Chic

I am in Paris, destination number one of my leave in Europe. I arrived early, dumped my baggage at a hotel, and set out exploring.

I meandered towards the Eiffel Tower, via those grandiose boulevards and buildings which flank the Seine. When I turned onto more bustling side streets, there was often an old man feeding bread to pigeons by a puddle.

I had a cheeseburger and strong coffee at one of those cafés with seats facing the street. I remarked how impossibly chic Parisians are to dismount from bikes and buy baguettes with poise, without looking haggard or harangued.

By evening I was still wandering. I haven’t experienced a light northern hemisphere late evening since summer 2021 when I escaped the UK after my interminable visa limbo. It was the longest, most sleep-deprived, but most delightful day of bumbling about. As the sun finally faded on this day before the northern summer solstice, I was wandering Montmartre and the hills around the Sacré Cœur. On such occasions I usually turn directly away from crowds down the quietest available street, which was a great way to get lost in the backstreets of Paris.

Descend at night from Montmartre as a 40-year old lone male through the Moulin Rouge area at your peril. It will be assumed by the many street touts that you are trying to locate a peep show.