This is Saint Denis, France’s first bishop. He supposedly had his head chopped off for preaching the gospel. No matter. He allegedly picked up his head and walked it up the mountain, giving Montmartre its name (mon=mountain, martre=martyr).
It used to cost 50p to go to the Moulin Rouge and the girls in the vaudeville act were totally nude (Nicole Kidman looked way too classy in the movie). Now they’re just topless and tickets cost 100 euro, but one does receive a bottle of Champagne. At one point in the show, the girls swim around in a pool with anacondas. I hope they receive a very large cut of that 100 euro.
There used to be 30 windmills to grind flour for galettes, now there is just this one. I don’t know if it functions or not. In addition, 30,000 prostitutes used to work Monmartre, now it’s about 3,000, according to my tour guide. Perhaps I’m naive, but that number still sounds astronomically high.
Candelaria has my favorite margarita; Broceliande makes my favorite crepes. I tried both spinach and mushroom and learned that a vegetarian should not order anything ‘complet.’
Glorious, glorious summer vegetables.