Premier pas à Paris

Errer est humain, flaner est Parisien

To wander is human, to stroll is Parisien…

(Victor Hugo, Les Miserables)

Typically French isn’t it, to claim an activity universally undertaken is somewhat more meaningful when its them doing it… add à la française to anything, and its ultimately, infinitely, just better.  My first week in the capital has afforded me plenty of occasions to embark the Parisian stroll, aided by the fact that two bank holidays (also typically french: declaring un jour ferié at every opportunity) meant an initiation into the hard life of a stagiaire (more on this later) that consisted of a 3-day working week. Thus, map in hand I embarked on many a meander, ditching the tourist checklist for a more spontaneous (trying something new here) approach to discovering my new home.

Wednesday, being a day devoid of sunshine, took me to the Pompidou centre – home to a modern art gallery, alternative-cinemas, other random exhibitions and a cool view over the city. Despite being hardly a connoisseur, I benefited from a guiltless free entry (France likes 18-25 year olds, or at least is on a mission to make us cultured) to browse the galleries and generally feel artsy and (fake) Parisian, before indulging in some people watching in their conveniently placed mezzanine café. Parfait.

Thursday saw a rather elegant choice of location for a day’s balade, less cultural but equally appreciated. After pause at the Arc-de-Triomphe (they’ve even put a little seating area opposite for this purpose – it is after all, a cool way to eat your packed lunch) I meandered my way down the Champs-Elysées, browsing but not buying, before finding myself in and pulling up a seat at the Jardin de Tuileries (another beautiful green space no one told me Paris actually contained) to work out where I was and how I would get home. Convenience had it that I wasn’t too out of my way to take a detour home past another, if different, discovery: Gilbert Jeune, a second hand bookstore that covers 5 floors (and this is just the literature department). Many a student is to be found on Place St Michel picking up a livre de poche or 3, and I am now amongst the regulars that have to limit themselves to one-a-visit (these visits will have to get less frequent) for the sake of bank-balances and suitcases alike.

The weekend brought with it a little less warmth, but luckily a well-timed Sunday-educational-excursion (last weeks got good feedback from all participants). On the itinery was a visit to the apartments of Victor Hugo, situated in an impressive building in the 4^th arrondissement overlooking another (if smaller) garden.  Not only do you get to see where the Hugos ate their Sunday-lunch, and how bad their taste in interior design was (mind clearly on other matters), I also satisfied my inner geek with a visit to the exhibition currently running on this famous French writers often side-stepped political legacy. So busy shedding a tear over the death of Fantine in Les Miserables, we sometimes forget that old Victor also had quite a lot to say where politics, education, and social justice were concerned. AND, even more exciting, his literary talent was the primary means of such political engagement. Perhaps you don’t find this quite as thrilling as I do, but hey, chacun son truc. Strolling back in the vague direction of chez moi, brought me through the Marais, a lovely little area heard of but up to now unlocated on my self-guided walking tours. The cute but overpriced boutiques gave the signal that this is the quartier of choice for the trendy-professional-strolling-type but I wasn’t letting that dampen my pleasant perusal. Whilst thus wandering (I’m human, not Parisian), I stumbled across Village St Paul, curiously named by in fact a series of four courtyards, hidden in behind the designer labels, and containing all sorts of antique and generally random-stuff shops that abandons all pretention to become nothing but cute and French. It was here that I couldn’t resist one petite pause, at a simply named establishment, le café de la cour that ticked all the boxes: nice coffee, well presented, colourful furniture (with cushions) and a potted plant on the table for good measure.

And so my premier pas à Paris have been literally that, first (and subsequent) steps. Aware that I lack the necessary Parisian sophistication, I will stroll none the less, pretending to be cultured, and wandering through the weekend map-in-hand. Sounds rather like a holiday doesn’t it. Don’t worry, its back to the office tomorrow.