Exploring the second layer of Paris requires the luxury of time and given I’ve done the touristy bits, am now on a mission to explore the Passages (see previous post ‘A second layer of Parisian finds). And you know what? Sometimes they just sneak up on you…
Passages Panoramas has numerous entrances and I just happened to find one as I popped out the other end of Passages Jouffroy and onto Boulevard Montmartre. Fortuitous indeed for this one is chock full of surprises. There are half a dozen philatelists’ shops but also several seriously hip wine bars: Les Racines for trendy vins naturels, Coinstot Vino for Italian vintages, and Le Diable Verre, a lounge bar where your feet will insist you wallow a while. Spent ages examining the fascinating collectables in Tombées du Camion, from curious plastic dolls to kitsch postcards, antique tin boxes and quirky door knobs.
Satisfied, a smug smirk on my face now, two Passages in one day. Eight to go.
Saw a Nana whizzing down the Avenue de la Republique footpath on a Push Scooter and I reveled in her joy. Saw authorities taking away a homeless man’s puppy and I cried with empathy. Saw the Eiffel Tower just as the clouds made way for her hourly sparkle and I gasped in awe. Paris. City of lights and lovers and tragic and magic moments.
Six weeks to explore under the guise of ‘local’, six weeks to seek out the interesting, less touristy locales, six weeks in which to bring you, my beloved subscribers (all 441 of you whomever you are) and dear FB fans…a daily top three. Since you can’t be here beside me, a vicarious holiday will have to do. Your welcome!
Now where would you like to go and what would you like to see with me? Please share.
Trawl La Spezia’s Friday clothing markets – malls of stalls heaving fluorescent jewelry, bikinis, Nonna house coats in 70 shades of blue, Nonno singlets in 50 shades of white, enough cork platforms to stopper Europe’s entire wine harvest, cheap perfume and rhinestone ‘I heart Italy’ tee-shirts (curse at wasted fare, console with large glass of wine)
Admire deftness with which Nigerian hawkers foist their cachet of designer knock off bags into sheets and turn to shadow within the whiff of a cop (and the styles were all so last year)
Puzzle over chappy cycling by with a plastic shopping bag knotted on four corners over his head (alfalfa sprouts cheaper than hair plugs?)
Laugh at supermarket lady going sparko over exploded coke bottle (whole shop sprayed a pleasant golden brown, matches her tan)
Cringe when same screams ‘Peach you NOT squeeze!’ ‘Get OFF the banana!’ as a hapless Swede attempts to buy a fruit snack (mass exodus of terrified tourists)
Perfect mantra while puffing up countless steps to cemetery for super photo moment (‘buns of steel, burn pasta carb, buns of steel, burn…’)
Sip ‘Aperol Spritz’ (Prosecco, Aperol, soda water), appears de rigueur, tastes like Campari (gak!) and settle in to admire sunset (and hoover complementary chips and focacia cubes, cheap nosh)
Marvel at the volume of cats under the restaurant chairs (good thing they’re not rockers) waiting for the chips to fall (haa haa)
Hear a beat, explore, get swallowed by a thumping, smoke shrouded, strobe splattered dance party squeezed between the rocky outcrops of the harbor forecourt (say what?)
Gasp at volume of black eye patches (a load of lost eyeballs for such a small village?) learn it’s a Pirate theme (someone forgot to send the memo)
Stare (discreetly) at skinny brown women usually found standing in doorways smoking, tittering and yapping Chow! Chow! into their mobile phones (until tourists waving money lure them back to their shops), now teetering on tall cork platforms, sporting black on black body cons, blond bouffants and enormous fluorescent chandelier earrings (Er? Fashion police, we have a ‘situation’)
Observe Nonna’s on the benches eating ice cream, old chaps throwing back Nastros and Peronis (not one of ’em pinch my bum, what is that?) and kids trying to set fire to a boat (candles lining the street prove irresistible)
Ponder the fire twirler’s choice of music…a song about Monday when it’s Friday (who cares?) Brain explosion.
Hear the beat ratchet up a notch, hear Romeo calling ‘Where for art thou Jane? Thou hath warmed the bed for thee!’ (yeah right). It’s 3am and I have 4 hours to cram a sleep before the 7am bells start clamoring again. Twice! Right outside my window (bloody Village alarm clock)
Sip ‘Aperol Spritz’ (Prosecco, Aperol, soda water), appears de rigueur, tastes like Campari (gak!) and settle in to admire sunset (and hoover complementary chips and focacia cubes, cheap nosh)
