The streets of Paris

One of the perks of being a repeat visitor to a large city is to stop racing the clichés and start living the moments. Learning to inhale deeply, walk slowly, let my boots carry me into alleys I didn’t know were there in the first place. There’s a sublime pleasure in drifting down the cracked pavement of Paris with no agenda.

Yes, Paris can be a mess. It’s crowded, expensive and overrun with tourists standing in endless queues. But stay a mile away from Montmartre, turn your back on the Eiffel Tower and follow what tugs at your guts in that hour.

Along the lanes of Père-Lachaise.

Over the weekend I found myself contemplating Mali photography at Fondation Cartier, and later slipping through autumn sunlight in Père-Lachaise. Among the tombstones and dying leaves, I hunted for an album cover by Dead Can Dance.

I stumbled through the narrow alleys of the 11th arrondissement, having excellent wine at Paul Bert. Bought macaroons from Pierre Hermé and ate them sitting on the stairs of Église Saint-Sulpice.

Enjoying something sweet at Les Deux Magots.

I tracked down a speakeasy bar hidden inside a dicey pizza joint south of Bataclan. Paid respects to Descartes in the crypt of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Tried orange wine alongside ceviche at Clamato, that tiny joint run by Michelin cooks. Located a movie location from Before Sunset.

Straddling the “rose line” (sic) at Église Saint-Sulpice. What would Dan Brown say?

So much more lurks behind every corner. I follow the smell of fresh bread and see what happens next.

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