I am blogging very late. Tonight I had dinner with one of my oldest friends at Le Petit Cler and we actually ate on "Paris time". I have been lucky my first few weeks here to have lots of visits with friends from home.
Every morning, rain or shine, when I exit the courtyard of the apartment building and turn left on rue du Champ de Mars towards Le Petit Cler I am overwhelmed by happiness. I love the smell and the sounds of Paris first thing in the morning. I love that I say "Bonjour" to the same people every day and I love stopping at my boulangerie for my demi-baguette and croissant.
Today was a writing day and for the first time I ventured into a park with my lap top. I spent the morning sitting on a shady bench in Champ de Mars with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. It was completely peaceful and productive. I retired back to the apartment for lunch of baguette and Haribo and kept writing for several more hours.
One of the most important things I have learned in the past three weeks is that I need to linger over my morning café crèmes to observe the Paris that I want to write about in my book. There is so much action to be absorbed and so many details that I wouldn't otherwise see. I can't concentrate the same way when I am walking as I am worried about being run over by a crazed scooter rider or double decker hop-on-hop-off bus.
Best Parisian colour combination of the day...
A woman walked past me this morning on rue Cler wearing a baggy neon pink tank top and a navy blue cardigan. Her jeans were canary yellow. I suddenly felt way too safe in my dark denim skirt and blank tank top.
Tourist quote of the day...
"Paris started out a little stressful but it got better. Right?" I have so been on that Paris trip!
Beware on Fridays in Paris...
Around noon on Fridays it seems that EasyJet and the TGV trains make a giant deposit of Eurotrash onto the streets of Paris. Hordes of Europeans descend on the city for bachelor parties, hen parties, romantic weekends and two days of manic sightseeing. You can't get in their way; they just run you right over in their too tight jeans on their way to drink a pint for breakfast before touring the Louvre. Mondays they disappear and Paris is noticeably quieter.