Jo Ann arrived last night for a week-long visit, and we all met after class in the courtyard. Poor Jo Ann had a nerve-wracking start to her trip when she arrived after one to find the courtyard deserted – only after panicking and trying to phone Meg did she realise that she hadn’t reset her watch properly and we were all still in class…
Once she had recovered, Jo Ann, Meg and I determined to take the metro to Hector Guimard’s classic Art Nouveau metro station at Abbesses, in
Directly opposite Abbesses, on the square, is the remarkable church of St-Jean-Evangeliste.
The church was built in the late 19th century, heavily influenced by both the Art Nouveau movement and Islamic art – yippee! Two of my favourite things!
The doors are permanently thrown open, which gives the church an unusual air of openness, but unfortunately means that one hundred years of soot and pollution have built up on the inner surfaces, which just need a good clean. Nevertheless, it became my favourite church in
Being a
There were also less typical Gospel scenes in bold colours.
As well as gorgeous tiled altar- and chapel-pieces.
After sitting in the church, enjoying the atmosphere, as Jo Ann explained in detail the link between squat toilets and urinary tract infections, we decided it was time for lunch.
Our plan was to wander down to the Moulin Rouge, via the very Amélie-related Rue Lepic.
On the way, I was disturbed by a rotisserie called, in English, the Chicken Family. This is on the same level as the cheerful, child-like painting of the cow on our local butcher’s shutter. Not at all reluctant to think about where their meat comes from, the Parisians. I’m a bit squeamish about the whole thing. Despite this, we were tempted into a bakery for a fougasse – a delightful doughy bread thingy with bacon or olive filling – and, in Jo Ann’s case, for the largest meringue known to man.
We may have been eating, but we had set out looking for crepes, and crepes we were determined to find. For three euros or less. Down at the Moulin Rouge we found an appropriately classless establishment which, for €2.50, provided us with nutella- and banana-stuffed crepes. We were on a sugar high, and sat chatting and giggling in front of the Moulin Rouge for a good half hour, despite Meg’s disappointment that it didn’t actually have an elephant.
From Blanche, we took the metro up to St Denis, one of the suburbs, mirroring underground the legendary journey of St Denis himself. He was martyred on Montmartre – hence the name – but was said to have picked up his severed head and walked with it to St Denis, a couple of miles north, where he supposedly wanted his basilica to be built. Why the story didn’t have him walk further for a more impressive feat, I don’t know, but that’s where the Basilique St-Denis is, anyway.
The basilica is reputedly the impetus for the entire Gothic movement in church architecture, as the first of its kind built anywhere. It has all the checklist items of the Gothic style, but is so wonderfully light in comparison to some other northern examples I’ve seen.
It has some colourful and surprising stained glass, and some that looks quite Celtic. I’d be interested to know more about the basilica and its development.
I now bore you with more photos of the basilica…
There was a pigeon trapped inside the church when we were there, whom Jo Ann named Virgil for reasons unknown, and she suggested I compose some sort of Virgil-related book. I’m thinking of a children’s book series where the statue of Jesus comes to life and talks to the pigeon, who is, naturally, rescued, as his eye is on the sparrow and a pigeon’s much harder to miss.
Or something.
From Meg’s blog, here:
On our way back home, we had an interesting experience. Jo Ann saw a Sephora store (a fancy make-up and perfume shop), and she wanted to go in because they let you sample everything inside. Well, Jo Ann decided that she was going to do a make-over on me using some of the samples, and she started with some very vibrant turquoise eye shadow. About halfway through, one of the sales clerks came over and checked on us. She said that what we were using wasn't one of the samples, that Jo Ann had opened new makeup. Jo Ann apologized in French, and I said that I'd buy it if we needed to do so. Luckily, we didn't, but after that the fun was gone from the experience. We all felt a little guilty and decided to sneak out of the store one by one before creating anymore mayhem. After we had all safely escaped, Kathleen looked at my very, very brightly shaded lids and said, "Meg, you're wearing contraband on your face." I don't know, but I think there's something about Kathleen that draws the security people and causes us to get in trouble wherever we go. Maybe it all goes back to that time that she was picked up for drug dealing (a mistake, of course).
I’m not going to comment on the last part. Harrumph. I only add that I had nothing to do with the make up thing, though I was carrying around a bottle of Clinique cleanser that I didn’t want as the staff were keen to try out their hard sell technique in different languages… I had no problem, morally, sneaking away first, and in fact suggested I sacrifice myself by testing the escape route. Once clear of the doors, I hid behind a pillar until Meg appeared. “Pssst…”
So Jo Ann found us both back there, and having escaped we didn’t feel too silly until we realised that it would all be on security camera. Ah.
Kenny and I picked Jo Ann up at the bus stop later that evening, and we three went off to the Hard Rock Café, where we had a very hungry, tasty and John-Mayer-involving evening, and I (at length) managed to talk them into selling me a shot glass. Long story. Not that interesting.
1 comment:
Skeletor rocks, and the lack of an elephant was disappointing.
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