Last year, I
finally got to go back to Paris. It'd been 8 years since my last visit and this time I was
no slave to Disney.
We stayed in
Cadet, a small and cutesy Jewish area to which prompted me on every time of leaving the hotel to whine "I want a baygul" So very mature.
It was really cute and a little arty but also a bit run down. But it occurred to me that when you're abroad, what is usually a little neglected and uncared for, in your eyes, becomes all picturesque and interesting. Although at one point I did think we'd made a terrible location choice which led me to believe it was equivalent to being in London and staying in Tooting.
This was brought upon when, without fail, every day, the local tramp would be opposite the Metro,
drinking, dancing or sleeping. By the end of our trip, I'd actually grown quite fond of him. Not fond enough to give him any food or money though.
I wanted to take a picture of him (of, not with) for the blog but I thought it somewhat rude and obnoxious of me to be posting all pretty things and then an ironic picture of me in France with a tramp.
We were super central to all things tourist in Paris and we successfully manoeuvred ourselves around
The Louvre, Notre Dame, The Eiffel Tower,
The Champ Elyse and, much to our disappointment,
The Moulin Rouge.
A couple of people before our stay had told us to visit
Le Marais for good shopping. For the general consensus that the French are a bit poncy and snooty, this stereotype definitely doesn't translate into their set up of vintage shopping.
Mounds upon mounds of clothing, piles and heaps of handbags, scarves, shoes, cluttered shelves of belts and jewellery and stuffed rails full of vintage clothes.
It all was a bit of a shock to be honest, you were presented with more of a battle than a challenge.
Clothing and such were priced no higher than 15euros really, but needless to say, I left empty handed - rather than leaving with no hands.
On our first day, as we couldn't check into the hotel until 2pm (god bless 5.30am Eurostar) we wandered down to a little art gallery, just North of Le Louvre which had an exhibition on the great Hussein Chalayan. This, rightly so, deserves its own blog post, shortly to follow.
In the meantime, here are some pictures of other wonderful things we did on our trip.
Eating like kings at the yummy Le Gymnase.
The hay on the floor did baffle a little, although England take note: nobody provides a cosy and warming outdoor atmosphere to provide guilt free smoking like the French. Salute!
Much needed coffee break before tackling the stairs of Notre Dame.
Some of the beautiful buildings we stumbled across idly wandering across the city.
I dardent take out the camera to document the vicious vintage seekers as they rummaged through the mountain of clothing. So here is one I took from the corner, when I was seeking refuge.
One day, we took a trip out of the city centre, to visit a huge vintage market area. Wonderfully laid out, a bit like being in a maze, full of French odds and ends complimented by bonkers yet charming French sellers. This is where I bought my
vintage purple
Celine jacket.
Order is resumed in a larger vintage store.
Fin.
