Friday Saturday Sunday

Friday - Galleries Lafayette revisted - Cafe Marcel with Loic and co


I was excited to get an early start on the Metro Friday morning.  I was headed back to Les Galleries Lafayettes... the gorgeous shopping mall in central Paris.  This time, I wasn't tired, I was wearing proper footwear and was ready to get some new stuff.


There was a sale on throughout the mall, so it was busy, even in the morning.  I was determined to speak French all day and not cheat, so off I went, a little bashful, but confident enough that I could get through shopping, at least, without breaking down into English.


It turns out, my natural love of shopping lends itself well to the French I actually remember.  Go figure.  I was asked where I was from, and when I told them, they were impressed and complimented me on my lack of accent, which is a good thing, I guess.  


A wee explanation of what this mall is like - it's made up of hundreds of designer stores, all side by side, and then accented by the house brand, dotted around them.  The designer stores are seperated by small walls, but no doors, so everything is open. The floors are prganized by type of fashion - contemporary, sportswear, lingerie, etc.  The basement is all shoes.  The main floor, not unlike stores at home, is cosmetics and accesories.


I started my purchases with a wool blend little black dress with side ruching and a gold zipper detail at Maje.  The salesman attending me far too excited about the retail experience, showing up with accessories, shoes, bags and anything else he could get his hands on that he thought was chic.  Didn't necessarily go with the dress, just stuff he loved and he HAD to show me or he might die.  I got the dress.


I continued around... Karen Millen for the UK has fantastic stuff.  For women with no breasts.  Pass.  Ralph Lauren, yawn... moved along to Promod, a chic value-centric brand again out of the UK.  Grabbed some fully lined wool pants, a cute blouse and a hat.  Kept wandering... The house brand had a huge sweater section so I grabbed a very 50's twin set in leopard.  The sales lady approved of this, saying no one ever has the courage to wear leopard anymore.  Pleased to meet you.  The lingerie floor was overwhelming and I decided to save that for a whole day unto itself.


Down I went to the shoes. Lots of cute designer stuff, but nothing was really grabbing me.  I grabbed a cool pair of suede loafers with a stacked stiletto heel.


I was getting hungry so I stopped at the lunch counter and had a tabouleh salad and glass of champagne. Or two.  I went back to Karen Millen, determined to find something that fit.  No luck. I was disappointed.


I headed back to my hotel happy with my purchases, but wondering where all the good shoes were hiding.


Loic called me a few hours later, inviting me out to join him and his friends at a gig somewhere near St Germain des Pres.  Okey doke.  I met him at his place, which is ridiculously French.  The person with whom he shares the space is a film guy, so lots of books, movie posters and jazz music all over the place. The apartment itself was small, but not bad for Paris standards. Two rooms, a kitchen, pantry and bathroom.


I waited for Mr. I-have-nothing-to-wear preen and perfume himself and off we went in search of Cafe Marcel.  Thankfully it was easy - exit at Eteinne Marcel and voila, across the street with the loud afro-jazz band blaring outside.  His friends were sitting outside, drinking pastis.  Introductions were made... a note about French intros... You kiss each other on each cheek, without fail. Bon soir, smooch smocch, say your name, smile, move on.  This takes forever and the charm of it wears off very quickly, but it's proper manners here.


Three guys, plus Loic, and three girls, plus me.  All of them were under 30 for sure, likely close to 26 or 27.


The band was cool, luckily, because everyone was speaking so quickly I had a hard time keeping up with the conversation.  I was able to answer questions and such, and Loic played translator when I was clueless.  Turned out, by the end of the night, half of them spoke English, but were as nervous about their language skills as I was.  A few drinks seems to clear this up.


It got cold. The wind picked up and all of us started to shiver. We managed to score some seats inside just as the band played their last songs. I had switched from Pastis to red wine and was started to feel a bit tipsy.  The bar said they specialized in cocktails, but I saw what was being made and going out and snootily passed. I also passed on the shots going around and Loic and I headed out to the Metro shortly thereafter.


Back to my hotel uneventfully, and to bed.




Saturday - more shopping and a late house party with Loic and co


I woke up a bit late Saturday morning, thankfully without a headache, and slowly made my way to another part of Paris where there was some shopping.  ANother mall, this one more similar to back home, with shops for older women and kids, as well as large anchor stores.  There was a smaller version of Les Galleries Lafayette, so I took a breeze through there.  Most of the same brands were represented, just on a smaller scale.  A large discount store called C&A had some good deals on accessories, and I grabbed some perfume at Chanel.  


Back to the hotel for a nap, and Loic texted late, saying there was a house party near my hotel, did I want to join?  Sure, why not.  We met at the Metro and walked over to a tiny little apartment, but so well designed and decorated.  Ten people or so were hanging about, drinking wine and chatting. Again, no one got into English until about an hour in, and my French was for some reason just not happening, so I found the best think to do - hang out outside with the smokers.  Smoking in Paris is still the norm.  Even if you're a non-smoker, chances are you smoke on occasion.  It's social, it's French.


A quick walk back to my hotel around 1:30 and I was back to bed.




Sunday - St Germain de Pres, Au Sauvignon, Ritz Hemingway Bar


Most stores are closed on Sunday, a fact I didn't know when I headed out in the mid morning to shop.  So, instead, I ate.  I was in St Germain again, and found a cafe that wasn't packed full of brunch eaters... Au Sauvignon.  I ordered wine and Rillettes au Pain and sat, watching the people go by, tourists and locals alike.  


I walked back down to Les Tuileries and had a coffee in the park, with about 9 jillion other people.  And, for thie first time since I had arrived in Paris, actually got hit on.


Yeah, the FIRST.  I had not experienced the same Paris as my friends, with men chatting them up or chasing them about.  Nada.  So when the gentleman sat next to me and started talking to me, I almost choked on my coffee.  He asked me, in French, what I was dreaming about, because my expression looked like I was a million miles away.  Not dreaming, I said, just planning my day. Chat chat chat.  I managed to keep it in French, which at time proved difficult.  About 30 minutes in, he switched languages for a second, I think it was German. I told him I didn't understand. He looked surprised. He thought I was from wherever it was.  Nope.  Canadian. So now we had to talk about Canada for another 30 minutes.  What's up with Montreal? Dunno, never been. Oh. Another few minutes, then I excused myself, needed to get back to my hotel and have a nap, at least.  He asked for my email, which I gave him.  Nice guy.  EMail.  Sure.


I got back to my hotel and decided that I was going to go somewhere swish.  I wanted a cocktail, I wanted to dress up and I wanted it immediately.  I gussied up, put on some heels and wisely packed my flats in my purse. I headed to Le Place Vendome, where the Ritz Hotel has been located forever, and wound my way around the hallways until I found Le Bar Hemingway, which had been recommended to me by Simon at Boneta.


What a lovely little bar.  I was charmed immediately. Tons of pictures of Poppa all over, guns on the walls, cozy seats and a small bar.  I grabbed a bar stool and ordered the house cocktail - the Serendipity. Then a Corpse Reviver #2, but no... wait... they don't have any Absinthe, the bartender embarassedly tells me.  A bar in Paris without Absinthe.  Really.  So she made something up that came close, and I moved onto a French 75. 


 Each drink came with a rose garnish, which is a part of the history of the bar.  Before it was named after Hemingway, it was the Ladies Bar - the bar across the hall being for gentlemen only, as the sexes were not allowed to comnsume alcohol together until the 30's I think.  SO at that point, men could come into the Ladies' Bar, but not vice versa.  Hemingway, in character, liked to hang out in the Ladies' Bar, and was sitting with F. Scott Fitzgerald one eveing and they had a wee competition that involved sending flowers to a table, and at the end, Hemingway eating the petals of the flower with a dirty look on his face, or some such thing.


Hence, the rose garnish.


I went for a walk around the nieghbourhood and found my Metro Station.  To bed, for tomorrow, there would be shoe shopping.