Paris by foot, part 2

So...
The line for the Louvre wasn't too long, we were lucky.
(For your own perusing, try this link for panoramic views of the Apollo Galleries and some rooms of Napoleon III; here are the Egyptian antiquities; this is the statue of Nike of Samothrace that greets you coming into the main entrance; and this is a search for themed tours of specific works, viewed below the search engine.)

Once inside, people were streaming straight for the Mona Lisa gallery. If you happened to be swept along, you couldn't get through the hordes of tourists-turned-paparazzi holding up their cameras at it. I stayed in the back of the room and just looked at everything else.
And there was a lot to look at.

(I'm still out of camera batteries, so these are a few of Andie's favorites.)

Welcome to the Louvre.

Nike of Samothrace, goddess of victory over crown control.

Cupid and Psyche (and bearded tourist)

The Venus de Milo...

...and her adoring fans.

The original Diana the Huntress, copied everywhere in France

We only realized that we hadn't agreed upon a separation plan when it happened: Aaron charged ahead, I shuffled, and Andie bounced back and forth between us until we disappeared from view. I figured I'd meet up with them at the end of the galleries and regroup, but no one else had the same idea. Andie thought to head for the Mona Lisa with everyone else and try to pick us out, but that became impossible in such a seething mass of people, so she just wandered the upstairs galleries (Italian and French painters) looking at the tourists until she saw me an hour later. Aaron went for where he thought I'd go first, and bee-lined for the ancient Etruscan art. He looked for us through the whole Islamic art section and half the ancient Greek, and we finally caught him coming down the stairs toward an exit. Finally.
Andie insisted that we go finish the Greco-Roman marble statue collection, so we saw most of that, including the Venus de Milo. Andie then went and escorted Aaron back to the Mona Lisa, since he'd completely skipped it and hadn't been looking at most of the paintings in that wing. I waited in the lobby and propped my feet up.

When Andie and Aaron reappeared, we all commiserated over our achey feet and Andie suggested we go rest on the steps of Sacre-Couer, the other cathedral she wanted to see. What she didn't mention was that Sacre-Couer is across the city in Montmartre, the hills there rival San Fransisco, and we were going to walk more on cobblestones. Uphill.
Things got rapidly worse when we got off at the Abbesses stop and went for the stairs, ignoring the crowd of locals around the elevators and the sign that said "Caution: 90 stairs ahead". 
90 is more than you think it is, particularly when you're climbing an underground, spiral, subway staircase and every time you turn a corner, THERE'S MORE STAIRS.
See here.

We rested at the top, but kept picking our way up more steep hills. I nearly mutinied and turned around, but we'd already picked up pastries and quiche and sodas along the way for dinner. We sat on the steps and ate-- and quiche is good even cold, if it's Parisian quiche. 

The Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris, or Basilique du Sacré-Cœur

It's a lovely structure, all white at the top of the hill.

Andie eating chocolate croissant. (This is her chewing face, she actually loves them.)

Quiche Lorraine. REAL Quiche Lorraine.

The view from the highest point in Paris (without standing up at the church's dome)

Everyone else trying to do the same thing.

The hike had been grueling, but we felt revived enough after eating to fight past the French children's field trip groups and take a walk around the nave perimeter. Mass had just started and the choir was showing off the dome's acoustics, but we didn't take too long looking; the sermon was in French and no photography was allowed in the building. (Here is a professional video, if you're patient; interior shots start at 2:55.) This cathedral is much more modern, having been finished in the 20th century. A few bombs fell on the grounds during WWII but no one was killed, which increased its popularity.

Our Rick Steves Paris book recommended a walking tour around Montmartre... which sounded like a great idea until we were halfway into it, nowhere near a metro stop, not really interested in where Toulouse-Latrec lived, and VERY tired and cranky. 

Don't remember.

Don't know.

Don't care.

Eh.

Tiny little artist cafe

I had command of the book (with map and commentary) but had to cut it short to save our feet. We did see all of the studios and artist homes, though our interest level rapidly dropped once we discovered that you can't go inside them.

We staggered back to the metro lines and our hostel, vowing never to do this again.