There was no pressing need for us to rush out this morning but we both agreed the sooner the better. We didn't come all this way to spend it at Charles De Gaulle airport!

So we were down for breakfast at an acceptable 8:30am.

We weren't expecting much from the budget Ibis hotel but it turned out to have a ridiculously excellent buffet breakfast. The selection of cheeses alone was incredible, then the variety of breads, warmed to make them feel like they'd just come out of the baker's oven. Then the croissants and other pastries, the pancakes, the charcuterie.

It was the standard of a much swankier place.

Once we had gorged ourselves on all that was on offer, we headed into Paris. Originally we were going to get the train in but there was disruption on the line so we splashed out on an Uber taxi to transport us straight to the door of our hotel in Paris.

This was our fourth visit to Paris.

In fact, Paris was our first ever trip abroad together back in 1991 when we stayed in the 5 star luxury Hotel du Louvre, in the 1st arrondissement, the heart of the city.

We returned in 2000 for the UEFA champions league final but Manchester United didn't. We even had tickets for the final but didn't go. We stayed in the more budget friendly 20th arrondissiment not far from the Père Lachaise Cemetery. A much less salubrious part of Paris. 

Five years later we returned again and stayed in the St. Germain district. We visited this time because we had recently been to Angkor Wat, and the world's largest collection of Cambodian artefacts was in Musée Guimet in Paris. (Although I remember this mostly as the weekend George Best died.)  

And now, seventeen years since our last visit we were back for another sojourn.

For this trip we were basing ourselves in Pigalle, near Montmartre.

The 18th arrondissement used to have a very seedy reputation. When it got dark the pushers and the pimps jostled on street corners making it feel unsafe for the unsuspecting tourist.  Mud always sticks and that reputation still exists. 

We were staying at Maison Souquet, a former brothel during the Belle Époque period, the beautiful era (late 19th - early 20th century) when Paris really was the centre of the universe. Fuelled with optimism and filled with creative artistic people the city was buzzing with excitement and the bohemian Montmartre was its epicentre.

Our hotel was a grand townhouse on Rue de Bruxelles. Either side ot the door were two lanterns, a nod to the past when the glowing red light signalled the provision that went on inside.  

I pushed the closed door open and walked inside. The reception was dimly lit, to the point of being dark. Our eyes were drawn to the light to our left and our jaws dropped. The lounge with its ridiculously opulent decor and scalloped arches evoked the feeling of entering the hareem of an exotic Eastern palace.

The receptionists checked us in then gave us a guided tour.

"This was once a house of pleasure, run by Madame Souquet" she explained.

"Imagine in this room, where the gentlemen would wait to be invited through"

We then followed her behind the plush red velvet curtains into a dark hallway with the only light illuminating a large oil painting of a naked woman. There was no time to admire the artwork as we followed her into another lavishly decorated room.

Setting the scene she said "In this room the courtesan would meet her client. They would sit here, talk a little and perhaps drink a little before going upstairs to the bedroom."

The luxurious red velvet decor continued, with chairs and carpets, tasselled lampshades and dim lighting creating such a fabulous ambience. There was something incredibly intoxicating about the room.

She explained that the brothel ended up being an uninspiring hotel until quite recently when the new owners brought in a well known interior designer to create this most splendid den of iniquity.

Not only to restore its former glory but to go beyond that. 

The third and final room was glass roofed, bringing in plenty of light. The opulence continued with a rich red carpet and deep green walls. 

She continued the narrative "Once the gentlemen's desires had been satisfied, they would return to this room where they would sit and talk before going home."

"... to their wives." added Julie.

Our tour was now at an end. Unfortunately, our bedroom wasn't ready for us until 2pm so we headed out for the afternoon. 

At the end of the street, less than a minute away, across Place Blanche, we saw the iconic sight of the world famous Moulin Rouge. Possibly the most recognisable image of the Belle Époque thanks mostly to the paintings and posters of Toulouse-Lautrec.

We had booked tickets for a show on Monday so for now we paid little attention to it, walking past and up the cobbled Rue Lepic.  

Halfway up the hill, on the left was Cafe des Deux Molins, (the Two Windmills Cafe). There was nothing remarkable about it other than it was a key film location in the 2001 movie, Amélie.

Whilst we're on the subject of motion pictures, pioneers of cinematography, the Lumière brothers from Lyon, were another sensation of the beautiful era. The "birth of cinema" took place in 1895 at the Grand Café, Boulevard des Capucines, Paris where the brothers showed their collection of short (50 seconds) films to the paying public for the first time. Legend has it that the audience panicked and began to run when a steam train came towards them!

At the end of Rue Lepic we walked along Rue des Abbesses, lined with bistros on every corner and more. We came across two that appeared to be competing for the title of best floral display. La Sancere and Vrai Paris were next to each other (turns out they were run by the same people) and both had these spectacular arrangements of what looked like fresh flowers but surely not.

A little further on we came to a small square of Place des Abbesses where the glass covered ornamental iron work canopy over the entrance to the metro system was a masterpiece of the arte nouveau movement of the 1910s. 

To think that at one time in Paris there were 141 of these edicules designed by Hector Guimard, but now only two remain.  

Just off the square there was a small communal garden which had in it a popular tourist attraction called the Le mur des je t'aime or The wall of I love you. A wall of blue enamel tiles on which the phrase "I Love You" was written 311 times in 250 different languages.

There was a queue of people waiting to get their photograph taken in front of the wall so I didn't have much time to search for the Welsh translation "Yr wyf yn dy garu ti".

Apparently an abbreviated "Rwy'n dy gary di" is there somewhere but I never found it.

Moving on, we continued our stroll across Montmartre stumbling by this curious British themed pie shop. They even had a cardboard cut out of the Queen and several Union Jack flags hanging on the walls. I have to admit we were quite amused.

However, we weren't ready for pie, so we didn't stop.

Instead we chose to sit outside a cafe called Le Bimbo on a junction where five streets converged. The waiter came and asked us what we would like to eat. We explained we were only here for a drink. He rolled his eyes and asked us to move from the good seats in the sun to the chairs in the shade and on an incline along Rue Chappe. So, I rolled my eyes back at him and we left. 

We didn't have far to go. One the same junction, on the corner with Rue Tardieu we sat outside Cafe Chappe. 

The waitress was more than happy for us to sit in the best seats. We repaid her kindness by ordering a bottle of a decent quality white wine. Julie brought out her knitting and I brought out my little notebook and we people watched whilst sipping our perfect Sancere. It felt wonderful. 

We must have looked like locals because this couple stopped and asked us for directions in French. I apologised for being British, but as it happened, I could direct them with confidence to the nearest Metro Station.

They thanked me in Spanish, "Gracias".

"Prego" I replied. Italian for "You're Welcome"

Anyway, after our European exchange we settled our bill, leaving a handsome tip to the waitress. We had spent a lovely leisurely half an hour outside Cafe Chappe.

A few minutes later we had reached Place Saint-Pierre at the bottom of the Sacre Coeur. Despite the beauty of the stunning white limestone church up on the butte (or knoll), our attention was first drawn to the lovely carousel in the park below.

The old-fashioned merry-go-round must have been originally from Italy because it had Venetian scenes painted into the panels of the canopy.

As carousels go, it was impressive, with a double-tier on the inside. We stood and watched as the horses on poles rose and fell gracefully as it turned around and a playful tune blew through its organ pipes.

To the left of the park there was a funicular to transport you quickly up the hill but we decided to stroll up slowly to absorb the views and vibes of the green space called  Square Louise Michel after a 19th century French anarchist feminist.

It was interesting to see the use of the English word "square" for a small city green space not formally laid out as a garden (jardin) or too small to be a park (parc). I didn't think square was a French word?

We could have marched directly up the steps but opted instead for the more gradual path that curved along the edge. Park benches were placed here and there, which we took advantage, to sit and enjoy the panorama of the city below.

We were gradually rising above the rooftops of the houses of Montmartre. Looking out over the city, curiously, the one iconic structure, the Eiffel Tower, was hidden from view.

The closer we got to the Sacre Coeur the more we were in awe of it. It was stunning.

I had always assumed it was a 17th century cathedral but it was in fact another outpouring of creativity during the Belle Epoque. Work began in 1875 and it wasn't completed until 1914, spanning more or less the entire golden age. 

When we reached the top it was incredibly busy. We realised there was some kind of event taking place. A few posters and an inflatable-balloon-on-a-stick advertised the Fete de Vendanges which of course meant nothing to us.

It translated as the "grape harvest" festival. It began as an annual celebration of the vineyard of Clos Montmartre, founded in 1933 and still produces wine on the slopes of this hilly Parisian district to this day.

However, it wasn't just a wine festival. It was a fully-fledged food festival and we love a good food festival. It was so exciting!

There was also, of course, wine producers aplenty and we soon stopped at Champagne Rollin for a small 10cl glass for €8 each.

There were food producers from all over France serving up traditional regional dishes. Beret wearing chefs from the Ardennes, cooked potato based Fricasse, Truffade and a Cacasse à-cul-nu (bare-bottom stew) from enormous frying pans, serving bowls full of a potato and mushroom stew which caught my eye, until I saw the chunks of bacon lardons in the mix. As expected there wasn't much for the vegetarian.

Next to it was Brasserie Pietra, a Corsican beer. They were doing a roaring trade!

Julie was tempted by a stripey shirted Frenchman cooking moules. However, she decided against it. "What if I get the squits?" was her main concern.   

There must have been hundreds of exhibitors as the stalls circled around the green park of Square Nadar and below the towering walls of the Reservoir de Montmartre, built at the same time and from the same limestone as the Sacre Coeur.

Next we stopped at a stall serving aligot, a dish from the Aubrac region in the South of France. It was sold with or without a very large sausage.

Basically, it was just cheesy mashed potato but it was much more than that. It was a thing of beauty!

Traditionally made with a cheese called Tomme Fraiche, a hint of garlic and a pinch of salt and pepper, it was such a simple twist that made something incredible.

We ate the aligot and shared a glass of rose wine sat on the steps of the Sacre Coeur enjoying the warmth of the sun on our faces. It was, without any exaggeration, a magical moment, even if we shared it with hundreds more.  

Once we finished we slowly made our way back to our hotel, retracing our steps, down through Square Louise Michel, past the Saint Pierre carousel, and then up Rue Yvonne Le Tac, towards the metro at Abbesse, enjoying a little window shopping along the way.

The architecture was mostly mediocre but every now and again you would be rewarded for averting your gaze from the shop windows by stumbling across the most Parisian of houses with wrought iron balconies and shuttered windows.

 There was something timeless about this area.

On our way back down Rue Lepic we decided to stop at the Cafe des Deux Molins. Having only eaten a bowl of mashed potatoes between us since breakfast we decided to grab a bite to eat.

It was exciting to walk inside. The interior design had the feel of a 1950's diner, with neon lights and a shade of salmon pink on the walls, looking as it did in the movie Amelie. In the far corner was a poster from the movie. The owners clearly making the most of their association with the classic 2001 French film. 

We browsed the menu. I was surprised that they actually had a few choices for me and it wasn't just omelette!

It began with their famous œuf mayo, hard boiled eggs with mayonnaise decoratively piped on top. A classic of any buffet. Then followed by a couscous végétarien, which was very tasty, although it didn't have any couscous in the dish. They had replaced it with quinoa.

Julie had their "beautiful" rib eye steak served with half a baked potato, which she didn't enjoyed. She described it as being "cooked oddly" as if it was oven-baked!

After our late lunch we returned to our hotel where our boudoir was ready and waiting for us. Room 201, Chambre de Margot. The dramatic decoration continued in the room with tasselled lampshades, crushed velvet wallpaper and a fabulous headboard.

With the heavy crushed velvet curtains drawn it was perfectly dark for a late afternoon siesta. So we fell into a deep sleep. 

Fortunately, I had set an alarm and three hours later we emerged into the Parisian night. We began by walking to Place Blanche for another glimpse at the Moulin Rouge, now bathed in a red glow.

From here we caught a taxi across the city.

Along the way we passed the restaurant Maxim's, the culinary centre of Paris during the Belle Epoque. With hindsight I wished I had booked a table there to continue our beautiful era theme. Although my wallet was relieved.

We crossed the Seine over Pont de al Concorde catching a glimpse of the Eiffel tower in the distance, illuminated in gold and then the ornate Pont Alexandra III (the next bridge along). Both were, once again, a product of the Bell Epoque.

What a transformation this city went through in those 40 golden years between the wars. (Franco-Prussian war and the First World War).

We were dropped off outside our restaurant but we were over half an hour early. Over on the other side of the river was the Cathedral of Notre Dame so we decided to go for a walk to get a closer look.

We crossed over Pont de l'Archevêché, the Bridge of the Archbishop. It wasn't very long, because we weren't crossing the entire span of the Seine, only onto Île de la Cité, an island in the middle of the river. Although its length wasn't what it's known for. Apparently at 17 metres it was the narrowest road bridge in Paris.

The closer we got the less we could see because of a 2 metre security wall surrounding the entire cathedral but it was mostly covered with scaffolding anyway. We knew it wasn't possible to go inside because it was still undergoing restoration after the disastrous fire in 2019. It was sad to see it in this sorry state.  

However, from Place Jean Paul II, the square in front of the cathedral, we could see the iconic West facade with its twin towers and rose window. It was nice to at least have caught a glimpse of the 13th century masterpiece.

We crossed the Seine once more, over the Petit Pont Cardinal Lustiger from where we got a wonderful view of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, the walkway along the Seine below and the construction crane behind it.

The authorities in charge have promised to have it completed by 2024, ready for when Paris hosts the Olympic Games.

At 9pm precisely we arrived back at La Reminet, a small cosy restaurant on Rue des Grands Degrés.

Paris has thousands of restaurants, making choosing just one an almost impossible task but we ended up here mostly because its location. We had a show on a boat on the Seine at 10:30pm and this was less than a minutes walk away.

Another major consideration was their menu on-line had a vegetarian main course for me which was a rarity. Plus, their reviews were all positive. Thankfully tonight's menu was the same as on their webpage, so I had already made my choices. However, a starter on their specials board threw in a wildcard I couldn't refuse. 

As I struggled to decide, Julie suggested a solution. "Order them both!"

The first dish was an egg and mushroom parfait. It was really delicious, with the mushroom in a rich gravy, the egg perfectly poached crowned by a cheese crisp.

My second starter, from the specials, was a deconstructed Spanakopita. It looked amazing and it tasted even better. It was full of flavour, seasoned to perfection. 

For the main course they described it as an aubergine tartare, a veggie twist on the rare steak dish. It was nicely presented with aubergine and giant couscous pressed into a disc, topped with several delights and blobs of green flavour bombs dotted evenly around its base.

It was so refreshing to find a restaurant in Paris that went to the same effort with their vegetarian dishes as they did for the carnivorous plates.

The menu was returned to our table to tempt us with dessert and tempted we were.

I couldn't resist the peanut butter ice cream and Julie the lemon meringue.

My dessert was wonderful however Julie's meringue missed the mark. They had run out of strawberries and replaced them with grapes, complete with seeds. The crunch of a seed between the teeth wasn't expected nor appreciated.      

We paid our bill and walked the short distance down to the river where we found the boat known as La Nouvelle Seine. During the day it's a perfectly respectable floating restaurant but at night it becomes the venue for a cabaret and burlesque show. 

We went down below, where the red curtains were about to open. We decided to sit near an aisle for a quick exit just in case it turned out to be rubbish.

There was a wide range of people, young, old, male, female, gender non-specific.

On time, the lights dimmed and the show began.

We were introduced to the compare who cracked a few jokes, before introducing the acts. Some were excellent, especially the classic Ostrich feathers dance which was done to perfection. Burlesque is all about the slow reveal, the strip, the peep, always restrained, always leaving you wanting more.

However, one went a little rogue and climbed over the first half a dozen rows which was more Amsterdam Sex Show than Parisian Burlesque.

 There were five artists in total, who all did two dances. Only one got mentioned by her stage name, an "artiste international" from Brazil called "Cherry a fine" or something like that.

The climax, if you could call it that, was when the compare, a woman of considerable years, strutted across the stage giving everyone a lesson in old school burlesque.

The show lasted an hour, finishing at 11:30pm.

The night was still young and I had heard of another cabaret venue that continued until the early hours. It was called Au Lapin Agile and was back in Montmartre. So, we got an Uber to take us directly there. 

The driver was very creepy. "Would you like some candy?" he offered in a really seedy voice. Julie was freaking out, in mime, as not to attract his attention. It was a long half hour drive back across the city.

He didn't take us back to his apartment, murder us and boil us down to make sweets for his next victims.  We survived.

It was 12:15am when we walked inside Au Lapin Agile. We could hear singing from behind a black curtain. It sounded great, like you imagined Edith Piaf in a small cabaret bar in 1940s Paris. Unfortunately, they wouldn't let us in. His official line was that we were too late to enter, but it just felt it was because we spoke English.

I protested to no avail. So we left, disappointed.

It wasn't far to walk back to our hotel, so we set off on foot. As we headed uphill, although we couldn't see it properly because it was dark but we walked past the vineyard Clos Montmartre, whose grape harvest festival we had enjoyed earlier.

Next we passed La Maison Rose a restaurant on the corner of Rue des Saules and Rue de l'Abreuvoir. It's famed for the instagram appeal of its quaint exterior rather than its food.

 We soon reached the top of the hill and began our descent down the other side, through Place Jean-Baptiste Clement, a square where the former studio of artist Modigliani was located.

And then down through Place Emile Goudeau, another square with another former studio. This time it was Pablo Picasso. There was also a building on this square called Le Bateau Lavoir which was a doss house or commune for penniless artists. All that remains of this Montmartre folklore was its walls.

A few steps down and we came across Le Relais de la Butte, a bar that was still serving.

We just didn't want the evening to end. It was still warm enough to sit outside, an unexpected bonus for October. So we decided to make the most of the opportunity.

We tried to order a bottle of wine but the waitress suggested we had a glass each instead. "We close in 30 minutes" she explained.

I didn't want to suggest that Julie and I could easily knock back a bottle of wine before they closed, so we accepted a large glass each.  It was a wonderful end to an incredible day. 

We made it back to our hotel, crawling up the dark winding staircase to our bedroom by 1:30am.