So many downloading issues with my blog meant wasting an entire day to catch up. I decided this is not what being in Paris is all about.
To live, breath, eat, explore and enjoy the city of Paris, that is what I am here for – yes the blog is a part of this to let people know how I am doing and to provide useful information to those who want to visit the city of love and light.
However there comes a point and time when you have to decide what is more important.
Sunday is a day of rest and if you don’t count blogging, I had a day of rest but Sunday means dinner at Jim’s.
Gosh, how many times have I said that and how many times is it now that I have attended his famous dinners? People do ask me but the question is too difficult to answer now.
It was Chicky Babes first time, so off we went and what a lovely night it was.
The atmosphere was great and the food was exceptional. A hearty vegetable soup, a wonderful chicken dish infused with lemon grass, rice cooked to perfection and the yummiest green bean and tomato dish.
The dessert was amazing, cheeses, bite size pieces of an array of flans and both fresh and dried fruits.
It was nice to catch up with the genuinely kind host that is Jim Haynes and his lovely mates and meet a few new people. It is 44 years now since Jim started offering guests from all over the world into his ex-atelier to rub shoulders with young and old and make new friends while sipping on some wine and tucking into some home cooked food.
Five of us walked to the metro together, a rowdy bunch and there is no guessing where we ended up ….it’s not that difficult; my favourite bar in the Marais.
Everyone welcomes Chicky Babe now like a local, kisses for both cheeks and a ca va.
I found a bag in the apartment, that someone has left behind with a travel company emblazoned on it’s side which is tres un-cool but it is perfect for what I need and don’t fear people, it stayed on my shoulder. Once bitten and all of that stuff!
Despite being tired and possibly still suffering from jet lag, Chicky Babe managed to pick up a few strays in the bar and we headed off in search of something open late or is that early.
We could have gone to the first place we came across, where I spent the night nodding off in the warmth of the bar, the night of the stolen handbag incident but I thought it might be nice to find something new and nicer.
The next place we came across had a bunch of gay guys outside smoking, the three men we were with are gay and they asked did we mind going into a gay bar – not at all!
I entered first and was instantly swallowed up into the crowd but then I realised that this was intentional, they were trying to prevent me from getting any further into the bar.
Packed full of sweaty Arab men, they blocked my path. A waiter pushed his way through the crowd and shooed us out, men only, men only he said as he booted us out of the establishment.
Well that was weird!
Earlier in the evening I had bumped into a mate and he recommended a place not far away, it has live music, all different age groups and stays open until 6am.
Being the expert tour guide I had everyone trudging down a cobbled street, taking them to my new found, recommended place de jour. I love discovering new things to do and see in Paris and it was fun to be with an animated group of people to share it with.
The man on the door seemed slightly hesitant about letting me in, well, all of us actually but he did and once we entered, I then realised why.
It was hilarious, the place was packed with punters cheering along a French band, with long hair, beer bellies, looking a little worse for wear and way past their bed time, were belting out heavy metal music with unrecognisable English to a crowd who were banging the tables, almost in sync to the music and rolling their heads around like whirling dervishes, hair flying everywhere.
We were trapped we had already ordered a drink from the cranky, snappy waiter.
Leaving the serenity of my lovely, favourite ancient bar, where we could hold conversations in a relaxed and warm atmosphere to being plunged into this madness, and now watching unkempt heavy metal dudes pumping their fists in the air to appallingly bad voices had me either sitting with my mouth agape or doubled over with fits of laughter.
Maybe the universe was trying tell us something.
2 Responses to Sunday …The Day of Rest