Day 7 Sacre Coeur

We headed off bright and early as we endeavored to make a rendezvous with Uncle Louie. We had originally also intended to meet up with my parents but after a few significant, Solomon related, delays we thought we would of missed them.  We stopped at a bakery to get some window sandwiches which are very popular throughout Paris.  As we stood there deciding on either the salmon or the chicken, a gypsy woman and her husband began a really beautiful acoustic duet on guitar.  As we stood there mesmerized by the soft sad strokes of the acoustic guitars, a man waddled out of the nearby supermarket, walking as if one leg was too much shorter than the other, barely able to hold himself up.  Holding a newly purchased bottle of red wine, he stumbled into the middle of the square in front of the gypsies, extended his left arm directly downwards holding the wine bottle parallel to the floor and lifted his right arm way above his head.  In a swift, un-coordinated motion, he dropped his right hand to the wine bottle and proceeded to play play air guitar accompanied by loud groaning 'BAHs' to the tune of Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water.  As he caught a glimpse of my laughing, he flashed me a huge smile, which caused his eyes to disappear behind the folds of gathered skin and revealed all four teeth in his mouth.

We wandered the streets for about another hour trying to get a cab which could take us to far North Paris to the huge cathedral Sacre Coeur.  However, this was a very difficult task as every cabbie that saw us in possession of a pram would either change to the far lane or quickly change their available light.  It is absolutely frustrating how unaccommodating this city is to prams.  After a few more blocks of walking with no successful cab hailed down, Bec requested i push the pram.  I took over pram driving duties, thinking the rejections had taken a toll on Bec's hopes as she dragged her feet in front of me with broken spirits.  Feeling  responsible, i wracked my brain to think how i can resolve my family's suffering.  Than another cab drove toward us.  Again, we hailed, he changed his green light to a red light and flew past us.  Like a flash of wind, Bec took off after him, arms flailing wildly and feet slamming the ground like a hungry predator in pursuit in the Sahara.  In swift controlled movement, she commando rolled over a parked car and forward flipped over oncoming traffic with furious vigor, determined to EAT the cab.  My gentle, floral dress draped wife, charged after the poor unsuspecting cab driver catching him on the red light almost a hundred meters up the road.  Thinking she was going to land on top of the cab, tear of the roof and eat the drivers head, i huddled after her holding the baby bag in one hand and trying to steer the pram with the other, whilst Solomon yelled something in gibberish which i swear sounded like 'nigga hurry'.

Though a few heated words between Bec and the cab driver ended in him speeding away, another cabbie who was just behind us and probably saw the entire event unfold, decided he was not brave enough to challenge the might of a furious Bec and he stopped for us, got out of the cab and helped us fold the pram into the boot and get into his cab.  Shocked but satisfied, i got in the cab for our ride to Sacre Coeur.

The view from the bottom of the stairs at Sacre Coeur was absolutely amazing.  After a rough morning, such a serene sight put all our frustrations to rest.  We stood there for a few minutes staring at the expansive beauty of this incredible city, hypnotised by the repetition of the art-nouveau inspired architecture throughout our entire view.  As we turned, at peace, i noticed the two sets of steep stone stairs which led up from the road to the base of the church.  Suddenly, peace was gone and in a fit of rage i shook the pram like a chocolate milk.  We walked to the top of the stairs where we met up with Uncle Louie who walked us around the area.

The Basilica of Sacre Coeur (Sacred Heart) was built just post WWI in the highest point of Paris as a monument to success- Paris has a shit load of monuments to success for a country that has NEVER won a war, or a battle, or even an argument.  Nevertheless, the Basilica is incredible.  Vast heights of white stone littered with ornamentation, you could marvel at this monument endlessly.  And if the outside wasn't amazing enough, the inside was so much more beautiful.  Solemn candle lighting below a towering light filled dome created a truly peaceful atmosphere.  Stained glass windows spread across the walls, combined with intricate and colourful images covering the ceilings in a majestic tribute to faith.  Leaving Solomon with uncle Louie, Bec and I walked around the enormous Basilica with our chins floating in absolute awe.  The existence of religion or God is a moot point compared to humanity's achievements through their faith- our most hopeful attribute.

We stopped prayed a little in an alcove of perpetual adoration (where adoration has been continuing non stop since the church was consecrated).  As we continued our walk around the Basilica, Solomon discovered his echo again and was enjoying the sound of his voice as he blurted out short loud bursts of nonsense, in the otherwise completely silent and sacred church.

We wandered around the streets behind the Basilica where there was a Bazaar littered with touristy shops, cafes and bars.  We enjoyed a little bit of shopping, ice cream and dog piss flavoured Powerade, as we meandered through the maze of people and wares.  Suddenly, my mum appeared out of nowhere in a fit of excitement and proclaimed they had been waiting there all day for us to show up.  Despite the fact we were more than a few hours later than originally agreed, my poor parents had sat and waited in the agreed spot hoping we would eventually show up.

After the short catch up, we wandered down the huge hill back to the main streets below, with the assistance of a cable car.  We stopped at a small cafe for a short break as the strong sun had taken its toll on our hydration.  Though the drinking was uneventful, the trip to the bathroom afterwards is worthy of sharing.  With a bladder full of Coke and coffee, i rushed to the bathroom to relieve myself.  As i rushed in, holding my breath, i was caught off guard by the available selections of urinals.  On a wall not more than 500mm across, was fastened two ceramic dishes almost touching.  As i scratched my head in contemplation, i realised, one was for pissing and the other was for washing hands- but which is which?  The more important question is- what did the guy before me resolve was the correct answer?  This was surely a riddle game invented by the Chinese man who built this bathroom.  As i stood there, severely concerned, i reasoned, even if i got it right, there was surely pee in both receptacles regardless of which one was the real urinal.  Deciding to play the game, i pee'd a little in both ceramic dishes.  Than i washed my hands a little in both ceramic dishes.  I left confident, i had solved the riddle.

We left the Ying Yang Feng Shui cafe and strolled through the streets of this area of Paris, called Montemarte.  After a disappointing visit to a model train shop, which had incredibly expensive train replicas, rather than quaint, hand made, timber train sets for Solomon, we found ourselves in the Red-Light district of Paris.  We walked along the streets lined, one after the other, with sex shops.  Toys, gadgets, costumes, shows, it was like Kings Cross on Viagra (see what i did there...so clever).  By fluke, we came across the Infamous Moulin Rouge and booked tickets to a caberet show tomorrow night.

Parting ways, Uncle Louie set off to prepare a dinner he had just invited us to, and my parents set off, tired, back to their hotel room.  Bec and I headed for the most famous shopping center in the world 'Galleries Lafayette'.  Crowded with incredibly high society brand names like Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Rolex, Cartier, Burberry, the place glittered with beautiful and expensive wares.  Completely amazed by the jewelry and clothes around us, we wandered through the crowds staring at things more like a museum than a shop.  The building itself was also decorated to suit.  ornamental and high ceilings littered with intricate cast iron frames and sparkling lights descended into symbolic balconies which lined the perimeter of the central atrium.  So much sparkling beauty, the Center made the QVB look like a tree house.  After the exact same dramas catching a cab as in the morning, we finally managed to snag a taxi at a taxi rank and hitched a ride home.  Have i mentioned how immensely frustrating the lack of accommodation for children is in this city- DOESN'T any one in Paris have a baby??

After unloading at our apartment, two short- and PACKED- bus trips later, we arrived at Uncle Louie's house for some dinner.  This time we were served baked salmon steaks with mushy peas and carrots flavoured in bacon and pepper.  Moist and juicy fish combined with the mushy vegetables and firm bacon made for a killer meal.  We ate whilst Uncle Louie, a Physics professor, married to a french lady, living in a packed city with no family or children, and my Dad, an artist, married to a cousin, living in a forest with many children and endless relatives, discussed with formal vigour, the lack of things they had in common.  Stuffed and exhausted, i lay on the floor eating the left over dirt Solomon had left from the pot plant, finally understanding his frustrated woes.  Dessert was Salad and different types of feet smelling cheese.  I tasted a few, vomited shards of my pelvis into the nearby pot plant to fill in the dirt Solomon and I had eaten, and we caught a taxi back home.

Today- was a long day