Tuesday 18th September

This morning, after another not terribly early start we jumped onto our local metro (line 4) and headed north to Montmatre, ostensibly to visit Sacre Coeur. I must admit to some baser motives, Montmatre being the fabric district. When I was 17, I found a wonderful shambolic fabric store selling, amongst other things, some beautiful Provencal fabrics. I bought several metres of two different patterns which have served me as tablecloths ever since. They are now very tired and faded and need replacing. I had hoped by some miracle to stumble on the shop or something like it once again. No such luck. Once again, the natives were restless and we stuck to the itinerary. Anna (Mark's Mum) had spoken of a wonderful cheese shop too but we failed to stumble across it unfortunately. Never enough time.

We did get to Sacre Coeur and enjoyed the marvellous views from the top. We did not enjoy carrying the stroller up and down the stairs and convincing Eva that she had working legs. Eva protested the whole way up, through and out. I had not appreciated the Art Nouveau decorations in the church before. Despite its elaborate wedding cake appearance outside, it is really quite modest inside. Maybe everything  looks quite modest after St Peter's in Rome. In all the museums and churches there are a series of severe Somalian attendants who bark at everyone for wearing hats, talking too loudly, not going through the correct passage, taking photos and other general signs of disrespect. They seem to have limited patience. I'm sure I would too in the circumstances

We then meandered throughout the very pretty and very tourist filled cobbled streets of Montmatre towards the Dali museum. I had never known this was in Paris. We had previously visited the big museum in Figueres and his house in Cadaces in northern Catalonia which were both very impressive. This was a small but also very impressive museum of sculpture and paintings. The children were very taken with them, asking lots of appropriate questions like: 'why does that elephant have such funny legs' and 'that man has a tree growing out of his head'. etc. It was a nice, small, manageable museum. I also hadn't realised that Dali had a preoccupation with Alice in Wonderland although it makes perfect sense when you think about it.

We set off again on foot, down the hill towards the metro again. We were held up by a delighted Carolina who had sighted a small shop that was clearly Columbian. We ventured inside and she bought us all Empanadas and strangely flavoured Columbian soft drinks. The small shop was lined with high shelves, bedecked with Columbian products and, strangely, Milo in the middle of it. Carolina transformed in the presence of her countrymen and women, speaking with an entirely different manner to that which I am used to, and which clearly was appropriate to the circumstances. It was fascinating to watch the transformation. Armed with a bottle of toxic Columbian alcohol and the makings of Columbian hot chocolate and several bags of Columbian sweets, we escaped to the metro again and headed for the Rodin Museum were we were to meet Tasha, Rob and the boys for ice cream. More later. I'm going to bed.