After ten hours of solid sleeping, we woke up to an alarm that I had set for 8:30am.  We had a reservation for our own exclusive use of the hotel spa for an hour at 9am.

Half asleep we stumbled downstairs to the basement where the staff let us into a room decorated mainly in dark blue with this loosely based impression of a solar system painted on the ceiling. We then locked the door behind us. 

The shorts came off straight away, obviously.  Julie floated in the pool whilst I sweated in the steam room. We spent most of the time just lounging around in silence, almost in meditation. It was a very relaxing space.

The hour went by in a flash. We spent most of it with rumbling stomachs so as soon as our time was up we headed to the breakfast room.

Today we got to grips with the menu a little better. Julie ordered the smoked salmon, unfortunately Oliver, the waiter, said they had run out but would check what "chef can do". He returned with a raw salmon fillet cut into three thick pieces and half a lemon. A little unorthodox but Julie still enjoyed it. 

I ordered poached egg on toast which was perfectly cooked and their fruit salad was incredible.

Julie decided we should celebrate life with a glass of champagne for breakfast. The bubbly was nice but we were more impressed by the heavy cut glass in which it was served. 

We had nothing planned for today, that is until the evening, when we had tickets for the show at Moulin Rouge. We decided not to tire ourselves by traipsing across the city. Instead were planned on keeping it low key and local, sticking to the Montemartre.

We followed the same path we took on Saturday, passing the Moulin Rouge, then Amelie's Cafe des Deux Molins, strolling down Rue des Abbesses to the square with no name where five streets meet.

This time we sat outside a cafe called Le Progres, directly opposite Cafe Chappe (where we were on Saturday).

Despite already had a glass of champagne this morning, Julie had tea and I fancied a hot chocolate. We didn't want to peak too soon and ruin our evening. 

We sat and watched the world go by. Julie brought her knitting out. One little boy, who was passing, couldn't stop staring at her. Mouth open, eyes wide, he almost fell over, if it wasn't for his mother's hand.

"Oh my God, how French does he look?"  I looked up and saw the most French looking person ever. He was an elderly gentleman and unbelievably stereotypical. He wore a black beret, a beige raincoat and was carrying a baguette. 

We spent a lovely half hour sat outside Le Progres. The only disappointment was my hot chocolate was possibly the worst I had in a long time. Obviously made from a powder because they hadn't mixed it properly. It was thin and watery with thick gloops lurking on the bottom. 

We moved on, returning to the Sacré-Cœur, walking up the park of Square Louise Michel. Our intention was to go inside the cathedral. We had never seen the inside, or at least I don't remember.

When we reached the entrance we noticed quite a long queue. I was also dressed in shorts and flip-flops, not suitable attire for church. In fact a woman in the queue looked at my bare feet with disgust. So we decided against it.  

We carried on walking, around the back of the cathedral, admiring the gargoyles staring down at us.

The narrow streets of the Butte around here weren't especially inspiring but they did offer a glimpse of the Sacré-Cœur every now and then which added the charm.

We ended up in Place du Tertre a square that over thirty years ago, when we were here last, was filled with aspiring artists selling their work and willing to knock out a quick portrait. There were still a few around the edges but today's Place du Tertre was mostly taken up by glass conservatories and gazebos of the countless brasseries and bistros that lined the square.

They all looked very inviting and were making us feel hungry just by looking at them. Despite breakfast being less than three hours ago we were ready for lunch!

The square had a real buzzing atmosphere but it was so busy we decided to move on and find a quieter spot. I had just the place in mind. It wasn't far from Place du Tertre, just down Rue Cavaliers, which wasn't a street but a long flight of steps.

At the top of it was this beret wearing blind harpsichord busker with a cat on his shoulders. We were so impressed that we stopped and I reached into my pocket for an euro.

At the bottom of the steps we reached La Taverne de Montmartre. It had a great reputation for home cooked traditional French dishes and apparently they had "vegetarian options". 

It had plenty of rustic charm with long wooden tables and benches, charmingly cluttered with stuff hanging from the ceiling and bank notes from all over the world pinned to the beams. Amongst the many things on the wall was a rubber chicken!

We sat at the end of one of the tables, sharing it with another couple busy eating. We hadn't seen the menu on-line so I was relieved when I saw the word "vegetariene" next to a few of their dishes.

I chose the Racliflette du Vegetariene, a bowlful of potatoes, onion and courgette covered with melted cheese. It was so indulgent. It came with a side salad which I thought was pointless but it gave the bubbling cheese time to cool down a little whilst I ate the lettuce and tomato. It was so delicious. I wolfed it down.  

After translating the menu Julie chose the Pierrade du Mixte (boeuf et volaille) the Beef and Poultry Mixed Grill. It may have been explained in the French small print but we didn't realise Julie had to cook her own lunch!

We've eaten in similar trendy places before, where you cook on hot stones at your table. They were all the rage in the nineties but I never got the point of it. But here at La Tavern, instead of a hot slab of lava rock it was a small camping gas stove.

Whose crazy idea was that?!

A waitress came over a set it alight, then brought the raw food out, four pieces of steak, and three pieces of chicken breast. Then there were some mushrooms, onion and slices of bell peppers.

"Don't eat the lettuce" I suggested because it had raw chicken placed on top of it!

The hot cast iron plate above the gas flame had been sprinkled with salt which was interesting, but there wasn't any oil to cook the meat. The steak could handle it but the chicken seared itself to the surface and shredded when moved. Then the vegetables simply dehydrated and shrivelled up.  In the end the chicken was dry and over cooked!

Seriously though, if Julie was served what she had cooked she would have sent it back! But she couldn't because she cooked it!

And another thing ... she wasn't given a plate. The waitress suggested she should eat off the same slate tray the raw meat was presented. Surely that's not at all safe?

We paid our 70 bill. We were undecided on whether it was good value or not. It did include two glasses of wine each but one dish was a self-cook kit. Despite all of our misgivings we left La Taverna full and oddly having enjoyed the experience.

It was time to head back towards the hotel. We followed the road as it meandered down the hill, passing a wonderful fruit & veg shop made famous by its appearance in several scenes of Amelie.

"Where was that beret shop?" asked Julie. It wasn't far away, just down the hill towards Place des Abbesses, although it was in the wrong direction, further from the hotel.

It was called Laulhere and sold nothing but berets. I confessed to Julie that I went through a phase when I was a young teenager of wearing a black beret. I think I was going for the rebellious revolutionary look of Che Guevara but probably looked more like hapless comedian Frank Spencer.

Anyway, my beret wearing days were well behind me but Julie wanted one as a keepsake. She spotted this traditionally shape beret in a lovely teal colour.

The staff took their job seriously, measuring Julie's head, selecting the appropriately sized beret, then stretched it slightly over a dummy head on the counter to achieve that perfect comfortable yet tight fit.

From Place des Abbesses we followed the now familiar route back to our hotel reaching Maison Souquet around 3:30pm. It was time for a few hours siesta.

In a blink of an eye we were getting ready to head out for the evening of cabaret. 

We were half an hour early, so we went for a walk down Boulevard de Clichy where we passed Chapelle Sainte-Rita, a Roman catholic church. It looked more like a 2-star hotel than a church.

Outside a few students with clipboards were stopping people to conduct a survey for their coursework. Once they realised Julie nor I spoke French they all turned looking for Nicole, the only one in their group confident enough to speak English.

She asked us our opinion of having a church here, in this location.

I didn't know what to say at first. We were stood opposite the Moulin Rouge, two doors down from a sex shop and a massage parlour. It was set up to reach out to those who worked the streets, in the hope of saving them, I suppose.

I didn't know about its purpose so my answer missed the point, suggesting it was a "good idea" for those who came to this district looking for sexual gratification, "at least they could go to confession, receive forgiveness and go home with a clear conscience. Isn't that how it works?"

Anyway, we apologised that we had to leave because we were on our way to sin at the Moulin Rouge, which they found funny.

By the time we crossed the road the entrance was open, so we stepped into the foyer and joined the back of the queue. We were surprised as to how short it was. There were only a dozen or so ahead of us.

The queue grew steadily behind us, stretching up and down the staircase.

After about ten minutes, around the time on the tickets, we were allowed through into another reception room, with a cloakroom to one side and a stunning light fitting above us. I don't know if you could call it a candelabra  

We were kept waiting here, for only a few minutes, before the doors into the ballroom were opened.

Being one of the first in was such a great bonus as we were shown to a table very close to the front. We sat facing each other, which meant I had my back to the stage. "You can move when it all starts" said Julie.

As people were still arriving food was already being prepared. We were joined at our table by a couple from Upstate New York. They were on a stopover on the way home from India. The lady still had henna tattoo on her hands. They had been to a full-blown Indian wedding, their son had married a woman whose family was from Mumbai.

A little later another couple arrived, a mother and daughter from New York proper. The daughter, on learning we were from Wales, mentioned Wrexham and how she and her husband have become big fans of the football club because of the "Welcome to Wrexham" the TV documentary series following the success and struggles of the football team bought by Philadelphia's finest Rob McElheny and Hollywood A-lister Ryan Reynolds.

Julie was obviously from Wrexham but she also proudly told them that her father used to cut the grass at the Racecourse ground and apparently his Uncle Diggery use to own the club.

Anyway the food arrived. Julie and I got ours first. For Julie we had pre-booked the Toulouse-Lautrec menu.

To start she enjoyed Seared Tuna Tataki style with Red Tuna horseradish , Flying Fish roe and a wasabi and multicoloured Beetroot declination, whatever that meant!  Perhaps it was a nice way of describing the skiddy on the plate.

The main course was Breast of Red Label Chicken, griddle cooked, a parsnip declination, truffle butter sauce and herb salad.

It finished with an Almond Tart with Szechuan pepper poached pear and traditional whipped cream. 

For mass catering the quality was exceptional.

I had a full vegan menu available which was simply amazing. To start with I had a Lightly Vinegared rice, Maki style cucumber and radish, Nori seaweed and Tofu.

Followed by a Papillote (steamed in a bag) of mixed vegetables and Basmati rice in a green curry sauce, chickpeas, picked red onions and fresh coriander.

Then for dessert another Papillote, this time a bag of roasted fruits with a cinnamon and coconut sorbet.

All the while we were eating we were being entertained by this rather bland cabaret band, experts in background music. We hardly noticed them. 

Julie and I were halfway through our desserts when the starters arrived for the New Yokers. It was even later for the Upstaters. They had been forgotten and had to remind the waiting staff a few times.

Eventually, food service was over, the lights dimmed and the show began.

That was my queue, undercover of the dark, to get up and move next to Julie. It felt much better to experience it together rather than apart.

We were treated to a spectacular show. At first the bare chests were an eye opener but it quickly became normalised and the performance itself became captivating.

The choreography was incredible. There were so many people on stage at the same time. It was a little bit like "Disney does Burlesque" but that wasn't a bad thing. It was spectacular!

A routine lasted for several minutes before they all left the stage. In between the dancers we had the circus acts, like a classic strong man standing on his head, a couple acrobatically swinging each other around and another solo performance by a woman, topless, swimming in a pool with a very large snake.

After a quick costume change the dancers were back out again for another routine, this time a dramatic tribal dance. It was all very exciting to watch.

There was a "no photo policy" which I ignored during the first routine. But I did see a few others get given a warning, so I was a little more covert in my photo taking after that. 

Of course, the evening came to a climax with the classic can-can. 

The dance was popular in France before the Moulin Rouge but during that golden age of the Belle Epoque it was here where they first choreographed it into a chorus line and into the dance it is today. They even made stars out of dancers like La Goulue  (Louise Weber) and Jane Avril who both appeared in several paintings and posters by Toulouse-Lautrec.

Dressed in the red, white and blue, colours of the French flag they formed a line and high-kicked their way through the energetic routine to a familiar tune. The stamina of the dancers was incredible. They showed unbelievable flexibility to kick high above their heads. Some appeared to reach the full 180 degrees. 

A few minutes into the routine I felt a polite tap on my shoulder, followed by a wag of a finger and a "no photo". I was caught red handed getting carried away and taking photographs without a care. 

They were very nice about it. I put down my phone.

It all came to an end in spectacular fashion, where balconies appeared to descend onto the stage with all the dancers, male and female strutting their tail feathers. It was quite the sight. It was interesting to note that all the male dancers kept their shirts on. 

The curtains came down, the lights came up, it was all over. We had thoroughly enjoyed the performances, some more than others. The snake wrestler was a low point but everything else was great entertainment.

We left the Moulin Rouge, discussed where we should go next and decided that the best place was bed.