A love affair
Wednesday 24th August 2011
The most romantic place in the world: Paris!
Why have I never been there before? A ridiculous oversight that I have now dealt with and intend to deal with again and again and again…
So, I’m back, having spent a week in Paris. I know! My usual modus operandi is a week or so cycling in Pembrokeshire, a cross-border foray into Devon or Dorset, maybe a day-trip to Bath. Paris, ooh la la, we may as well suggest Mars. But Mark insisted. I was very, very reluctant, but he was right, it is a beautiful, amazing city and I did fall in love with it. As my physio said (yep, physio is now a regular feature of life, sigh, but it keeps me running, and kicking and punching, so hey): get you Ali! Amsterdam, now Paris! you jet-setter, you! Oui, c’est moi. Le jet set.
We all went, the boys having first been deposited with Aunty Hilda and Uncle Peter, where they were really rather naughty and badly behaved (they are now formed into a Dachshund-mould on the chair in the yarn-room, next to me as I type, snoring gently – no them, not me – exhausted from a week of terrorising that part of Puriton). I have hinted before at the Olympic standard anxiety levels that I can achieve, a trait that I inherited from my father. Imagine the levels I can attain before a visit to Paris. Yes, epic. It all adds to the drama and makes the subsequent absence of a disaster all the more piquant, mainly for Mark…
We rented an apartment on the border of a hyper-trendy district called le Marais and another one whose name I forget, but anyway, a boules-roll away from the Pompidou Centre, about 10 minutes stroll to the Seine, and a further 5 to Notre Dame. The street was really a walk-way, about a car’s width and rarely used by vehicles other than the street cleaners and mopeds. Into what was once a very grand 4 storey house, now apartments, via a giant door, and up the atmospheric stairs:
I never got tired of walking up or down this stairway, despite being on the 2nd floor and there being a lot of coming in and going out, because it was so lovely. At the top of a flight of steps like this, surely one could write an epic novel? Or create a heart-achingly beautiful sonata? Or at the very least, knit a pretty little cuff, a small homage to le Marais?
I knitted a bit, not as much as I’d have liked but there was so much to see and do. However, one day I wasn’t very well and so the family went out, in a clear, hot (almost 90 degrees at mid-day) day and I stayed in and knitted, here:
In a corner by a window of huge proportions that allowed in great light plus a dollop of real le Marais Parisian life, noise and scent, was an absolutely perfectknitting spot. A comfortable but straight backed chair with no arms, which is my knitting preference, an old carved desk, a plug for my iPod speakers so I could listen to my book…I was really unwell, I’m not making that up, and yet, that day was in some ways my favourite day in Paris. At times the music and laughter and shouted conversation from the bars and cafes that teemed below forced me to turn the speakers up loud in order to follow the book! In the afternoon, someone, I think in the bar opposite, played about an hour of very loud music, Piaf and also American songs from the 50s and 60s but in French, (la Itzy-Bitzy-Teeny-Weeny yellow polka dot bikini, for example…). It was almost a parody. I did think at one point: OK Paris, I
get that I’m in Paris, there is no need to pour Piaf into my window, next you’ll be poking a baguette in the letter box – but it was really very magical too. Eventually, 2 ladies from the hair salon next door went out into the alley and yelled, in a fairly good-natured way at the bar owner: ‘Anthony! Anthony! Arret la musique pour le bien de Dieu!’ or something like that. And he did. 30 minutes later…
More – much more – of Paris later, oh yes, mes amis, you will become tired of my Paris stories, but here I only shrug and say: hard fromage, for there is more to come. I will tell you tales of concerts in cathedrals and churches filled with golden light; of dog-boutiques, museums and queues – and a meal that the stuff of nightmares is made of. Do not ever say that I do not spoil you. I will just tell you one more small thing now. On our return, Mark, with a fairly Gallic flourish it has to be granted, produced a well-wrapped lump of blue cheese, that was not finished for supper and that I assumed had been binned. But no, he couldn’t bear to part with it so he wrapped it in
our clothes and fetched it home. Voila!
For now, however, I leave you with some knitting-related news. Look what is happening in the design room! I have secured the services of a much sought-after knitter who has very kindly agreed to knit for moi!
Fiona is knitting this at the moment:
Mmmm. I know! Star-Crossed reincarnated in Shimmer and KSH. I am very excited to see this in real life. I love her work and her blog, and I know I am going to love this. It will be a kit and a workshop…
I never got tired of walking up or down this stairway, despite being on the 2nd floor and there being a lot of coming in and going out, because it was so lovely. At the top of a flight of steps like this, surely one could write an epic novel? Or create a heart-achingly beautiful sonata? Or at the very least, knit a pretty little cuff, a small homage to le Marais?
I knitted a bit, not as much as I’d have liked but there was so much to see and do. However, one day I wasn’t very well and so the family went out, in a clear, hot (almost 90 degrees at mid-day) day and I stayed in and knitted, here:
In a corner by a window of huge proportions that allowed in great light plus a dollop of real le Marais Parisian life, noise and scent, was an absolutely perfectknitting spot. A comfortable but straight backed chair with no arms, which is my knitting preference, an old carved desk, a plug for my iPod speakers so I could listen to my book…I was really unwell, I’m not making that up, and yet, that day was in some ways my favourite day in Paris. At times the music and laughter and shouted conversation from the bars and cafes that teemed below forced me to turn the speakers up loud in order to follow the book! In the afternoon, someone, I think in the bar opposite, played about an hour of very loud music, Piaf and also American songs from the 50s and 60s but in French, (la Itzy-Bitzy-Teeny-Weeny yellow polka dot bikini, for example…). It was almost a parody. I did think at one point: OK Paris, I get that I’m in Paris, there is no need to pour Piaf into my window, next you’ll be poking a baguette in the letter box – but it was really very magical too. Eventually, 2 ladies from the hair salon next door went out into the alley and yelled, in a fairly good-natured way at the bar owner: ‘Anthony! Anthony! Arret la musique pour le bien de Dieu!’ or something like that. And he did. 30 minutes later…
More – much more – of Paris later, oh yes, mes amis, you will become tired of my Paris stories, but here I only shrug and say: hard fromage, for there is more to come. I will tell you tales of concerts in cathedrals and churches filled with golden light; of dog-boutiques, museums and queues – and a meal that the stuff of nightmares is made of. Do not ever say that I do not spoil you. I will just tell you one more small thing now. On our return, Mark, with a fairly Gallic flourish it has to be granted, produced a well-wrapped lump of blue cheese, that was not finished for supper and that I assumed had been binned. But no, he couldn’t bear to part with it so he wrapped it in our clothes and fetched it home. Voila!
For now, however, I leave you with some knitting-related news. Look what is happening in the design room! I have secured the services of a much sought-after knitter who has very kindly agreed to knit for moi! Fiona is knitting this at the moment:
Mmmm. I know! Star-Crossed reincarnated in Shimmer and KSH. I am very excited to see this in real life. I love her work and her blog, and I know I am going to love this. It will be a kit and a workshop…
oooooh, Paris sounds fab and I love, love, love the Star-crossed scarf in that sparkly combination!