I think a piece of my heart must surely belong in France. Whenever skies are grey, or a case of the ‘blahs’ strikes (that drab feeling you can’t quite place), a little dose of Paris is always the cure. And because persistent rain has thwarted all my plans for outdoor fun, this weekend is all about my favourite french movies, books, food and music in honour of Bastille Day.
Of course, all of this French-enthusiasm has me dreaming of the month I plan to spend in Paris next spring. I plan to rent a tiny apartment (preferably one with a little balcony, wooden floorboards, and view over the rooftops of Paris), spend my days feeding my brain at French class, and my afternoons feeding my soul with the wonders of the city. I’ll loiter on the Left Bank for cerebral pleasures, eavesdropping on modern French philosophers debating over strong coffee at the Cafe de Flore before a trip to Shakespeare and Co and the vintage booksellers that line the Seine.
I’ll listen to the jazz musicians on the bridges and the chic soundtrack at the Hotel Costes. I’ll ride a velib, take a dance class on the banks of the Seine, hop on the metro and walk and walk and walk all over the city.
I’ll buy cheese and flowers and strawberries at the market, have picnics in my favourite gardens , take one too many trips to Laduree and Pierre Herme and learn to appreciate red wine.I’ll window shop on the grand boulevards, hunt for treasures at the flea markets, add a souvenir from Chanel to my collection and rummage for vintage in Le Marais. I’ll pack just my favourite clothes, and pick up sartorial tips from the chic ladies (and cute French boys) who pass me on the street.
I’ll stop to admire the spring flowers, remember to look up at the architecture, and trawl through galleries and museums. I’ll climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower (because no matter how many times I do it, it always makes me smile) and kiss beneath it’s twinkly lights at nightfall. I’ll take a moment at the Sacre Coeur and skip down the steps at Montmartre. I’ll float down the Seine and gaze up at the sunset, which always seems a little more golden in Paris.
Love, Miss B xx