Pâté de campagne

The city of lights, or at least some of its inhabitants, welcomed us with open arms shortly after arrival. We dumped our bags in the little hotel in Montmartre, and trailed off towards Canal de St Martin, where we met up with our old uni friend and mentor, Lisa. She's been living in the French capitol for nine years, and we had a night of eating, drinking, reminiscing, drinking, not falling into the canal, singing and drinking. Practising of the French language was also eagerly tried, for there were also some of Lisa's colleagues present, some of whom didn't speak a word of neither English nor Swedish. Fun was had by all.
When the sun rose (around 10-ish) we had an English breakfast by the base of les Escaliers à a Butte before heading up to where one can behold a huge basilica (Sacre-Coeur) and a great view of the cityscape, and four billion tourists (plus the roving gangs of scammers, people posing as statues and sellers of crap that feeds off the tourists). The view from la Butte is indeed amazing, and the white church on the hill is impressive.
As per ancient tradition, we joined a free walking tour of the city and was herded along the streets and canals by yet another feisty non-native; this time an aspiring actress from Melbourne who nevertheless had been living in the city for the last nine years.
There are quite a few sigths to ooh and aah over in what was formerly known as Lutetia, and by walking around the Seine and its surroundings for 4,5 hours, the camera shot, and the eyes did spot, such landmarks as tour d'Eiffel, le Louvre, Champs-Elysée, Pont Neuf, l'Opéra*, Place de Concorde, Jardin de Tuileries, Hotel des Invalides and many more, too many to mention.
After som nice cuiche lorraine we set course for that huge-ass temporary entrance to the 1889 world fair, which now primerally functions as a foundation for radio- and tv-antennae. Photos were of course taken of Gustave's 330 metre tall creation, but since we both had been up there in our youth we decided not to this time. Also, just one of the four lifts was operational, so the line was fairly long.
Before she had to leave for her vacation in southern France, we payed a visit to Lisa in her little château in a fancy suburb almost all the way to Saint Germain** and had some nice champagne and pastis.
As she works in La Défense, a modern, skyscrapery and officey suburb which eloquently mirrors Champs-Elysée and its l'arc de Triomphe, we of course took a look there, with its huge arc, its concrete, steel and glass constructions and its modern and tall-rising architecture, quite different from how the low buildings in the city centre are.
At the cemetary of Père Lachaise, there lies buried many a celebrety, especially one Jim Morrison, but also Edith Piaf, Dupont&Dupont, Oscar Wilde and Frederick Chopin, to name a few.
From a bunch of dead cultural icons to another; Our own neighbourhood, Montmartre, was to be explored, and why not doing so while taking a guided walk through the old haunts of artists of yore, maybe most notably Gaugin, Picasso, Toulouse-Lautrec and van Gogh.
Montmartre used to be a place where the poor dwelled, quite a slum, if you will. Nowadays it's one of the more expensive quarters, but still keeps some of its cosiness and feeling of being at home, along with some business giving an echo to what made Montmartre famous at the turn de la siecle, namely drugs and women, albeit in a very small scale. The rest of Montmartre is historical buildings, picturesque pubs, cosy cafés and narrow cobbled streets, and its ambient atmosphere airs of artistry.
Picasso used to live here, and pay his restaurant bills with some drawings. Toulouse-Lautrec, though short of stature, lived the high life of arts, absinthe and ladies. And the hard-of-hearing Dutchman, van Gogh, shared an apartment with his brother.
The legacy of Montmartre as a cultural Mekka spills over into this time and day, not just through the many art students who live and work here, but also in the most successful French movie ever: Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amelie Poulain. A nice glass of wine was sipped upon at the very café made famous by that film.
Unfortunately, the drink that is the very heart and soul of the neighbourhood was not to be found; we chased chasing the green fairy to no avail, and left Montmartre absinthe-less.
At some point we made loose plans of taking a daytrip to the French countryside, preferably to La Rochelle, but the train ride would take some three and a half hours and opted to stay in town. A boat cruise along the Seine took place, after which we metroed to where, according to our walking guide, was to be found the best crêpes in town. As the buildings in the city centre are fairly low, no higher than seven floors, the skyscraper of Montparnasse sticks out quite a bit, but that makes it easier to find what could be known as Little Bretagne, and that's where galettes (food crêpes) and crêpes (dessert crêpes) can be found, along with nice, dry cider, drunk from a bowl.
The area is refreshingly tourist-free, and its nearby train station offers something neither Gare du Nord nor Gare de l'Est does: cater to interrail pass holders without having to stand in line for hours on end. And so we arranged our bookings for the final leg of the train tour, with little to no hassle.
With some strolling along Champs-Elyssée, a few shots of l'Arc de Triomphe we, again, found our way to the Eiffel tower, but this time at night time. A tripod and long shutter speeds helped taking some nice pictures before heading off to home and a few last beers in Montmartre. Au revoir, Paris!
*) of Phantom fame
**) the little town, not the district or the football club