Eager to leave Paris in a blaze of glory (and a cloud of pain) India, James (HK/The Freshmaker) hit up a dive bar and four clubs after dinner. This is us at Titty Twister while the night was still young (and our faces were still fresh).
Exhausted from having stomped our way through Paris in one afternoon---fine, we Uber-ed most of the way---from 10th to Le Marais to Jardin des Tuileries and back to the 1st I decided that we were more than entitled to a little power nap. I assigned India the unenviable task of setting the alarm for half an hour, which was unfair because I am an unrepentant snoozer. So...a few 'five more minutes' pleas later the snooze button decided to punish us and go AWOL. Next thing I know India's jolting me awake in the dark "Jasiminne! It's 9pm! We've been asleep for TWO hours!" Sacre bleu! I woke up to missed calls, Whatsapps, broken appointments and possibly irreparable karma. Noooooooooo! Well at least I can swear in French...P*TAIN DE M*RDE!
Having resigned the fate of my soul to eternal damnation, we headed south of the river to St. Germain, for dinner at Schmuck, and for me to drown my sorrows in a piscine du champagne. That would be a champagne swimming pool, with ice...great, now I'm committing sins against good champagne. What a wretched soul am I. Although if this is what purgatory looks like, it really isn't so bad.
Wanting to save my calories for drinking, I took the economical route and replaced three courses with two starters. That my first starter was a fancy croque monsieur slathered with melty goat's cheese was somewhat counterproductive. Note; delicious but unphotogenic. My second starter was happily decidedly healthier, slightly more photogenic, and just as delicious. All hail the fish (forgot which one) tartare.
In search of our first stop we passed by La Palette, a bistro HK pointed out as the gathering point of the Parisian art scene. It's seen the likes of Cézanne, Picasso and Brauqe, artists, celebrities, writers, fine art students and owners of nearby galleries. That little part of the 6th is very much a smaller, saturated Hoxton and Shoreditch. I look forward to returning and bringing my own London hipster disdain to the place.
Our first point of debauchery was The Bottle Shop, a dive bar near Bastille. Shots of anything for €4...it's like Dalston pre-2009! *nostalgic* "James, do they accept Visa?""Of course they do, it's not that much of a dump"
We moved on to Titty Twister and straight into every Tarantino movie ever made.
I was tickled pink by HK's 'CHANEL ballet flats' but not nearly as amused as when we all gave Adel massive FOMO by sending him voice notes of how much fun we were having without him.
We decamped to Raspoutine, only a street away. From hereon we walked between establishments, the distance gaged by Mayfair clubs. "James how far are we? Is it like Salon to Scotch...sorry, Le Baron?""No, more like Cuckoo to Scotch...I mean Le Baron!"I do have a sense of direction and distance! But only when compared against travelling between fun places.
Rah-rah-raspoutine, lover of the Asian queen...! I had a great time stroking the furry walls of the bar...try it. You'll be intoxicated.
By the time we got to Le Baron I was on a different planet, so we had to leave early. Witness my graceful exit...
...I blame THESE! The Le Baron cocktails, la piscine du champagne! (Not an actual technical term)
We ended the night at Le Montana...
...pysched out by glowing graphics that came alive in the dark, the calming glow of the blue ceiling which brought to mind a subterranean swimming pool, and the spirals of cigarette smoke floating about most seductively.
Not long after India and I bade goodnights and au revoir to HK. We made it back to the apartment to pack, collapse into bed, and then four hours later jump out again to catch our Eurostar back to London.
Day 4 was uneventful but for hangovers, being held up at immigration for being sent to the wrong queue and forgetting to fill out a landing card, watching in slow motion my Angelina pastries and L'Eclair de Genies being falling into a freak X-ray machine accident (p*tain!), a soggy croque monsieur breakfast, and staring at the hordes of early morning Eurostar commuters. I'm so glad that's not me, that my pain and suffering that beautiful French morning was for a cause I believe in (the pursuit of fun).
I started from the bottom now we here...started from the bottom now my whole team here!
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