Hey there, February

Tanya and I met some friends to go to see the Picasso exhibit at the Petite Palais this evening, but when we got there, there was a line zig-zagging across the front lawn of the museum. The sign at the back of the line said there was a four hour wait to get into the exhibit. Coincidentally, it was also about four degrees outside. Forget Picasso. We got crêpes instead.

Earlier today, Tanya and I climbed up to the top of Sacré Coeur, the highest point in Paris. (More pictures below.) I haven't yet had a chance to look up how many steps it takes to get to the top, but I'll just say that it isn't for the fat or the faint of heart. A narrow, winding staircase is the only way to mount the dome, but it was well worth it. This after I had already walked for about 45 minutes, and ran into yet another scammer trying to pick my pockets/sell me the ring I had supposedly dropped on the ground. Don't these people know that I am a well-informed tourist? I read my travel books carefully, thank you very much.

After that, we walked to Moulin Rouge. Not exactly a family friendly area, but I found it more amusing than offensive. Fun fact about Montmartre (where Sacré Coeur and Moulin Rouge are located): before it was incorporated into the Paris city limits, it was a tax-free zone for alcohol, so frugal drinkers would go there to buy liquor. The monks in Montmartre would thus make wine at the monasteries. How ironic. Monks making wine in what would later become the sex district. Oh, Paris.

The last thing to report (in this kind of boring entry....) is that I went to a jazz club yesterday night with Trevor, Sam, Jillian, Mark Anthony (and girlfriend), and Patrick, and it was one of the most enjoyable places I've been so far. It's this little joint called the Hippocampus. It's about as big as my living room, and has a very homey feel. The bartender was this middle-aged woman, probably late 50s, and the owner/manager/waiter doubled (or quadrupled?) as the washboard player for the three-piece jazz ensemble that entertained us all night. (A clarinet player and a pianist finished out the group.) We were the youngest people in the place by far, but we didn't care.

The band played a range of jazz and other popular music, including selections from that silly musical from way back when with John Travolta and all those catchy songs about cars and summer loving that are kind of guilty pleasures. It was pretty funny listening to the pianist sing, "Tell me mooore, tell me mooore," in his French accent. My favorite was when the pianist played Ray Charles's "What'd I Say," ("Zat's vat ei zeey" with the accent) complete with the signature "Hey, ho" call and response. We of course sang along. It was pretty classic. At the end of the night, he gave a special shout out to "les jeunes" (us young folks). Nice.

Tomorrow we are going to Trevor's favorite jazz place. He's got a crush on one of the waitresses there. Maybe the music will be good, too. :-)
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More pictures! Mostly of Sacré Coeur, which was the only thing worth photographing today.


:: These two are after the first part of the climb, overlooking Montmartre. ::


:: The first is from the very top, after the second part of the climb. The second is a blurry pic of the spiral staircase. ::


:: From the very top of the dome, overlooking Paris. If you look hard in the first picture, you can see the Eiffel Tower in the middle. I love the haze over the city. ::


:: Hippocampus jazz club & restaurant: pianist, clarinet player's mini-saxophone ::
(Fun fact about the saxophone photo: if you click on it to blow up the image, you can see my friend Patrick reflected in the right-hand side of the instrument, and again on the left-hand side. You can also see my reflection on the left as I am taking the picture. Details, details.)