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As usual I wake early but today I wake with a heavy heart as it’s my last day in Paris. My flight LS316 from Charles de Gaulle to Leeds is 5:00pm. I try to put this at the back of my mind and focus instead on all I have to get done before I leave. As usual I take up my spot at Starbucks and reflect on the past few days. It had been both busy and eventful but was satisfied that I had completed all I had set out to do. I couldn’t be too down about returning home and rejoining my wife and children which reminds me I must deliver on a promise I made to Alexander my eldest at 3 years. Before I left I promised I’d purchase a jet2 model plane. He regularly visits Yeadon Tarn in West Yorkshire to see the flights leave from Leeds/Bradford Airport, and had seen my flight leave for Paris the previous Monday: “There’s daddy’s plane,” he shouts and follows up with, “I’m going to miss him mummy.” He genuinely believes I own and fly it. Why shatter his little dreams! I cross the road to pick up a souvenir or two from the tacky gift shop on the left and then re-join Tom at Starbucks. “Got to be the Musee Montmartre today I think.” “That sounds good.” Replies Tom and off we set. We get as far as Anvers and are suddenly stopped in our tracks by the down pouring of rain. This wasn’t on the agenda and the walk up the hill wasn’t looking to appetising. We head left and locate a Costa Coffee and take refuge from the rain. The rain is much heavier by the time we are served and we don’t feel any enthusiasm for making our way up the hill so we sit outside but under the café’s awning protecting ourselves from the downpour. I love the way the rain trickles from the awning and so attempt some photography to capture it. I fail miserably (see result below) but thought it would give a sense of the conditions. We assumed the rain was here to stay so when the rain was at its lightest we made our way back to the Elysée Montmartre where we turn an immediate left to climb the hill. I glanced up at the Elysée Montmartre at 72 Boulevard de Rochechouart and note that it is undergoing some repair work and decide to cross over the road taking shelter to take a few snaps of its current condition (see below). I am pleased that the Elysée is being refurbished as it’s a venue with ample history. It’s at the Elysée Montmartre that the unforgettable French cancan was invented in 1807. The shows quickly spread to other venues in the neighbourhood of Boulevard Rochechouart, including the Moulin Rouge and the Folies Bergère and it was at the Elysée Montmartre that Toulouse-Lautrec painted several of his paintings. After surviving a fire in 1900, Elysée Montmartre diversified and took on many different guises but was again ravaged by fire in 2011, the 200-year-old venue nearly shut down before the French government rallied to save it. Elysée Montmartre is currently closed to the public but a new era awaits. If you want to know anything about the history of Montmartre and the personalities that lived and executed their art here then this is the place for you. Situated at 8-13 Rue Cortot and founded in 1960 it was home to many artists such as Renoir, Suzanne Valadon and her equally famous artist son Maurice Utrillo (a specialist in capturing the streets and buildings of Montmartre). The gardens have been renovated according to Renior’s paintings and provide a view of the vineyard and the Au Lapin Agile. Since the last time I was here Suzanne Valadon’s studio has been renovated and this gives you a real sense of how she and Maurice lived and the conditions in which they worked. For me it wasn’t just about the literal artists that occupied this place it was the history of Montmartre generally and the vision Rodolphe Salis had for it and his subsequent creation of Le Chat Noir which was his attempt to deliver on his vision. Then there is the tribute to The Moulin Rouge and there is plenty to take in especially the lithographs of Toulouse-Lautrec that celebrate the Moulin Rouge performers Jane Avril and Louise Weber. For good measure there is a fine Lithograph of Aristide Bruant a friend of Lautrec and a very interesting personality in his own right who is well worth a study. It’s worth reading the plaque that exists within the museum that says more about Montmartre and Salis’s vision: “In 1800 Montmartre was an impoverished, dangerous and physically marginal part of Paris. However, at the end of 1881 a young visionary named Rodolphe Salis opened the Chat Noir cabaret on the Boulevard Rochechouart which soon attracted numerous young, avant-garde artists, writers, musicians and performers to live and work in Montmartre. In 1884 Salis made the following audacious statement: “What is Montmartre? – Nothing! What should it be? – Everything!” Within a relatively short time, Salis’s prediction that Montmartre would be “everything” became a reality. In fact, Montmartre was transformed in to the literary/artistic centre of Europe! This exhibition endeavours to reveal the unique characteristics which define the “Spirit of Montmartre” as well as to the Present Montmartre’s contribution to the development of modern art at the turn of the nineteenth century. Welcome to the show!” Time is running away from me at this point, less so for Tom who is staying another night. Realistically, I have time for one final lunch at Le Chat Noir before heading back to the hotel to collect my backpack and pick up my taxi back to the airport. I opt for the Caesar salad and I feel like it’s my final meal as a condemned man, I know in reality this is far from the truth but it underlines just how gut wrenching it is for me to leave the city I have come to love so much. Tom, set out his potential plans for the remainder of his stay. “I may take in some Monet,” Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about leaving. “If I want to see some Monet I’ll take a trip to IKEA.” Seriously, IKEA have destroyed Monet for me simply because I used see his work there all the time and it became too accessible. I wish Tom well a little envious of his extra day and leave him at the Chat Noir as I head back to the hotel to pick up my stuff. I wait for the taxi who then takes me past The Chat Noir, The Moulin Rouge and Starbucks looking at my seat one final time knowing that tomorrow morning it’ll occupied by someone who perhaps is embarking on their own little adventure in Paris.
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I woke up early once again, showered without disturbing the snoring Tom, changed and sneaked quietly out of the room eager to commence the day. I walked once more to Starbucks to order my Caffe Latte and take my usual seat outside looking at the Moulin. I had on me a wry smile as I reluctantly acknowledged that the previous night had been a success. I still think Jane would have hated it but that’s ok as I could easily understand her viewpoint and given the choice between the 1890s Moulin or the 2015 Moulin I would opt for the 1890s every time. I feel better already. Today has been 5 years in the making. Mark Pryor and I had agreed to meet at the famed Les Deux Magots at 11:00am. Mark is a successful crime writer from Austin Texas although he is a native of Hertfordshire, England. We met through this very website when he contacted me whilst researching The Crypt Thief which was to be his second book in his famed Hugo Marston Murder Mysteries. Mark kindly acknowledged me in this book and a lasting friendship was forged. Les Deux Magots situated at 6 Place Saint-Germain des Prés was an appropriate choice of venue and I was mindful of the history when choosing the place to meet. Mark would be following in the footsteps of fine writers such as Ernest Hemingway, Rimbaud and other patrons such as Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, Pablo Picasso and James Joyce plus others. Tom and I arrived early at the Saint-Germain-des-Prés Metro Stop and so took the opportunity to look inside the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés which is pictured below. If you want to know more about this abbey then the internet/guidebooks is the place for you. Having left I crossed the road to take a couple of distant photos of Les Deux Magots and the equally famed Café de Flore another Hemingway haunt which are in close proximity to each other. Having taken my photos I looked around to be met by Mark and his family and after greeting each other we made our way to Les Deux Magots. Mark was accompanied by his wife and mother so we made quite a group and conversation flowed freely as did the Kronenbourg Beer. As a group we discussed Mark’s books, characters within, plots and observations made by readers and what inspires him. We chatted about American gun laws, differences in employment laws and naturally all things politics from both sides of the pond. The time seemed to fly by and after exchanging gifts (Mark presented me with a signed copy of The Reluctant Matador – Book 5 in the Hugo Marston Series and I presented Mark with 2 Books by Claude Izner: Murder on the Eiffel Tower and The Pere Lachaise Mystery) and taking some photos to capture the moment we went our separate ways. Mark and family to the Rodin Museum and Tom and I towards the Seine to check out the boquinistes stalls along the quay side with a view to taking a boat cruise down the Seine. Incidentally, the boquinistes are the subject matter for the first Hugo Marston novel The Bookseller. It was a gentle walk along the Seine and I always enjoy the boquinistes stalls but the heat of the day was starting to take its toll on the two of us and the sooner we boarded an excursion boat the better. We managed to locate our stop and paid for the tickets but had to join a queue to get on the boat for about 20 minutes. We’re effectively being crushed together as the numbers queuing grew and added to the heat this was becoming unbearable for the both of us. When the boat eventually docked and the gate was opened all manners and courtesies were left behind as a stampede ensued to ensure the best seats were captured and secured. We didn’t so much as walk on the boat but instead pushed onto it. Anyway, we survived and found ourselves at the front of the boat with plenty of room to breathe and to cool down a little with the gentle breeze being offered up by the gods. If you are arriving in Paris for the first time I would always recommend a relaxing boat cruise to get ones bearings and get a sense of where some of the major tourist traps are situated. However, for me this is just a perfect opportunity to put my feet up for an hour and enjoy the sites without necessarily thinking too much about the commentary being offered. I’ve heard them a few times now so just let it go through me. I love passing under the bridges and returning waves being offered from those above and to other passing boats – why not? Naturally the highlight is passing Gustave Eiffel’s Tower which I never ever tire of seeing and always take the opportunity to take a few snaps. She is rightly the symbol of Paris and has been for 126 years, not bad considering there was serious talk of dismantling it after 10 years and was only saved when it was proposed that it be used as a communications tower. You can’t go anywhere without seeing the Tower and I don’t mean the real thing, I mean simply the amount of Eiffel Tower tat you can buy from the streets and souvenir shops and stalls. That’s fine with me it doesn’t take any thing away from the majesty of Gustave’s masterpiece. We headed back to the Hotel to chill out for a couple of hours before deciding on our location to have dinner. We opted for the Tavern Montmartre at 25 rue Gabrielle right up the hill. “No way, am I walking up that hill again. “Ok, so what are you proposing?” “The Funicular!” “Fair enough Tom, my feet could do with a break.” So, off we went walking to the funicular which was totally rebuilt in 1991 and takes 1 minute 30 seconds to take you from the bottom of the hill right up to the Sacré Cœur which beats taking the 300 or so steps. The idea once we were at the top was to walk down the steps on the other side to get us to our destination. Lazy but most effective! The Tavern Montmartre is no stranger to Tom and I as we have had the experience on our 2 previous visits here. The rustic appearance, the hard wooden benches and the small interior seems to combine wonderfully with the magnificent food, drink and service that is provided. It has never disappointed and didn’t so on this occasion. I love walking the streets of Montmartre especially up the hill and around Sacré Cœur but tonight I had a destination in mind for Tom and I, the famous Montmartre cabaret Le Lapin Agile (nimble rabbit) situated at 22 Rue des Saules. I wanted a taste of the real Bohemia or as close to it as I could get and since this place hasn’t really changed much over the years it seemed a good place to try out. We entered and were met by the host who enquired where we were from and after paying the entrance fee (drink included) we were invited into a darkened room surrounded by old wooden furniture that had engravings that had been there for decades and on the walls hung the paintings dating back to the 1920s and before. This place has had many famous former patrons including Picasso, Modigliani and Maurice Utrillo. It was a truly wonderful evening as different singers performed their set in front of a red curtain over a solid 4 hour duration. As I understand it some of the songs they sang date back to the fifteenth century. The singers were accompanied by talented accordionists, guitarists and pianists and they all encouraged audience participation which I thoroughly enjoyed even if I didn’t understand a lot of what they were singing. I counted the numbers in the room and it came to 35 which seemed to be the right number to create a positive atmosphere. It isn’t designed to hold too many and is certainly a contrast to the Moulin Rouge. One particular singer caught my attention she had a slight frame wore a long black dress possessing dark long black hair. She sang beautifully and expressed her lyrics through her facial and body gestures. I could have watched and listened to her all night. She mixed it up with both French and English appreciating her audience. Her performance will live long in the memory. The time came to leave as it was the early hours of Thursday morning and we both enjoyed the walk back to the hotel looking forward to a good nights sleep. Day 4 to follow: The Musee Montmartre, Elysee Montmartre and Le Chat Noir. Is there any greater feeling than waking up in the City of Lights? I doubt it, although I’m not sure Tom agrees. “I’m not getting up at Teddy time,” then rolls over and goes back to sleep. Teddy is my one year old son who has a tendency to wake up at daft-o-clock. I don’t see it that way 7:00am is too late and I need to be up and out to maximise the time I’m here. I walk to the nearest Starbucks opposite the Moulin Rouge. Ok, not very French but let’s be honest they do a great Cafe Latte and it’s also good value for money with a prime view of the Moulin if you sit outside in the early morning light. I reflect on the Moulin, we have a date in the evening a date I’ve been putting off for 15 years. Tonight we meet and I’m nervous. I’ve aged in this time, I’m a little greyer, certainly wiser and yet the Moulin still looks as majestic as she did the first time I saw her. How rude. I reflect on her history and the personalities who visited and performed there. I’d always avoided this date with destiny as I felt I was betraying the memory of Toulouse-Lautrec and her finest performer Jane Avril. What would they think about this modern incarnation? I concluded in the end that I just had to be in the venue that they shared. Same place separated only by time, only! I had no expectations in fact a part of me wants to hate it. I guess time will tell. I finish my latte and I am joined by Tom. We’ve a busy schedule today but first things first we have an appointment to keep with Pablo Picasso at the Musee Picasso situated on Rue de Thorigny. It wasn’t the easiest place to find but it’s a short walk from the St-Sebastien Froissart Metro station. The museum opened its doors in 1985 and put an end to 11 years of wrangling over the death duties of Pablo. This is no surprise to me as I find most of his art confusing so why should things be any different in death? I’ve always had a bit of a love hate relationship with Picasso and to be honest I often think some of his work was taking the piss like Tony Hancock in the 60s comedy film The Rebel. If he was then he’s having the last laugh that’s for sure. In reality his laughing stopped in 1973 the year he died. I had the same problem here as I do when visiting any exhibition of art, way too much art to take it all in. In this case around 2000 pieces including 203 paintings, 158 sculptures, 16 collages and some 1500 drawings and prints, I mean where the hell do you start? I stand there looking at a typical Picasso (you know what I mean), trying to understand, define and contextualise it in terms of the period and what it represents to him etc and then move on to the next and next and next and so on. Talk about feeling an embolism coming on. I don’t blame him particularly I just think it’s a bit flawed having to view 2000 pieces in one morning. Fortunately, I’m on safer ground with the Cezanne, Renoir and Matisse that they had on display. I did fall for one Picasso which is shown below in which he depicts Sacre Coeur using charcoal I believe. After completing the tour and feeling mentally tired it was time for some lunch and Tom and I located a nice cafe near the museum which served a stunning omelette and fries. It was time to walk off lunch so Tom and I decided to walk towards Notre Dame and take in the stunning gothic cathedral which I never tire of visiting. Amazingly, around 10 million people enter its doors each year. Tom and I decided not to be the 10 millionth and 1 and 2 respectively. I’d been inside some 15 years before and we didn’t feel compelled to join the huge queue that had formed. I could say more about this most amazing of places but can’t really add to the guidebooks so will leave you to look things up. I was happy to just sit outside and bask in the sunshine as it’s truly a stunning afternoon. Next stop was the famous bookshop Shakespeare and Co literally a stone’s throw from Notre Dame situated on Rue de la Bucherie. This is probably my favourite bookshop in the entire world and the stock includes both new and used books. If purchasing a book ask them to seal it with their very own Shakespeare and Co seal they will be happy to. I left on this occasion with a book all about the Paris commune called “The Terrible Year” by Alistair Horne and yes I had it stamped. Tom is quite partial to his afternoon naps and so this is where we parted company. Tom ventured back to the hotel and I continued on to Pere Lachaise cemetery to conduct my usual business of visiting at the very least Jane Avril and Oscar Wilde. I had arranged to meet writer Kate Sermon at the grave of Oscar but sadly due to the ridiculous queue at the Musee D’Orsay we were unable to. So it was just me and the cemetery cats. Pere Lachaise cemetery is a place I just can’t stay away from. The usual entrance I enter was closed and was immediately worried that perhaps it had unexpectedly closed for the day. I walked a little further to the main entrance and was relieved to see it was open. I usually visit the florist before entering as I place flowers at Jane’s grave when I visit. I spoke to the gentleman at the entrance selling his maps of the cemetery and asked where the nearest florist was only to me taken aback by his response. “Ahh, don’t waste your time young man, they can’t be trusted here. You buy flowers, you lay flowers, you go and then they return to take flowers back.” “You’re serious?” “Yes, my friend they can’t be trusted. Save your money, pay your respects and be happy.” I was seriously surprised and upset by this revelation but the view was supported by his colleague. I had laid flowers at Jane’s resting place for many years now. Had they been stolen every time? Perhaps not, but it could explain the growing number of plastic flowers I see on display. I took him at his word and with a heavy heart entered the cemetery empty handed which was a rather weird feeling. As always, I visited Jane and as is often the case there were no flowers. Had I made a mistake? I felt like I had. I spent about 30 minutes there reflecting on her life and times and wishing I’d had a taste of it. The greatest sadness for me is there is no footage of her dancing. All we are left with is testimonies from those who knew and saw her and you are left to imagine what she must have been like. I guess it’s like describing Astaire without any movie footage. After Jane, I went to visit Oscar Wilde’s grave and as usual it was looking a bit messy and untidy rather ironic for the master of aesthetics. I must have visited on a bad day. I appreciate the glass surround that protects Sir Jacob Epstein’s fine sculpture but all the tourists do now is throw their tributes over the glass panels and create a mess. Having read lots recently about the Italian artist Amedeo Modigliani I thought it would be good to conclude this particular project with a visit to his final resting place via Sarah Bernhardt the great French actress and the big hearted singer Yvette Guilbert. Modi as he was affectionately called wasn’t easy to locate and there were 2 groups also attempting to find him. The leader of one who was obviously Italian looked at me and said “Modigliani?” I answered with a shrug and kept searching. His group continued in their search but I thought they were heading in the wrong direction and I eventually found him. To be fair you can’t blame Modi he’d been in the same spot since 1920. Again, since I knew little Italian I shouted to the group, “MODIGLIANI!” and pointed down, where else? They came across and I attempted to communicate with him - the Italian not Modi! “You are from Italy?” With another pointed finger this time at him. He replied, “Yes.” – This was going well. “He was from Livorno on the west coast of Italy?” “Yes.” I liked showing off my knowledge. He took his couple of snaps then disappeared looking rather proud. So he should be Modigliani was one of the greats. After Pere Lachaise I caught the Metro back to Blanche and met Tom at Starbucks for a catch up and stuck around for another Latte anticipating our evening at the Moulin Rouge. From there we went back to the Hotel to get poshed up and discussed what VIP actually meant with regards to our visit. Oh, did I not mention we had VIP Tickets? We arrived at 6:30pm ahead of the 7:00pm start and were escorted to the front of the queue to be met by one of the doormen with a handshake. He passed us on to another tailored host who again shook our hands and asked where we were from and then passed us on to a 3rd host who also shook our hand and escorted us to our table in the Gods. So, essentially VIP meant lots of handshakes, fair enough. I have to say we had a great seat overlooking the balcony and a perfect view of the stage which was currently being occupied by the warm up band and they were very good. “Champagne, Sir.” “Don’t mind if I do, thank you very much.” How do I describe the next 2 hours? This is difficult but let me try. Jane Avril once stated that, “The only thing that the Moulin Rouge ever ground was money.” (Making reference to the windmill façade), I was about to find out what she meant. The stage show Feerie was simply overwhelming, dancers (use your imagination), female and male adorned in a variety of costumes of differing styles embracing different cultures combined with superb choreography and incredibly stunning staging was the main theme of the show. However, there were other acts that involved two superb acrobatic acts, a ridiculously impossible roller skating act whose routine had the audience gasping for air. At one stage of the show a scantily clad dancer jumped into a pool of water with three huge snakes in it. Yes, I did say a pool that came up from the depths of the stage to reveal itself, quite an amazing spectacle. Nearly as spectacular as the disobedient snake that somehow managed to escape the pool to shock those who had front row seats. A member of the Moulin team had to jump up and push the unruly snake back into the water much to the amusement of the watching crowd. I do remember feeling rather tipsy as the stage show continued and can only assume that Tom kept my glass full as I don’t recall taking my eyes off the stage once. I hate to say it – It was a truly remarkable show! Sorry Jane, sorry Henri. Part of the VIP package was the freebies we received, a glossy programme, a DVD of the show, a box of macaroons and two packets of lighters with the image of oneself that was taken by the official photographer at the start of the evening and a rather glossy postcard. I also left with a commemorative picture of myself posing inside the Moulin Rouge. Well, why not! Having explored the gift shop and taken photos of the Toulouse-Lautrec lithographs celebrating Jane Avril’s connection to the place Tom and I returned to the Chat Noir to take in all that we had seen and experienced. It was good to see our pianist on duty and as soon as he saw me he waved and immediately played Le Vie en Rose. Nice touch and a sure and certain way to earn his tip! My final word on the Moulin Rouge - If you get the chance to go and see the show – do so! Day 3 – Les Deux Magots, Mark Pryor, River Cruise, Tavern Montmartre and Au Lapin Agile. "Life’s a party man, you have to enjoy it.” Says Daniel, drunk, a bit too loud and listening in to what was until then a private conversation taking place in the bar at Leeds/Bradford Airport. Tom and I were drinking Prosecco and now more than ever counting the clock down till we board flight LS315. “So, where are you headed man?” “Oh, we’re off to Paris for a few days.” Daniel’s laughs, “I’m off to the Caribbean with my wife and children, life’s a party man, sun, sea and……..sand and lots of drinking to be done!” “Well, you can drink in Paris as well you know and we won’t be short on sun and yes ok we’ll have a river instead of a sea and a bit limited in the sand department but there will be drinking.” “Not the same though is it man, you’ll be visiting museums and seeing art and stuff!” I couldn’t disagree with him on that. “Each to their own man!” I couldn't help but reply. He leaves us with his best wishes and eventually we finish our Prosecco (2nd bottle) and take flight to Charles de Gaulle enjoying a glass of whites. I never get tired of the experience of taking off and being above the clouds. I raise my glass to Howard Hughes and privately thank him for the advances he made in flight experience and safety. We land safely and make the walk to Platform 24 to catch the train to Gare de Nord taking in the Stade de France the national stadium of France and Sacre Coeur in the distance on the hill appreciating that for me this is the true symbol of arrival. From Gare de Nord we jump on the metro to arrive at Blanche in Montmartre. It’s always a reassuring site to run up the steps and be met by The Moulin Rouge on the right but more of her later. It's a short walk to our hotel of choice the Royal Fromentin at 11, Rue Fromentin. We sign in at about 6:00pm and admire the lobby, once a popular cabaret Le Don Juan which according to the hotel preserves the charm and spirit of the 1930s with its original wood panelling and theatrical decor. For me the lift which dates back to the 1930s is the star of the hotel. We may be on the second floor in Room 24 but the lift just has to be used even though it’s a squeeze even with 2 tired Englishmen making their way to their temporary home. After unpacking and having rested a little we decide it’s time for tea at the famous Chat Noir bar and restaurant. Ahh, the Chat Noir now in its 3rd incarnation but such a history is attached to its name. The Chat Noir, where its original owner Rodolphe Salis served wit and intelligence as bread and salt are served on a common table. The Chat Noir had been moved by its owner Salis from its original home in the Boulevard de Rochechouart to the Rue Laval (now Victor Masse) but that was back in the 1890s (worth further study). This incarnation can be located at 68, Boulevard de Clichy and you are guaranteed a warm welcome with a fine choice of wines and great food. Tom and I selected the steak and fries and washed them down with a beer before making the decision to head up the hill to Sacre Coeur by foot. Sacre Coeur was commissioned as atonement for the deaths of 58,000 people during the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-71 and the bloody events of the Commune. Money was donated from across France and the first stone was laid in 1875. The Basilica having overcome many issues was finally completed in 1914. World War 1 intervened, and Parisians had to wait until 1919 before its consecration. It’s without question an impressive landmark and the gleaming white stone plays beautifully against a bright blue sky. This is usually the classic photo snap. I always like to see the sculpture of one of my heroines Joan of Arc who with St. Louis guard the entrance to the basilica. It’s a very spiritual place and I don’t think you need to possess a faith to acknowledge this. I sit on one of the pews taking in its magnificence while Tom takes a good look around. This is a pose I have struck many times as I like to sit and remain still to reflect on certain people and times. I see many budding tourist photographers taking their snaps but I have never felt compelled to join them. Instead, I’m happy to soak it up and store the memory deep within. I think you lose something living behind the camera lens and even though they are there snapping away they somehow don’t really see anything. That’s just me perhaps. I have to say the sitting was very welcome at this time as my feet were starting to feel a little sore after the uphill trek. I moved to sit on the steps outside and noted the light had turned to dusk, Tom eventually located me and the decision was made to head back to the Chat Noir. As was our habit when we visit the Chat we ordered a bottle of Chablis and settled back to listen to the pianist who was going through his repertoire of both French and English classics. He approached Tom and I and presented us with a sheet which he explained was his playlist. Hmmm, I selected one and he responds, “Hmmm, that is not my best please pick another.” “Oh, ok, how about “Bridge over Troubled Water?” “Hmmm, not good also please try again.” I was starting to doubt that this was his playlist. We finally settled on The Long and Winding Road and Le Vie En Rose, I was confident he would know the latter. To be fair he was really good and created a relaxed atmosphere about the place. Tom, who has a friend called Sarah who lives in a rented apartment in Pigalle decided to get in touch with her with a view to extending the night. It was getting close to midnight but thought it would be good to stay awake for as long as my body held out. Tom having made contact got her to meet us at the Chat and then he left to look for a supermarket so that he could purchase 2 further bottles of wine to take back to hers. Before she arrived Tom informed me that he hadn’t seen her in some years and that he thought she was a dancer if not now but certainly for a spell in the past. She joined up with us and I could see straight away that she could pass as a dancer having it seemed to me the right attributes. We went back to her apartment which I enjoyed. How many times had I walked passed hundreds if not thousands of similar apartments without taking a peek inside? It surprised me just how large the interior was with its many rooms that were taken up by her room mates who were away this particular night. We settled down to our wine and chatted about her life in Paris having moved away from England some 10 years or so before. I was jealous of her life having made the decision I completely failed to make many years before. The early start, flight, food, drink and walking finally caught up with Tom and I and we left Sarah and headed back to the hotel. I was happy to find my bed and couldn’t help but smile at the thought of being back in my beloved Paris and all she meant to me. I slept soundly. To Come on Day 2 – Picasso, Notre Dame, Shakespeare and Co, Pere Lachaise and The Moulin Rouge. 
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