Taking the piste

   The last thing I had expected to hear in Place Pigalle was the sound of bagpipes. However, as I stood waiting outside the metro, huddled against a nipping late-January breeze,  that same blast of air brought with it the unmistakable reedy notes down from the hill above.

    Against the grey winter backdrop the throbbing groin of the 9th arrondissement appeared subdued, the neon pinks, blues and reds biding their time before the evening's carnalities, but I wasn't here for that...

    Along with three new-found friends - Béné, Matthieu and Béné's brother Manu - we were here for a jeu de piste, a French mix between a treasure hunt and a walking tour that would take us up and down and all around this most intriguing of Parisian quartiers. The game was simple; read the clue/riddle in the book that pointed toward your start point. There you would then find out something interestingly historical, architectural, or downright weird, before your next clue pointed you on your way.

Before the wizard of Oz started on the roads (rue André Antoine)

Our first énigme led to a post box at the bottom of rue André Antoine. After being momentarily confused by a right angle turn (on the same road), we followed the cobbled street. This was now lined with painted bollards and decorated wrought iron tables bringing a splash a gaiety to the otherwise grey day. Up a flight of stairs we went on to to find Place des Abbesses and the source of the bagpipes!

   Here was a little fête de Bretagne in full flow and what it lacked in size it made up for in noise (the aforementioned pipes, or veuze), smells (sizzling savoury rye-flour pancakes, or gallettes) and colour (mostly Breton black and white). Béné and Manu are proud Bretons and plenty of pictures were duly snapped in front of a giant Breton flag, impeding the arrival of a troupe of dancers in traditional garb. (n.b. check out the photo of a proper Galette Bretonne in this recipe on http://www.banlieusardises.com/crepe-banlieusarde-toute-garnie )

   Clue-master Matt then pulled us onwards, to Théâtre de l'Atelier on Place Charles Dullin. This colonnaded, but understated theatre seemed somewhat out of place in the surrounding melange of tacky tourist shops and restaurants and avant garde designer fashion boutiques.

    Back down on Avenue Rochechouart we were soon the ones out of place. "C'est le quartier le plus populaire de Paris." Béné told me. In parisian parlance "populaire" means "poor" and the evidence could not have been more stark. With some trepidation, we edged our way through crowds of women (many in headscarves or rainbow-coloured robes) rooting through bins of sales items outside bargain clothes stores (rather aptly named Tati), or haggling for bargains at makeshift market stalls beneath the Metro tracks. On every street corner track-suited or leather-jacketed groups of men smoked, exchanged news or sipped on sour yoghurt with a nonchalant yet threatening air. It could have easily been Algiers or Agadir.

  Turning up into the area known as Goute d'Or Béné informed me of the infamous apéro organised here by the right-wing Front National, who set up a barbecue offering up beer and pork sausages in this mainly Muslim area. It was easy to realise who really feels threatened here.

Taking a break at Café Commercial

Told you it looked like a theatre!

 
We adjourned for a while at the Café Commercial (on rue Pierre Picard) whose booths, bulbous lamps and peeling stucco reminded us of an old cabaret lounge fallen on hard times. The staff, who struck me with their resemblance to the cast of Fame, looked like they might be about to stage a revival. If they did, any costumes for the show they could have been made from the myriad fabrics sold over 5 colossal floors of the nearby Marché St Pierre

Five floors of fantastic fabrics at Marché St Pierre

  Around the next corner, rising like stiff peaks of meringue above the steps and gardens of Square Willete, was perhaps the second most iconic building in Paris after the Tour Eiffel: le Basilique du Sacré-Coeur. Though it resembles an over-elaborate wedding cake ornament and the area around it has become the most inescapable of tourist traps, it is hard not be impressed, by the view of the city from the top at least.

Soufflé anyone? (Basilique de Sacré Coeur)

No thanks, I fancy a pancake (Moulin de la Galette)

Dodging the caricature painters of Place du Tertre, we meandered on through the cobbled lanes of Montmartre. We barely paid much attention to the clues now, as the eclectic nature of the quartier was all around us: from the Moulin de la Galette (a windmill perched above an old pancake restaurant)

French waiters have changed a lot since this guy was in town (Lapin Agile)

to the Clos Montmartre (the city's only operating vineyard) and from Lautrec's le Chat Noir (you must have seen the print, if not have it yourself) to le Lapin Agile (the first parisian cabaret).



 The cold was biting hard  nowand we decided to head for home. As, way down in the city, the hourly light show on the grandest of all radio masts twinkled through the descending dusk, the Breton bagpipe bands broke up and we echoed their parting sentiments, directed as much to this fascinating area of Paris as to each other, "Bonne soirée et bien joué."

PS: If you're visiting, or live here and would like to try one of these, check out www.jeux-de-piste.com or Jean-Richard Matouk's book "Jeux de Pistes et Enigmes à Paris" (Hachette, 2008).

Photos: Luke Kadinopoulos