The first arrondissement is, basically, awful. Slightly akin to patting ones head while rubbing ones stomach, it is actually physically difficult to walk down the streets of Les Halles while at the same time not beating yourself to death with your own fists. I blame the hot dogs.
That is not a hot dog. Let's call a spade a spade, that's capital punishment for a baguette: sliced in half and filled with enough cheese and pork to choke a bear. It's scary just to look at, let alone eat.
Last night, based on a recommendation from the author of this fine blog: An American Hipster in Paris I went to a club called La Flèche D'or in the 20th arrondissement. I know, in hindsight I should have know what I was getting into. Music usually makes me ridiculously happy, but there is a kind of musical sound that can have, well, the opposite effect. And when I got to this little club and the lights finally came up, it should have been obvious what I was getting into. Charismatic female lead vocalist? Check. Silent male partner who plays fifty different instruments? Check. Tambourine, toy piano, zither, electric guitar, xylophone--this is starting to become musique hipsteur to a degree bordering on self-parody. But you know something? It wasn't bad. I actually kind of liked it. Only three days in Paris and already I've had an eye-opener. You can listen for yourself here Maïa Vidal.
After my exhausting trip out to the banlieu it was all I could do to trudge up my steps back to my apartment. Below, the sound of me walking up said steps and the sound of the city from my window. À bientot.
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| Bon Appetit |
Last night, based on a recommendation from the author of this fine blog: An American Hipster in Paris I went to a club called La Flèche D'or in the 20th arrondissement. I know, in hindsight I should have know what I was getting into. Music usually makes me ridiculously happy, but there is a kind of musical sound that can have, well, the opposite effect. And when I got to this little club and the lights finally came up, it should have been obvious what I was getting into. Charismatic female lead vocalist? Check. Silent male partner who plays fifty different instruments? Check. Tambourine, toy piano, zither, electric guitar, xylophone--this is starting to become musique hipsteur to a degree bordering on self-parody. But you know something? It wasn't bad. I actually kind of liked it. Only three days in Paris and already I've had an eye-opener. You can listen for yourself here Maïa Vidal.
After my exhausting trip out to the banlieu it was all I could do to trudge up my steps back to my apartment. Below, the sound of me walking up said steps and the sound of the city from my window. À bientot.
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