Cramming it in

We ran into Ann Rawls in the Paris baggage claim. She yelled out something about Speckled Bird across the room, which may be its first utterance on French soil. We almost shared a taxi, but decided to stick to the original plan and take the train in, then transfer to the metro.

We walked from the metro station to our hotel on Rue des Dames. We stopped and asked several times for directions to make sure we were heading in the right direction, which didn't stop us from getting lost. We had to double back. Darien started to get a migraine headache, so I shouldered her backpack and she wheeled mine. Later we found out that what should have been a one block walk turned into a mile trek.

The room wasn't ready for us, so we sat in the courtyard for breakfast -- bread and apricot jam, croissants, pastries, orange juice, and coffee with milk. We asked the waitress how to pronounce everything so we could order in the future. As we were ready to leave, a video crew showed up to interview a woman from an English band for a Web TV channel. I didn't recognize her.

We took the metro out to Sacre-Cour. An old Montmarte street leads up to the church, where impromptu games of confidence -- a variation of the three card Monte -- are played on top of turned over boxes and suck tourists in. I try to snap a quick photo, but one of the confederate muscles quickly places his hand over my lens. Further up the street, more confidence men try to place a string around our wrists and force us to buy them. Supposedly deaf people ask us for signatures as a prelude to asking for money, and beggars sit on the steps up to the church. It is a non-stop circus.

A mass was in progress, so we stayed for that. It was very warm inside; Antonia and Darien were well prepared with their hand fans. A choir of nuns in white frocks and black habits sang afterward. 10 euro each allowed us to climb to the top of the dome, where we had grand views of the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Arc de triomphe,  Notre Dame, and more. Antonia and Darien both conquered their fears of the narrow, winding staircases, although they made me walk in front on the way down.

Next to Sacre-Cour is Saint Pierre-de-Montmarte, built in 1147 on the site where Roman gods were worshiped. Montmarte was originally named for the god Mars, but this was later redacted to "martyrs" to de-paganize it.

Lunch was at the very pink (as in walls, tables, chairs) La Maison Rose. One of the tour books called it charming with lousy food, but we found the omelets acceptable. We had a rose wine, which I never do for lunch. With the Paris heat, I think I need a nap.