France-tastic

Again with my loyal companion Ruxandra in tow, on Saturday night it was time to check out some of the less salubrious quartiers of Paris. Encouraged by my Lonely Planet, we set off for a spot of shopping in the Goutte d'Or, located by the Chateau Rouge metro station, allegedly the home of "creative young designers." In actual fact, it is the home of homeless people, alcoholic bums and prostitutes. This was the first time in Paris that I have felt the need to take an extra tight hold on my handbag. We were glad it was daylight still! It was however a good opportunity to speak french, because we felt we looked out of place enough, with shoes and no bottle in hand, that we didn't need to attract further attention by speaking english. After wandering down several deserted backstreets, mentioned by name in LP, full of boarded up shopfronts and broken windows, we did find three or four tiny boutiques, indeed selling stuff made by "young creative designers." Sometimes creative is different from good, but in defence of my LP, it didn't actually say that any of these young creative designers were good. Chateau Rouge is much less pleasant that Chateau Fontainebleau.

So we briskly trotted away from those designers, jumped back on the metro and emerged just a few stops later, in Pigalle. Think of the strip joint section of the Cross, and multiply it by about ten. Another very pleasant stroll, but this time the underworld got highbrow, too. Nestled between the sex shops, the stripclubs and the XXX cinemas, there was a Museum of Erotica. Interesting I'm sure, but we gave it a miss.

Then up to Montmartre, which is always more crowded than Chatelet at 8.30 am on a Monday morning (NB. Chatelet is always crowded at 8.30 am on a Monday morning). So we battled our way up the hill, past fanny pack toting yanks, ice cream clutching british brats, and japanese tourgroups, and managed to find some really lovely little back streets, away from the crowds and the cameras, with lots of great little resaurants and bars. We found a little place serving cous-cous, which is quite famous here, since Paris has such a high population of Northern African immigrants. So I ordered cous-cous marguez. Qu'est-ce que c'est, merguez, I asked, and the waiter ran off and brought me a raw sausage on a plate. Bring it on, I said.

I got a little worried when a serving platter of cous-cous arrived, followed by a salad-bowl sized pot of vegetable stew and a plate of (cooked) sausages. Perhaps the cous-cous is supposed to be for two, I though, oops! But then I spied a table of two with bowls twice as large as mine happily tucking in, so I got down to work. It was also served with a big bowl of chilli paste, and the whole thing was delicious, so tasty and flavoursome and rich. I didn't manage to get right to the bottom of those bowls, but I did pretty well. Ruxandra had an also tasty rabbit stew, yum!

After washing down this feast with a carafe of wine, we dragged our swollen bellies up the giant staircase to the Sacre-Coeur. In my well-formed opinion, the view is prettier from up there at night than during the day. The city looks so charming and friendly, and so, so different from modern impersonal skyscraper cities.

Our less than promising start in the north, ended very well.

An unrelated night-time photograph.

# posted by Jenny @ 14:24