Late start Sunday meant that the stairs to Sacre Coeur were already filled with tourists and the accompanying panhandlers. (Which came first?) Brian noted that Amelie must have digitally altered the ground to remove all the black masses of gum. A man began to set up a small helicopter that was really a stage for a puppet show. We counted the spires of the city. The area is uncomfortably crawling with people. But aren't I a tourist too? The same as the others, in search of French culture and souvenirs? Perhaps, though my idea of sightseeing is sailing through silently like a spirit and piecing things back together later. Most people are happy to trample trough to leave their mark. Heidi wanted a magnet with name on it for a collection, but the closest we could find was Henri. We should have gone to Bavaria. Ate a disgusting sandwich from a disgusting sidestreet--the worst part is I should have known better. Followed the streets of Montmartre down the hill. The cemetery wall didn't have an entrance to either the left or the right so a choice had to be made between. And we chose the wrong one and followed the wall all around. Finally near the point we began, we spied a staircase off the overpass. An overpass had been built over the cemetery--one monument's cross was built into the girders. My two goals for this place were the graves of Francois Truffaut and Edgar Degas. The landscape of the cemetery is terraced into the hill with tall family monuments beneath the thick trees. At a bench Brian gave up walking while I made another pass at Truffaut's monument and found it. Degas was not so easy to find despite my two passes through his section. Next time, Edgar, though I find Hector Berlioz and Alexandre Dumas fils instead. Brian sat on the bench trying to call cemetery cats to this side with no luck. Back to the Musee de Cluny for the free admission, but a line went out the courtyard. Instead we walked too far down the quai, ate mango sorbet, and found Shakespeare and Co, though didn't find any Denton Welch edition I had hoped for. Hotel, nap. Finally found a cafe near the Hotel de Ville with a delicious salad (jambon, rocquefort). Listened to catty men discuss desserts and other catty men. On the television at the hotel the only two English channels were CNN and sports. We watched snooker and tried to figure out the rules. Whenever I thought I knew one, it changed. No, that's not a metaphor for life.
