we saved our walk to montmartre for our last morning in paris, and it's the spot we most long to return to. it seems a village all its own, perched on a hill. in the way that, on the left bank, i swore i could hear the whispered scratch of the lost generation's pens on paper, montmartre echoes with brushes on canvas from the belle époque. there was something altogether other about montmartre. next time, we've already said, we'll spend a little more time on the hill. maybe we'll make a whole afternoon of it.