It's from Carmen's loft, which she's opened to me when I needed it the most - the thesis, transit weekends away. It's a lovely apartment - an old industrial space that she renovated in such a way that seems to reflect her so much. But I reckon my favourite thing about it, besides her being in it, is the view:
She lives in the south of Paris, south of Montparnasse, in the neighborhood dubbed by some as the most boring in the city. But I love the way you can see from the view that people are stacked on top of each other without the cityscape losing its humanity. That's what made me want to move back so much, or one of the things: in Europe it's conceivable to live well in a city, to have a good life without thinking your carbon footprint is morbidly obese. Of course in Paris it helps to be rich. I couldn't have the life in Paris that I have here in Brussels. We'd have to live either out-of-town or in a tiny shithole.
Madame Pariyorker is soon to become Mlle Pariyorker. The marriage is spinning to a disastrous conclusion, which I spent most of Saturday hearing about. Gah. At least as I heard about it, it was a lovely day and we did some lovely things. Started it at Angelina's, a café on Rivoli that used to be classy and a lesbian hangout but is now an undiscriminating tourist trap, but a classy tourist trap with really great hot chocolate and pastries. We walked through the Tuileries after that, and then through Odéon et cetera and sat in the sun for awhile in the Luxembourg gardens. Luxembourg, I noticed during the chronicle of the Marriage That Won't, has many unattended attractive Gallic types in it that keep trying to catch your eye. Not the standard quality of Parisian drageur. These ones carry serious books, have nice shaggy hair, and don't look like they masturbate/sniff glue/piss behind trees.
Anyways. Feasted on oysters once the F-word made an appearance, and walked some more. Down to Notre Dame in the dark and enjoyed the views through the hours when you can't see the rats scuttling around. Fell asleep. We meant to go to the Musée de Luxembourg which has an Arcimboldo exhibition on, open late on Saturdays, but the reefer and chronic exhaustion had taken their toll.
Next day, Picasso museum for the benefit of the F-word, a fanboy. I got museum exhaustion the second we stepped in, as it was the first Sunday of the month and therefore free and therefore chokkers. Escaped to the Jewish neighborhood on Rue de Rosiers to get some cheesecake for the journey hope - best cheesecake ever, which is to the best as I don't really like cheesecake - and went back to collect the F-word so that we could return to Rosiers and go to L'As de Falafel, another tourist trap with awesome food. However, the falafel was slightly soggy in the middle and therefore no longer the best I'd ever had; it's been supplanted by some hippie-type restaurant in Brugges that uses more sesame seeds.
And that's all I have to say about that. Bluebeard didn't get me and I only imagined I saw him once or twice. I really have to grow the fuck up.
2 commenti:
Sounds like a lovely time - minus the mob at the Picasso museum. I hate free weekend mornings at museums. Yuck.
Sorry to hear about your friend's marriage...
Me too, but I'm only surprised it didn't come long before the wedding, if you know what I mean.
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