men, mingling and music
My tired blonde head has barely graced my pillow this week.
The night keeps drawing me out, trotting down the sidewalk in heels, into the evening air, in search of a fix. I need the life here, the people, the language, the overpriced drinks and the cigarette smoke in the air.
I’ve been taking myself out for dinner, prancing through bars, and avoiding phone calls from men I have no interest for.
The other night I found myself in a room full of Parisian bloggers. Paris-blogue-t’il? Yes, Paris is blogging. In fact, many good-looking French men are blogging.
There was free wine and champagne, a buffet of confused amuse-bouches, and slices of rich chocolate cake. There was a DJ open to my James Brown requests, and an altogether soulful crowd.
Last night the music went up a notch, as fete de la musique took over Paris. Strewn through every street were bands, DJ’s, and crowds of drunken music lovers.
I walked the streets on my own, and pushed my way through people as the rain the started to fall, thin drops glowing under golden street lights.
Hotel de Ville had classical music, where a dramatic pianist set the mood on a large stage, while grey billowy grey crowds filled the sky.
In Place des Vosges I found stands selling mojitos for three euros, and walked around with a filthy smile on my face, in love with the combination of rum, rain and music.
Place de la Bastille was a jungle of teenagers shaking to reggae, some under umbrellas, some dancing in the rain.
Eventually I found people, a bar, and drank and made merry all night. At four in the morning I walked Rue Rivoli with my new cocktail companion, as we dodged men who yelled at us from every direction, and hailed a cab when we were tired of having our asses grabbed and our boundaries tested.
What the hell am I going to do without this city?
I’m afraid it’s going to feel like I was drunk for a year, and when I have to leave, I’ll suddenly be sober.
But my time here isn’t over yet, and this glass is far from being empty.
The night keeps drawing me out, trotting down the sidewalk in heels, into the evening air, in search of a fix. I need the life here, the people, the language, the overpriced drinks and the cigarette smoke in the air.
I’ve been taking myself out for dinner, prancing through bars, and avoiding phone calls from men I have no interest for.
The other night I found myself in a room full of Parisian bloggers. Paris-blogue-t’il? Yes, Paris is blogging. In fact, many good-looking French men are blogging.
There was free wine and champagne, a buffet of confused amuse-bouches, and slices of rich chocolate cake. There was a DJ open to my James Brown requests, and an altogether soulful crowd.
Last night the music went up a notch, as fete de la musique took over Paris. Strewn through every street were bands, DJ’s, and crowds of drunken music lovers.
I walked the streets on my own, and pushed my way through people as the rain the started to fall, thin drops glowing under golden street lights.
Hotel de Ville had classical music, where a dramatic pianist set the mood on a large stage, while grey billowy grey crowds filled the sky.
In Place des Vosges I found stands selling mojitos for three euros, and walked around with a filthy smile on my face, in love with the combination of rum, rain and music.
Place de la Bastille was a jungle of teenagers shaking to reggae, some under umbrellas, some dancing in the rain.
Eventually I found people, a bar, and drank and made merry all night. At four in the morning I walked Rue Rivoli with my new cocktail companion, as we dodged men who yelled at us from every direction, and hailed a cab when we were tired of having our asses grabbed and our boundaries tested.
What the hell am I going to do without this city?
I’m afraid it’s going to feel like I was drunk for a year, and when I have to leave, I’ll suddenly be sober.
But my time here isn’t over yet, and this glass is far from being empty.
posted by Gillian Young at 5:51 AM
10 Comments:
three euro mojitos? Nice. The people in the cabin next to us in Cuba this year brought their own mint leaves, so they could be served mojitos. good call.
It has been a while...but I still love your writing more than ever.
How I long to have more experiences like this in my life. I fear that I won't.
xoxo
Oh, I cannot wait until August.
i see you like the parisian way of life and that you appreciate it. nice to read this so well writed post good luck with your borring calls.
We will have to do our best to prevent the sobering up and keep our Paris buzz going into Toronto.
Now that we have our "Movable Feast" you can cook us delicious french meals and I will work on perfecting the Baron de Luxe.
We will bring as much of Paris back as possible.
Man, you look out of place there... You're much too gorgeous to fit in with that room of bloggers. ;)
gotta love the paris hilton blog guy. hahahhaha. Nothing wrong with that comparison, gill. Come to terms with the hotness.
Hello Paris Hilton
This Paris Hilton thing's really got to stop...Josh...stop laughing...
Baylor> Happy you're still reading. And you will, oh you will, you just have to make them happen.
Eurobrat> And you'll be here for Paris Plage!
Romanb> Merci!
Ashleigh> Oui, oui, oui, and we'll find a French patisserie.
J> Actually a pretty attractive crowd! Only the blonde hair got me tagged as Paris Hilton by a French blogger.
I'm planning a month long stay in Paris, but I know this won't be enough to satisfy my desires. Paris has a magnetic force. I hope you see it out in style! Lots of drinking, hypnotic dancing and smiling to no one in particular. These moments will stay with you forever.
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