On a blissfully sunny afternoon last summer, a fellow crew member - a good looking Polish guy with lingering blue eyes and fantastical ideals - first introduced me to the grand white church "with the best view of Paris". It has been my favourite place ever since.
When he met me in the lobby, he surprised some people with his rather eccentric outfit; soft shoes, tight black pants, a tucked in blue shirt, large sunglasses and a cigar! Different yes, but I quite liked it. We were in whimiscal Paris after all.
Debating art, parallel dimensions and the sometimes stifling life in Dubai, made for animated converstations as we got lost in central Paris. We stopped for wine, sushi, coffee and browsed a few shops that caught our eye along the way. Eventually we did find the Pompidou, only to discover it was closed. Quelle surprise! It was a weekday!
We headed back down to the underground and traversed town, seeking Salavdor Dali. The Dali musem also proved to be difficult to find. (Whether this was due to our jetlag, wine or unfocused wandering -I'm not sure).
I rather enjoyed being lost in Paris: the musings of M, the little streets and Parisian buildings kept me well intrigued. He showed me the boutique hotel where he had stayed in Paris, and not far from there was the Dali musuem. Ahhh:) I loved it!
As someone who likes to dabble with the paintbrush (though not very well), I am so inspired by great art and in absolute awe of the great masters. Although Dali's art is very different to the sweeping vistas and entrancing portrait paintings at the Louvre, I admired his art just much - especially his ballerina sculpture.
At the restaurant at the bottom of Montmartre hill, we had wine outside and M smoked his cigar. (The cigar was quite fitting now - and looked rather chic central in Paris)
We ascended the hill as the sun settled and watched pink and orange hues light up the sprawling buildings of Paris. M thought we should grab a bottle of wine and drink in the rocks and trees like the French teenagers. I didn't think so. We circled the basillica instead and slowly descended the magical mount. The sky had by now turned that lovely electric twilight blue, and little yellow spheres from the streetlights lit the way down the winding streets. We had dinner on the way down and sat at a sidewalk table to watch the parisians and their dogs and mopeds go by.
Paris is such a romantic city and its easy to get swept up in dreamy ideas and romantic nostaglia. I thought at first I must love the Sacre Coeur because of the magical afternoon I spent there with M, (but sorry M its not).
I've been back twice since (most recently last week) - to the same restaurant, been served by the same waiter, drank the same wine and both times, the same sense of awe and almost magnetic serenity rushes over me. I think what I love about the basilica is that it really is so close to the gods. Sitting on the hill -at the highest point in Paris, not only does the church have an unobstructed view of the city below, the city has an unobstructed view of it. From the steps below, looking up at the church, you can see nothing above or beyond it. There is the church, the sky, the clouds and the sun. The basilica is like an offering or opening to the heavens.
I think I can accuratley say I LOVE the Sacre Coeur and, judging by the hundreds of people I always see there, I think lots of other people do too:)
(Summer trips in 2010, 2011)
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