most of the artwork and made nuisances of themselves by lolling all over the stairs and looking generally bored. We tore ourselves away from the museum and decided to stroll around Montmartre and soak up the lovely atmosphere. Imagine our delight when we stumbled upon the cat and the accordion, a little music act which is famous!
By now, this very pretty area had filled up with tourists strolling in the sunshine. There were lots of artists painting and showing off their wares.
This time, I faced the bar and watched the staff make drinks and keep the customers happy. They all seemed to be working hard, and another grizzled man arrived, puffing on a cigarette and ordering a strong coffee. He seemed to know the staff well, and looked like he'd had a rough night!
We finished our drinks and then strolled slowly towards Sacre Coeur, taking in a gorgeous soap shop on the way, where I treated myself to two new soaps, one of which was in a pretty tin. Yesterday, I'd found my glasses case, and it was exactly what I wanted!
We approached Sacré Coeur from the back and decided to queue up and go in. Entry was free. We joined the end, and the line moved very quickly. By now it was warm, and the mass of humanity around us was a hotchpotch of different nationalities. Some were dressed for winter, some for the height of summer! Below us, Paris shimmered in a hazy sunshine.
It was lovely to enter the cool confines of the church, dedicated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and formally consecrated in 1919. Everyone was obeying the rule of silence, and we were delighted to see a group of nuns arrive and start to sing. They were the Benedictine Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Montmartre, and it was stunning to hear their voices accompanied by some kind of old musical instrument.
We wandered about looking at the gorgeous sculptures, stained glass windows and little altars.
We sat in the sun and watched the tourists amble by; some of them, like us, decided to stop for refreshments and soak up the Parisian sun. We both agreed that we were reluctant to leave Paris, and the visit had far exceeded my expectations. I had visited Paris twice before and hadn't been impressed; it certainly hadn't captured my heart like Berlin and Vienna, but we both loved Montmartre, and we never met a rude person. Everyone had been friendly and welcoming.
We lingered over our wine, reluctant to get up and start the journey home, but the time was getting on, and we needed to be at the Gare du Nord by just after 2:00pm. We walked back to the main street, and spotted a small supermarket, where we bought salads, tabbouleh, mini chocolate cakes, water and a bottle of rosé for the journey back to London.
Homeward bound
We then retrieved our luggage from the hotel, and Sophie ordered an Uber. The driver arrived and seemed a bit grumpy! At first, I didn't think he was going to help us put our suitcases in the boot of the car!
The journey to the station was nightmarish. We came upon binmen emptying what seemed like hundreds of bins outside several restaurants, and gathering pallets and boxes, and they took ages to throw the rubbish into the back of a huge bin lorry. We both sat silently screaming at how long it was taking and watching the clock edge ever further to 2:00pm. Amazingly, Uber sent Sophie a message asking if everything was OK, as we had been stationary for so long!
Once we got going, our driver appeared to ignore Uber's suggested route and went his own merry way. We then had to stop behind a van, and the driver jumped out to help another man load plaster boards into the back. He had completely blocked the narrow street, and we could hear another driver honking behind us.
We arrived at the chaos of the station with minutes to spare, and sped across the road to the entrance. All around, the traffic was gridlocked. It was bedlam! We hadn't a clue as to where to go, but finally found our way to an upper level and the start of the procedures to go back to the UK. This involved having photos taken (the very helpful woman told us exactly what to do, and what not to do!) and putting our bags through the X-ray machines again. We had to have our passports checked twice, for some reason!
We had a little wait until we could board the train, and there were no seats. Thankfully, we didn't have to wait for long and soon we were boarding the train, putting our luggage on the racks and settling into our seats.
We had a very different journey home. There were a group of Japanese businesspeople in the seats next to us, and they tapped away at their laptops for the entire journey. A French man who had been sitting with them moved to the seats in front of us and proceeded to sniff the whole way back, while emitting an unsavoury aroma.
After we'd eaten our delicious lunch (the salads were the same as the ones we'd bought on our last two trips to France - ham, egg and chicken, with balsamic vinegar, two crispy crouton batons and a cookie), we both used our noise defenders! Sophie wore her noise-cancelling headphones, while I put in my loops. We relaxed and drank the wine while gazing out over the French countryside. I even managed a nap!
Trying a sneaky manoeuvre!
Soon, we were through the tunnel and speeding towards St Pancras. Our onward train to Kettering wasn't until 6:17pm, but we fancied trying to get an earlier train after our busy day. When we arrived back at St Pancras, we walked back to where the display boards were and decided to try to board the 5:15pm train, which stopped at Kettering. Unfortunately, at the barrier, we discovered that we had to wait until our proper departure time... oh well!
We weren't really in the mood for expensive cocktails, so we went to The Hansom Bar and ordered a Campari and lemonade each. This was a suitably long drink that would keep us going until we could board legitimately! We sat and relaxed, did some more people watching (most were business types talking loudly and were full of their own self-importance).
At the proper time, we boarded the packed train and managed to get a seat opposite each other. Thankfully, at Bedford, a lot of people disembarked, and we had more room. We were late by fifteen minutes to Kettering, where Keith was waiting for us.
Back home, we sat in the kitchen and told Keith all about our trip, showing him photos and reliving the last three days!
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