Parisian Life

Sat 15/08/09

Sleep in.
Walk out in to 35 degree heat. Head to st germain by foot, this city is ridiculous. Walk through jardin de tuileries, past the louvre, past the senate and legal council buildings, the high court, the cultural affairs office. All are ornate affairs with columns, sculptures, shuttered windows, towering ceilings, all structures of vast presence. These buildings, these sculptures, steeped in history…counts and barons and priests once trod these paths, battles were fought, bombs were dropped, continents were decided, laws were made, civil liberties that define Europe today were brought into effect.

Where I live, in Surry Hills, people used to get drunk…still do.

My breath is taken away along with my heart.

We visit La Grande Epicerie de Paris – imagine a David Jones Food Hall…of the world…super luxe. There are salted butter caramel biscuits, lemon tart sweets topped with sugar, freshly squeezed grapefruit juices, giant lobsters and 16 types of fish, pate de fruits in giant tins, a cheese section you can smell from 15m away, an entire aisle of olive oils, 3 shelves of salt (!!!), even a wine and beer section…

To follow this, we head to Laduree – the king of macaroons in St Germain. A lovely box of 20 sets you back 32euros, however this box contains all your sugary little heart may desire. Best flavours are orange blossom, blackcurrant and violet, pistachio and green tea, dark chocolate and coffee.

In the evening we stop by Lea’s dad’s apartment to steal (borrow she tells me) some wine and head to a farewell party for one of her friends. Lots of cheek kissing of cute girls is to follow. I am again a curiosity for 5 minutes then conversation becomes difficult. Imagine being tipsy, surrounded by frenchies, trying to mutter non non, j’habite en australie mais je suis visitee Paris pour un mois….they smile condescendingly and answer in Engish…then resume their conversation (often in Spanish…or rapid fire French).

I battle along however, lose at ping pong, step on a cat, attempt to chat up a french red-head (bad move), drink some bad wine, eventually get bored of not being able to talk to anyone and make moves to go home.
Another round of cheek kissing and Franglish ensues (amusing but I’m already over it).

The eating is to begin in earnest on Monday, with lunch at L’Arpege, then a all day feast on Tuesday with lunch at Le Chateaubriand and dinner at Il Vino ☺