Anyone who is in Paris and tries tells you that they have nothing to do on any given day is completely nuts. There is always something going on, and in fact I challenge you to go one day without feeling guilty that you haven’t tried to take advantage of at least one thing on offer. My mission yesterday? Check out the annual Festival of the Grape Harvest.
You wouldn’t think that grapes were grown up on top of a hill in the middle of a largely concrete-frosted city…but you would be wrong! The République de Montmartre indeed has a modest collection of vines, and in their honor the rest of France comes in for a festival and sets up their wine and food stands right next to the Sacré-Cœur. This festival, complete with a parade and concerts, brings in about a half-million people to an already packed area.
The hot weather has finally gone bye bye, and I love that I now must wear a jacket. This is my absolute favorite time of year- especially back in New England. You know that it’s autumn in Europe when you start to see these being sold on street corners: roasted châtaignes (chestnuts).
This is a huge pan of onions and lard being cooked down. I really just took it because this seemed like something my Dad would really enjoy. The stall next to this one was selling foie gras sandwiches.
I have walked by this spot many times- and never realized that they were growing grapes behind this gate until the address on my “invitation” had me stopping out in front.
The Montmartre Vineyard. With tickets in hand, my soon-to-be French friends and I patiently waited outside until the mysterious gate was unlocked and we were allowed to come in. The French do love their rules and procedure.
Really, there’s not a lot of grape vine action going on here. They must have more squirreled in Montmartre. A proper tour would have probably given me further information- but this event will be far more worthwhile.
This ain’t the Cordon Bleu, but I’m still liking that the clock has just struck noon and we are all gathered around for more dégustation. No credit card needed this time.
This is wine number one, and this is tapenade on a baguette. As our hosts start to open follow-on bottles of wine for sampling, I wonder if I should have maybe eaten more at the food fair going on next door. I don’t really want to stumble out of here and look like the people passed out on the pedestrian path at Boulevard de Clichy.
This I think was wine number three, a rosé by all accounts. After pour number one, no one was really listening to the descriptions, and were instead more interested in the plate of saucisson that was being passed around. You couldn’t pay me to remember anything more than the colors of each wine.
This is wine number seven. I kept tossing my servings of wine into the vineyard in order to keep up with the aggressive tasting program. It was also about this time that I learned that none of these wines are made with grapes from Montmartre. Apparently, if you want to buy any Montmartre wine, you have to pay 40€ for a 500ml bottle that you can’t even sample beforehand. (“C’est le marketing!” hissed the lady next to me when I asked her about this.)
Having gotten more than my money’s worth of this fantastic festival (and really, who doesn’t love free wine?), I decided to head out and search for something resembling an actual lunch. Upon reflection, I now have no idea what I actually ended up purchasing. Must have had more wine than I thought.
A look inside the courtyard of the center. I have long since worked the wine festival out of my liver, and am checking out this neat area.
As I have mentioned before, France is meticulous about putting up plaques to explain a location’s historical significance. I thought that this one was particularly cool, given that my life takes on a slightly Irish, French and military bent.
Okay, here’s the only reason why I am bringing up the film festival. This event marked the third time in one day where I was handed an adult beverage (the second time is top secret). The Irish Cultural Center, however, was the only location that offered people the choice of wine or Guinness…and the black stuff was served in proper pint glasses by proper Irish people! I’d say that they had a better scam going than those imposters handing out their non-Montmartre wares in the Montmartre vineyard. But then again, I’m not going to hate on any of these experiences.
Sláinte