... that is, soir, 'evening.' After long travel--as we explained to our amused cab-driver, a soft-spoken man from Algeria, it takes a while to get somewhere from south central Texas, a state bigger than France--and a bit of afternoon rest, we spent the evening exploring our neighborhood for the week, Montmartre. Is it a 'hill of martyrs,' mons martyrum, especially St. Denys, a 3rd-century CE Christian executed by decapitation, after which he miraculously continued to preach in the manner of Orpheus? Or a 'hill of Mars,' mons Martis, the ancient Roman god of war?
Our initial observations were inconclusive on that score, but they confirmed that the quartier--like la ville--is gorgeous! Shown here are (top) part of our street against the perfectly wintry sky and (bottom) views from our apartment's windows. We're taken with the trellising, the varied facings, the echo of clouds in the slate-blue metalwork and tiles ...
And the neighborhood was no less striking last night, perfect for walking in a gentle rain--as perforce the city must be, given the ongoing grève (transite strike) that has closed most of the métro stops* and means for evocative vistas.
*Here are two: what would have been our regular starting-point, the stop at Lamarck-Caulaincourt (transformed by night and quiet into a beautiful and foreboding Hell-mouth) ...
... and nearby, one of the stops serving Montmartre, Abbesses, distinguished by one of the very few surviving canopies from the métro system's original build: immediately recognizable art-nouveau design by Hector Guimard.
For our first real dinner--we'd snacked at a local bar while waiting for our apartment to be ready--we went more contemporary, wishing to experience Paris aujourd'hui, the Paris of today, and so walked around the cimetière de Montmartre to the terrific restaurant Afrik'n Fusion, where we enjoyed yassa poisson, sammous au poulet, and--in B's case--a splendid, refreshing hibiscus juice. Highly recommended (and perhaps to be repeated later on, even as we'll also seek out Chinese, Israeli, and more).
Finally for now, this Sunday morning started off quietly and warmly with a typically Parisian petit déjeuner, pastries fetched from the local patisserie and coffee (which I'd made sure to get yesterday from a roaster's around the corner, knowing this first jet-lagged morning would need jet-fuel); pictured too is a brand-new book I've got from the bookstore just down the street. Now we'll walk down to the two îles and then along the Seine towards la Tour Eiffel ...
Finally, the running tally of 'how Ben sounds in French' so far includes (from our cab-driver) "maybe like a québécois, not like an American," and (from fellow customers at the bookstore, the wonderful L'Éternel Retour), "British, certainly, not American!" More to come?
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