'You belong to me, and all of Paris belongs to me, and i belong to this notebook and pencil.'
Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast.
Paris was, quite simply, a dream. From the moment i stepped off the eurostar to the last parting glances out of the airplane, it felt surreal and impossible, like the week my friend and i had spent there hadn't happened, it couldn't have. I'm not even putting Paris up on a pedestal here, like i've done a thousand times before on this blog. Quite simply, i think i had one of the best weeks of my life there.
I'm not the first person in history to fall under Paris' spell. Many hundreds of people more famous, beautiful, clever and chic than I have succumbed to the infectious energy that seems to course through the air, the sounds and smells that are stronger, really they are, than anywhere i've ever been. Food that is richer, fresh produce that tastes as if it has just been plucked from the tree. Strong coffee that gives you a rush like a cigarette, pastry so light and airy it feels like you might be eating clouds. Streets that wind and bend. Neighbourhoods built to get lost in. Shops filled with clothes that are impossibly, really, impossibly chic. The smell of old books and the seine. The buildings rising up off the streets as if they had just sprung into being fully formed. The beautiful grey stone that pervades the streets suggesting not murky tea but rather the mystery of the wild sea. And every time i looked out my window there was the eiffel tower, rising up into the sky.
Yes, my window looked onto the eiffel tower. And yes, i know i sound like i'm turning paris into this haven, this creative hub of artistic integrity, but i suppose everyone experiences things in a way that is deeply subjective. And so for me the countless bookstores, the cafes with large tables perfect for sipping at an espresso and scribbling in a notebook with my friend A about the happenings of the day, the bright blue skies that seemed endless... it was all so inspiring and invigorating. just what i needed after the hectic year that i had just had.
Anyway, enough of that. What did i do? Well i wandered the streets, wiling away hours in little boutiques in the marais, exploring each quartier by foot and finding things we never thought we'd find, like a shop in montmartre that sells antique buttons (hello present for my mum) and one in st germain that sells old military gear, medals, hats, big great coats, think sergeant pepper jackets. I love that each quartier has its own distinctive character, and although they are all unified by the city they form, but in essence very different. It was lovely to find all these things out for yourself, through the the sights and smells and sounds of each neighbourhood.
We ate macaroons from what seemed like a million different patisseries, and loved them all. We climbed the eiffel tower and saw a man propose to his girlfriend, which was just too, too impossibly cute for words. We went to the flea markets and trawled through suitcase after suitcase of oddities, vintage scarves, bakelite bangles, 1950s underwear, little bobby socks. I certainly bought a few too many things, i can't speak for A, but i certainly filled my case with a few things. There were meals that were simply divine, accompanied by glass after glass of champagne or red wine. (more to come on that later)
I know, it all sounds a little trite. But it really was the stuff of dreams. A and I would fall into bed at the end of each day (or the beginning, in some cases) completely exhausted after having run around to the four corners of the city in search of Pere Lachaise cemetery, some particular vintage shop, the dries van noten store, the nina ricci store, the musee d'orsay for glimpses of one of the most extensive degas collections in the world, searching for a brunch restaurant (terence conran's Alcazar), trying to find the train station that would take us to versailles.
Of all the places in the world i have visited, i think Paris has the most character. New York is the most lively, Hong Kong the busiest, London the coolest (without a doubt, i'm very jealous of all you londoners! you all seem to have your finger on the pulse), Milan is the most glamorous, Zurich the sweetest, Edinburgh the most surprising... Like i said, Paris has a character that is bewitching and engaging and vivacious and intriguing. I am fascinated by the city, by its actions and thoughts and desires.
I used to think i couldn't live there, that the language barrier was too large, that i wouldn't fit in. But after being there i think maybe, just maybe, i could give it a go. Who knows? Tout, c'est possible.
olivier wasn't there, unfortunately.
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