Still Lost in Paris

It feels a little contrived that I gave Nice a really bad review and am about to give Paris a completely flying one. Perhaps I am looking for something to compensate for my misfortunes and disappointments, or that France is just one of those places that can bowl you up and down with their unpredictable nature, depending on the weather, the time of the month, or who serves you coffee. Or it could be just how I honestly feel about the contrast of my experiences in the fast train track in the last short week.

Paris is blowing me away with a seductive charm and tantilising sensual pleasures I’ve experienced no where else before. Comparatively, Berlin has a very ground breaking masculine energy about it and an in-your-face assertiveness. Paris has a gentle flowing femininity, so sure of itself in its ease that it doesn’t need to try to be cool. It purely defines it. At the same time it doesn’t loose the quirky, cheeky and fun elements of French humour and wit. A sense of post-human abandonment seem to take over the way of life here. Form is in preference of function, decadence comes before economy, style before comfort, attitude before efficiency, raunch before sterility, boldness before minimising… There is simply nothing to conform to, and the result is a whole world of continuous creativity and bright busy compositions of pretty things and people.

As I walked downstairs from the apartment into the buzzing street with hundreds of odd characters passing by, I realized that what I’ve been doing wrong in the past 27 years is simply not being in Paris.

The Parisian Apartment

I am again simply a lucky girl. I am crashing with Kathryn and Braedon who has rented a small apartment here for a month. The spot is just perfect, right in the middle of the Marais neighbourhood. Its ten minutes walk across to the Island to Notre Dame, the Left Bank, and a couple of stations from Louvre and Champ Elysee. Its concentrated with cafes, bars, bakeries, quirky interior and fashion boutiques and small old gardens.

While also being the central queer area, you can sit in the neighbourhood sipping an espresso while watching the world and his boyfriend and their lap dog go by in the maddest edgiest fashion possible. Don’t under-estimate these little puppies, they are vicious. I witnessed one, no more than the size of a kitten terrorise two little girls by chasing them out of a gelato shop. The personal activities of the neighbours become some what of an ongoing radio theatre show too. You can hear triple orgasms ringing through the atrium. And contrary to my preconceptions of French people, the locals have been extremely friendly and helpful. Despite looking extremely scruffy in my backpackers gear, I don’t feel that I am particularly excluded or snobbed just cos I am a foreigner.

I absolutely love strolling around the fancy boutiques, bookshops and galleries in the Left Bank, pricy eateries in the Latin Quarter, and the dreamy parks around town where many gardenless city dwellers read and sunbathe. Just taking in the atmosphere and watching interesting scenarios unfold is fascinating and entertaining. For two evenings now I finish the day off by snuggling up to tourists and locals alike to book readings at the Shakespeare and Co. bookshop which holds nightly recitals by their up and coming writers about to publish. There is something I can’t explain about this place that is so captivating.

Let me eat cake (& snails)

It must be a deliberate attempt to insult Marie Antoinette that now Parisians are all cake connesoires. Here are just some of the sweet little gems displayed in the shop windows.

Other culinary exploits included the famous escargot - snails in pesto near St Michaels. I was actually slightly disappointed that it tasted a bit bland. Honestly I thought it was going to be DELICIOUS, but it was a bit "oh well". Never mind better luck next time. In general It was a great night out with Kathryn (fabulous translations, otherwise I would have got some cricket bats in gravy or something like that), Braedon, Jeremy & Anna (who came down from London for the weekend). We had a fab time hanging out in the line to the Eiffle Tower apart from having the beer confiscated...

Rollerblading Paris

I thank my random parents for getting me into crazy sports like spring-board diving and roller skating as a child. My sister, third cousin and I formed a family relay team and took bronze in a speed skating tournament in Taipei for the Happy Angels Roller Skating Club’s 86-87 season.

But that was before the age of rollerblades. Remember those skates with two wheels in front and two behind and you tie them to your shoes and can be expanded in case Dad wants to wear them too? Yep. Those were the days. I am now extremely envious the carefree Parisians on their quick blades whizzing about on the street cutting through traffic and tourists, and have decided to hire my own for a bit of a spin.

Just short of killing myself by plunging into traffic near Bastille, I made it to the beach (as in, temporary sand and traffic closure on the river front for two months) in one piece only having to take the blades off once.

As I was just getting the hang of it, some (hot) guy sitting at the side of the palage yelled out instructions at me like ‘straighten your legs’ and ‘don’t stick your butt out so much’ in an inheritantly bossy French way. He turned out to be the rollerblading coach of free lessons for beginners offered as part of the Paris Beach program. He invited me back to the next lesson for his beginners and I enjoyed an hour of rollerblade tips and hanging out with cute six year olds (they call me ‘madame’) doing loops of obstacle courses on the pavement. Yes it was amusing for all and I had a total blast.

Speaking of kiddies, the other thing I noticed about France is that its very child friendly. There seemed to be heaps of child friendly things going on here, like fun parks, holiday programs, toy shops, children’s music & theatre, not to mention Euro Disneyland just a stonethrow away.

Other touristy things I managed to get up to were:
- The Verseille palace and gardens – sensational, worth a side trip checking it out
- Montemare area – the heavenly Sacre Coeur church, Mouline Rouge club, and the Erotic Art Museum – amusing, particularly the ethnic sexology collection, but in general badly curated and just a kinky joint.
- Amelie’s Café – as in the one featured in the film. It was quaint and characterful like in the movie, and the famous toilet had some interesting quips on the back of the doors, but the service was the WORST I’ve encountered in Paris (France, for that matter) so far, and over-priced. But to the fair the coffee was pretty fantastic and the napkins and the sugar sachets did dance on the table just for me.

And finally caugh up with Johanna who was my flatmate last year ;-)

- this is us at the cafe downstairs