Picture perfect Rue Foyatier, an iconic street of Paris, will lead you up 222 stairs to the startling white monument of Sacre-Coeur, where the views over Paris will steal your breath. Montmartre was the backdrop for Jean-Pierre Jeunet's charming romantic movie, 'Amélie'. The ancient carousel featured in the film sits at the bottom of the steps as you descend from the white dome of Sacre Coeur. And, as in the movie, you can tantalize your tastebuds with the smooth texture of a crème brulée after cracking its torched toffee top with a spoon at Café des Deux Moulins. The perfect morning walk before the boisterous tourist crowd descends, you can hear the echoes of a time long ago.
Nestled high on a hill in Paris's 18th arrondissement and once the haunt of legendary artists—Van Gogh, Picasso, and Soutine, to name a few—plus famous writers drawn to the hedonistic way of life, Stendhal, Gautier, and Heine amongst others of note. The Parisian medieval village of Montmartre has a history dating back 2000 years. Historically known as an enclave for worshipping souls, it’s where Gallic druids crucified people in handwoven wicker-basket contraptions, Romans built temples to their gods, and in 250AD the Roman missionary and first Bishop of Paris, Saint-Denis, was beheaded. In the 12th Century the Templars arrived, and Benedictine nuns indulged in winemaking as church-owned vineyards flourished in the hills. The bubonic plague swamped the streets during the 14th Century, and it was in the 15th Century, windmills first appeared, thirty in total, of which only one has survived and is privately owned.
Henry IV used the hill of Montmartre to fire down on the city during the Siege of Paris in 1590, and the 1700s saw the village become a sanctuary for the rebels of the Paris Commune uprising. In the late 1800s, Montmartre was the epitome of a bohemian haven with impoverished creative and nonconformist souls running amok in its cobblestone alleys where bawdy cabarets sat cheek to cheek. In 1889, it became home to Moulin Rouge, a raucous French cancan dance that featured billowing petticoats and high-kicking female legs. The village’s decadence was on display with jugglers, thieves, deviants, drunkards and prostitutes mingling with the likes of revered artists, Degas, Renoir and Picasso. Absinth flowed, hedonism flourished, and depravity reigned, which became a drawcard for voyeurs of the French bourgeois.
Once the bed of iniquity, Montmarte today is a sanitized version of what it once was.
The Place du Tertre, a colorful plaza cuddled by 18th-century buildings decorated with wrought-iron balconies and wooden shutters, became the beating heart of village life and where the luminaries of the Arts would gather. Now, it's a jumble of random artists, portrait sketchers, and caricaturists. Look for wall plaques identifying buildings and cafes as historic. "Hemmingway once peed in our bathroom…" etc. Pay your respects to the dead whose former haunts you've been poking around—they are lying in the Montmartre Cemetery. It offers a serene and beautiful respite amidst its eerie crumbling tombstones and rusted iron juxtaposed with the polished granite of the newer tombs. The cemetery is the final resting place for Degas, Gautier, Stendhal, Ninjinsky, and many others, among ancient trees and sculptures.
There's the whimsical art installation the 'Wall of Love' created in 2000 consisting of the phrase 'I love you' written in 250 languages in the Square Jean Rictus that will make the romantics smile and their eyes sparkle. Historically, Rue Novins was the old cobblestoned road into Paris and once housed the prison of Abbesses, where the Benedictines of Montmartre dished out justice that often ended up with a hanging in the Place du Tertre. Today, it chokes on sight-seeing bodies and the chatter of languages from all over the world mingling with the sexy, sometimes guttural, French accent. People spill out in disarray from the surrounding restaurants and patisseries, enveloping the air in a haze of rich buttery aromas. From late March to early April, the streets come alive with dripping cherry blossoms, and stairways are cluttered with locals, university students, and lovers holding hands.
The Instagram-famous facade of the quaint Le Consulat café, with its nostalgic vibe and vibrant French flair, embodies all that is Montmartre. It's where your mind can wander to the years when Vincent Van Gogh and his bohemian crew of arty friends would throw back escargots as they slurped on cheap wine amidst rambunctious conversations.
Gail Palethorpe, a self proclaimed Australian gypsy, is a freelance writer, photographer and eternal traveller. Check out her website Gail Palethorpe Photography and her Shutterstock profile.
