Music in Paris
Pompidou, Musee d’Orsay, Louvre – done, done and done. Thanks to a professional card I borrowed I was able to zip into each for free and avoid the lines. The Louvre has all the ambience of a Westfield shopping centre these days but those Italian painters and the outside square are still spectacular.
After exiting the Louvre late in the evening a few police on rollerblades sped past. Yes, police on rollerblades. If only I’d been quick enough to get a photo. I soon realised they would be heading to the massive Friday night cityskate that happens in Paris. I didn’t have my rollerblades with me so we headed to a French-ish restaurant on Rue de Berger across from the park which surrounds St Eustace church.
Another day brings another Sydney friend who has relocated to Paris. Oli moved over to play with the band Nouvelle Vague amongst other things. He explained the intricacies of French social security as we ate pizza from a Saturday market at the end of our street. Yes, he’s thoroughly enjoying the French lifestyle in case you were wondering.
Saturday evening was our last in Paris and it also happened to be Fete de la Musique. Hundreds and hundreds of bands play for free in the streets and cafes of Paris all night. Fifty metres from our place in one direction was hardcore doof music outside of a Thai restaurant, and fifty metres in the other direction that was drowned out by a rock band, and then further down the street was some traditional music. It’d never happen in Sydney without being interupted by laminated signs, public service ads in the paper, security staff, noise complaints etc etc.
We were heading out to the 20th to see some US folky bands at La Fleche d’Or. It’s a way cool grungey venue that was probably once a train station. You can sit in the back eating and looking down through broken windows onto the end of an abandoned train line with kids picnicing on it. I passed on the 7 euro mojito but damn those Parisiens do a good Rose.
At 6am on Sunday morning we were on our way to the airport for our flight to Budapest and the Fete de la Musique crowds were still heading home.
Paris in the summer
The sun shines til 10pm. Dinner comes even later. We eat raspberries and cherries in the afternoon. Croissants and baguettes from the boulangerie around the corner in the mornings. Parisians young and old, fashionable and, well, still fashionable, whiz by on bikes and scooters. They sit on cane chairs outside of cafes throughout the days drinking coffee and through the evenings drinking beer in the sun -every day of the week!
So after these observations I’ve decided you really need to be born here and brought up here to successfully pull all of this off. But it’s nice to drop in on the vibe for a week.
Yesterday we walked from our apartment in the Marais across the Seine to St Germain. Wandered through the famous Shakespeare & Co bookshop and then the less famous The Village Voice bookshop. Somewhere in between was a Camper store I managed to avoid buying something at. We took a Metro further out of town, found there was nothing there but saw the Eiffel Tower in the distance so walked towards it and finally under it.
A billboard ad told us there was a Bridget Riley exhibition on at the Musee d’Arts Moderne so we found it next, stopping outside at a fresh food market to get a small bag of fantastic olives.
Later in the afternoon we headed north on the bustling narrow footpaths in search of a record store. Luckily for me we found Maureen along the way and I’m now one green felt bag richer.
The evening brought with it a trip to Pigalle for a free gig by a Icelandic post-rock band at Divan du Monde. We then met up with Nick, a Sydney friend who has moved to Paris, and he took us to a grungy bar by a canal a couple of metro stops away in the 10th.
The hellish trip home
Isn’t it wonderful to wake up with a hell of a headcold knowing that the next 36 hours are going to be spent in planes and airport waiting lounges? No. No it is not.
And thus my journey begins its end.
I greet the useless hotel desk guy at 6 in the morning to check out. I want a detailed list of phone calls I’ve made for the good of my insurance claim to come, but it’s beyond him. Damn these public holiday staff. My airport transfer arrives and not only does he not have credit card facilities as promised by the ad, but he also doesn’t have any change! He promises to square up the bill next time I’m in Paris. Grrr.
And then I go about standing in the change-your-ticket queue at the BA desk for half an hour. What a joy that is when there’s a 25kg bag dependent on you. Anyway, I somehow end up on the plane without any further dramas and I even managed to only be as sick as the number of tissues I had.
Not too much later I touch down in Heathrow and right after finding Justine I head to Boots to stock up on cold and flu tablets. The guy warns me that the night time ones are very strong and not to take them during the day. I agree, chuckle to myself and then get one into me as soon as I’ve left the shop. I had some time to kill and so bought a phonecard to call Peter. For once the phonecard doesn’t expire in 27 seconds so I decide to give my parents a call. It didn’t work and it wasn’t til later that I realised it was because I was doing something stupid like leaving out the area code. And this was only the beginning of the torturous journey!
By the time Justine and I are on the next plane I realise that I can’t hear much out of one ear at all. Nevermind, I say to myself, it’ll fix itself up when I land. I can hardly stomach the airline food so I happily zonk out for most of it. Then it was time for landing. Boy could I feel it. Can I advise you to never, ever, ever get on a plane with an ear you can’t hear from? Ouch.
Did I mention we were headed for Toyko? At first I was excited by this proposition because we had 12 hours to kill there, but we landed and worked out that it would take most of that time to get from the airport to the city and back. I felt like I was in another universe. My ear made me feel like I was underwater and I was finding it really difficult to hear any of those little softly spoken Japenese women. We couldn’t even work out how to get out of the airport!
But we did….