When Lih King asked if I would like to go to a concert, I jumped at the chance to get out after holing up most of the day in my apartment, typing away on work documents. An escape? Yes please!
Since I didn’t even have a clue who I’d be seeing at this impromptu night out, Lih King ran a quick band catch-up for my benefits. Best Coast is an Indie Rock band from California which first caught his attention last summer, and their music is characterised as “lo-fi” (the opposite of “hi-fi”?) and fuzzy. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Ah yes, my ignorance in music is showing, but hey, remember, I also gave it a go and checked it out. ;)
The concert was fun and we managed to get pretty good balcony standing place, affording us great view during the gig. I recognised some of the tunes, and I’m assuming I may have heard them from snippets in tv shows? There were also similarities to the sound of The Blue Pills, a fictional punk band featured in Season 2 of Castle.
I should try out more new bands (well, new to me anyway) like this – randomly, at small venues. You’ll never know what you’ll discover!
I did something bold today. Sort of. I was out on a photowalk to celebrate Friday and around sunset, on passing the quay, I thought this couple would make perfect subject for photo of the day. I approached them to ask if it’ll be ok for me to grab a shot. Much to my delight, they ok’ed it, wheeeee. (OK, I know this is probably no big deal to a lot of people but it’s major for me – I hate intruding on others.)
While the couple were friendly and cheerfully agreed, I noticed the girl being a tad camera-shy and my doubts started creeping in. The guy, well, he was happy to show-off the romance that they’ve got. So in my hurry (feeding off my anxiety) this is the best I manage to photograph them. I wish I’ve taken a bit more time and composed the photo better. Well, it’s a learning experience anyway. Hopefully next time I’ll fare better than this? ;)
When the day is long and warm, a lovely little treat is to get a cone of ice cream/ sorbet and enjoy it while taking a stroll along the quay of River Seine. One of the most famous gelateries in the city is Berthillon on rue St-Louis-en-l’Ile, which I drop by every so often. I loooove their parfum caramel au beurre salé.
Precisely because they’re famous, a large number of “agents” selling Berthillon’s ice cream have mushroomed on Ile-St-Louis, offering more than one location to scout for Berthillon’s goodies. It is particularly handy on an evening like today, when the real deal has closed for the day when we arrived. A few doors away, there you go, an agent of Berthillon’s best. :)
Ps: a delicious alternative to Berthillon is Pozzetto near St Paul – if I am on ice-cream trip with Anne, you’ll always catch us queueing there instead.
Only in Paris – legalised art squat.
Just over a decade ago, artists began to squat at 59 rue de Rivoli, a dilapidated former building of Credit Lyonnais. What flourished next was a series of colourful installations at the façade of the street, attracting attentions aplenty and drawing admirers of free expressions of arts. It really is impossible to miss this building if you’re going down rue de Rivoli.
When the building was declared dangerous in mid-2000s, it was thanks to the support of fans as well as the media that the building, instead of simply being shut down, underwent a restoration process that would take approximately three years (between 2006 and 2009) to complete. Its reopening saw legalisation of the premises as free home to resident artists and the birth of 59Rivoli.org, its doors open to visitors without admission charges. It’s a dynamic art house with works at various stages, from inception to finalised pieces.
Some collects shot glasses (my youngest brother), some collects thimbles (one of my best friends), some collects postcards (guilty as charged), and it would appear the owner of this handyman shop on rue Gay-Lussac is a fan of snowglobes. One of the few snowglobes sitting by the window is that of Hong Kong.
At the moment, my pretty collection of postcards from all over the world is sitting in a box back in Dublin, in a haphazard manner. It has been a while since I organised the latest postcards that I’ve acquired, either from friends who were travelling or those that I bought myself. Since arriving in Paris, I’ve received a handful few postcards, so perhaps I should get a new scrapbook and start another collection.
Now, what do you collect?
I first noticed this unusual and whimsical sculpture at place du Père-Teilhard-de-Chardin during a leisurely walk with the girls a couple of weekends ago, and when my random bus exploration took me past it again, I deboarded the bus quickly at the next stop.
A commission carried out by late Jean-Robert Ipoustéguy, this sculpture from mid-1980 parodically depicted the poet Arthur Rimbaud. A restless soul who travelled constantly, Rimbaud had earned himself the nickname l’Homme aux semelles de vent (“man with soles of wind”). Cleverly playing with the homophonic title l’Homme aux semelles devant (“man with soles in front [of him]”), Ipoustéguy had Rimbaud resting upon someone’s soles, perhaps his own, as the body was split in two and time-wrapped in a peculiar machine.
This is a prime example of the relationship between French(wo)men and their love of language. From whatever little I managed to glean from the French culture, everyone seems to thrive on smart plays of words, compositions that are linguistically beautiful, the subtleties in nuances of literature. How else do you explain George Perec’s lipogrammic writing of La disparition? Or the creation of verlanised verlan? Or the delight of my French teacher in showing us “the 8 flavours of passé composé” and the anticipation of other rich variations of all the other tenses? ;)
I met Anirudh last week at Obscura Day. At some point, our topic of conversation turned to food (my favourite topic, yay!) and he was a tad surprised that I haven’t yet explored the Indian quarter of Paris near Gare du Nord. This has got to be remedied and today, we headed over to the neighbourhood for some Tamil food chez Saravanaa Bhavan. In case you wondered, the food was delicious and reminded me of Indian food in Malaysia. I will be back here before long!
Walking around, there are also a large number of shops selling all things Indian-related, from Indian sweets (I bought some to go) to Bollywood DVDs to colourful bangles to traditional costumes. Then we spotted these updated look to sari. Very stylish, not to mention, errrm, sheer and skimpy. Not quite the sari I know and worn before. If my previous experience with sari was anything to go by – I was worried the entire evening about people stepping on the hem and unravelled the entire 6 metres of turquoise cloth that I’ve ineptly wrapped around me – the likelihood of me ever trying this modern look would be slim to none…
It has been a week since I left my apartment with a coat. Instead, tucked in my bag, is a small cardigan, which I haven’t been using either. Really, Paris has become the new California. It also makes it very hard for me – quite torn actually – to either stay in and work (I have a lot on my plate right now with looming deadlines) or to go out and profite-bien le soleil.
In the end, the good old adage of balancing work and fun makes more sense. Instead of just gazing longingly out my window, I steal a couple of hours to be out, walk about, and to soak up some Vitamin D. At Canal St Martin, hundreds of sun lovers obviously have less qualm about spending their time outdoors. They lounged canal-side, with picnic spread and chilled drinks, chatting and laughing. Worry not, I will have my share of fun this evening – piña colada party, here I come!
I passed by Maison Internationale today to be tested for acceptance into a French course (general level: intermediate, grammatical proficiency: rubbish – seems like I’ve forgotten most of the conjugations I learned in the past, ops) and on my way out, there was a groovy little box with dancing people in it.
Closer look please. There’s a disco ball, a spinning disc, a general vibe from Austin Power, there are even weird observers – but the dancers, they look unsteady on their feet. Of course, they are, errm, how do I put it delicately – a tad indisposed but happy?
This théâtre optique by Pierrick Sorin is rather amusing, depicting an universal day-to-day scene, however with subtle messages that can be interpreted in one too many ways. Which is what art is about. I think. It’s open to observers’ commentaries and subjective to each opinion. To some, this is a youth night out just for fun. To some, this is a social issue fueled by alcohol. To some, this is just another funky installation.
In history, a chevalier would never go without his trusty steed, usually a beauty with incomparable loyalty. Or so the romance novels had me believe. It is no wonder then, statues of men who are deemed leaders and heroes are normally depicted on the horseback, sword-yielding and all. Even the word chevalier itself, used to mean a knight, is of French origin with its root lies in the word cheval, i.e. horse.
Adjacent to the Hôtel de Ville, the statue of Étienne Marcel looking out to River Seine can hardly be missed. Looking from the side, it looks almost mundane but looking up from underneath, it always strikes me how magnificent the horse looks, and in part, rather menacing too. I have never felt the urge to look at sculptures this way (there are a lot of equestrian statues in Paris) but perhaps it’s the nature of this particular one which juts out over the footpath – it opens up an accidental opportunity to see the statue differently?
