There’s a particular Montmartre trick that still works every time.
You’re walking, the light is clean and sharp, and suddenly a café appears under a ridiculous abundance of flowers. Reds, oranges, trailing greens the full autumn performance. Only to realise none of them are real. They’re the high-end artificial kind that Parisian restaurants have perfected, too perfect, too dense and still some find them charming.
Above the whole cheerful fakery sits Sacré-Cœur, white and unbothered against the blue sky. The real thing, quietly doing what it has always done.
In Montmartre even the pretend flowers know how to stage a good scene.
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