Sunday Musing in Montparnasse

Day dreamers rejoice, located on the trendy left bank of the Seine it is everything you imagine Paris to be. Follow me through the streets of Montparnasse.

Come brunch with me: The best breakfast + best value for your Euros...Lili et Riton or 'Lili's'

We got: Le pleine forme 14,50 Euro

What I read: Cafe, creme, chocolat chaud ou the + Tartine beurree et confiture + Croissant + Orange pressee + (Eufs au plat bacon + Fromage blanc au miel.

What I understood: Cafe = coffee, chocolat = chocolate, Tartine beurree et confiture = no idea, croissant = yes! Orange = orange juice? + Eufs au plat bacon = BACON.

That will do me, yes please!

One espresso to go se il vous plait.

Ooh caffeine!

Livraisons a Domicile 01.43.25.26.52

When was the last time you had a punnet of blackberries for less than $3? or a mandarine with the stalk still attached. My inner Paleo goddess was beaming when we found this little fruit vendor.

I was even more thrilled when we stumbled across the Luxembourg Gardens completely by accident.

It was the perfect backdrop for a Sunday selfie.

Look at me the Statue of Mandi...

(Mandi as in mandarine and it's funny because of the Statue of Liberty in the background you see you see!)

It was the perfect impromptu Sunday in Paris. Now back to sleep ;)

A Very Expensive Arrangement in Paris

“It’s blocked.” said the incompetent boy who failed to carry my bags up the stairs. 

“Why?” I asked facing towards the toilet but trying not to look directly at it for I knew the sight of an overflowing loo would not sit well with the two chocolate croissants that I had just consumed. 

“I don’t know, Madame” he said with a look that quite frankly implied that I knew exactly why it had decided to cark itself mid flush. 

It was 9 in the morning and this broken toilet situation was starting to interfere with our plans to go shopping at Galleries La Feyette. I was not happy.

“So when can it be fixed?” I asked slipping on my boots and getting ready to make a quick escape to the closest Metro station. 

He looked at me blankly before walking outside to speak to his mother in French. 

The girls were all sitting in the living room with their bags on their laps waiting to go. I walked out and shook my head. 

“Just give me a couple of minutes.” I said trying to take control of the situation. 

A few moments later the boy who we had now nicknamed ‘The Boy’ and his mother, ‘The Caretaker’ walked cautiously into the living room.

She said something to him in French and The Boy proceeded to translate in his little snobby French boy voice. 

“In order for me to fix you must tell us what exactly was flushed down” he pointed down for extra dramatic effect. 

We all looked each other and shrugged. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” One of the girls said. 

The caretaker spoke to her son again and then he went bright red. He shook his head.

“I don’t know how to say..” he mumbled half speaking to his mother and half speaking to us. 

She appeared to hound him until he pulled out his iPhone. 

How rude, our fabulous Paris plans have been delayed because of their shitty toilet (literally) and instead of fixing it he’s just started texting. 

Finally he looked up from his phone and started stuttering, his accent even thicker than before. 

“Mmm… me…. men…” 

We all stood in silence, intrigue. 

“Me… me… menstral?” 

Menstral!!?

“Maybe it was a ta… ta… tampon?” 

TAMPON?!

I tell you what by this stage the poor boy was redder than a menstral and a tampon. 

Although I knew that two of the girls were on their period I felt as though I shouldn’t tell incase we were deemed liable for some bizarre reason. But I wanted the toilet fixed as soon as possible and despite the fact that The Boy was obviously a useless slave to his mother someone needed to put him out of his misery. 

“Yes a tampon could have possibly been flushed down.” I said really emphasising the possibly.

The boy looked relieved but the caretaker looked seriously pissed off. The Boy concluded by telling us that now they knew what it was they could send someone around to fix it, for the time being we were to use the public toilet down the hall. 

As they were about to go and we were well and truly ready to leave The Boy stopped and said one last thing to me.

“This type of toilet is very expensive,we will aware you of the arrangement when we know.”

All I knew was the only type of expensive arrangement I was going to was Galleries La Feyette.

And so we did.

After we indulged in some H&M, Sephora and a boutique where I scored a divine gold cuff (pictured at the very top of the page) we decided to have a bite to eat at the famous, Cafe de la Paix.

It has been said that if you sit at Cafe de la Paix long enough you are bound to run into somebody you know...

Why hello old friend!

The red wine/chocolate eclair combination has been a favourite of mine since the beginning of time. The price however is something I am not familiar with. Almost $17 for an eclair, no! It's not worth it. Or is it...

And for dessert...

I present to you...

The Arc de Triomphe and the teeny, tiny Eiffel Tower!

I'm so damn happy to be in Paris!

Now quickly just one more picture! We need to find the closest Metro...

I really need to go back to the apartment to...

Oh no. 

Paris, it all started with a tampon.

That's right, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here. 

After two hours on the Eurostar I arrived at Gare du Nord station. The cultural differences were instantaneous. French signs, French music coming from the French speakers and of course French men, in particular hot French policemen with their sleeves rolled up and bad ass tattoos. Me likey.

I lined up in the cab rank and took out the address of the apartment. A young guy thrust open his boot and ushered me to come forward, yanking my luggage off the sidewalk and into his cab. 

"Parlez-vous anglais?" I asked clumsily.  

"A little." he said

"I'm going to 205 Saint Germain Boulevard sil vous plait."

He nodded and we sped away. The ladies and I chose to rent a small apartment in Saint Germain because we had been told that it was the most chic district in Paris, who can argue with that?

After winding through many quaint Parisian roads and briefly spotting the very tip of Eiffel Tower we arrived at Saint Germain Boulevard. I slipped the driver some euro and then stood in awe of the huge mahogany door in front of me. 

I'm hereeeeeeeeee!! Yippppeeeee! Parissssss!

So the caretaker didn't speak any English and it didn't help that I didn't speak any French.

"Erm, Parlez-vous anglais?" I said once I finally managed to enter the building with all my luggage.

"Non." she replied with a shrug.

Problème numéro un of renting privately instead of staying in a hotel abroad is that it is very likely that no one will understand you.

After a few moments of shared confusion a young boy came out of the caretakers door and stood by her side. He spoke "a little" English and with what he did know he told me that I was the first to arrive for the apartment on the top floor. Great! I though, I get first pick of the bed and some time to settle in before the girls arrive.

He handed me a large brass key and ushered me to another doorway framed by two red columns. I let out a little squeal, a red carpet how fancy! He walked ahead of me not bothering to hold the door open while I dragged my luggage in behind me. Dick.

"Leave your case here, I'll show you first." he said pointing up the stairs.

 I wasn't completely comfortable with leaving all my luggage but since they were so heavy and double locked I figured that no one would bother stealing them.

It didn't dawn on me that there was no elevator option until the 8th flight of stairs. The boy remained quiet and moved at a steady pace as we both continued to climb what seemed like an endless amount of floors. By the time we reached the top I was exhausted like I'd just done an hour long crossfit session (I've never actually done crossfit but I'd imagine this is what it would feel like).

"How many stairs?" I asked trying not to sound completely out of breath and like I was about to keel over at any moment.

"Ah umm." he said searching for the English translation as I tried to search for my legs which had now gone numb.

"142." he stated. I looked down the middle and couldn't even see the red carpet that lined the first five floors. I'd officially pasted chic Parisian and entered the servant's quarters.

After he showed me how to open the door to the apartment he disappeared. I thought the chances of him going back down to collect my very heavy luggage and bring it up to my room was slim to nil. That didn't stop me from praying he would anyway.

This prayer included half a bottle of wine on my new French balcony!  Yep just make like the Europeans and drink all your problems away.

The problem with drinking is that sooner or later you need to use the 'facilities'.

Hmm, strange grinding noise followed by hollow gurgling noise, I may not be French but I do know that this is not the sort of sound that a toilet should make.

But that's not my problem for I am in Paris for 10 blissful days and nothing can rain on my fabulous French parade.

And with that I downed the rest of my glass of wine, rolled up my sleeves and dragged my suitcases up every one of those damn steps.

As you know, cross fit of any kind, is hard work and soon I was ravenous! There was only one thing on my mind after that. Cafe au lait and croissants...

After wandering a block away from the apartment I was tempted by a stunning assortments of cakes and croissants in the window of a popular patisserie, Maison Pradier. The deal was 1 cafe, and 1 croissant ou pain au chocolat for 2,50 so naturally I got two...

And a ham & fromage baguette. 140 steps ok! ok!

At around 4 pm the girls messaged me to say that they were on their way so I began to stroll back to the apartment, passing a cluster of food shops on the way. 

On the boulevard adjacent to where I was staying I found a lovely little supermarket. I took it upon myself to get some wine and nibbles to stock up our pantry. Delicious, smooth French wine only 5.45 Euro! 

As I approached the bottom of the never-ending staircase with my groceries, I decided to look at the positives instead of the negatives.

1. If I will be eating this much bread and cheese it is only fair that I work it off somehow
2. I'm less likely to run down and buy midnight snacks in fear that I won't make it back up again
3. The more steps you have to take to your room the better the view hey?

I wasn't in the apartment long before I heard familiar laughter making its way up the stairs. I grabbed the brass key off the table and walked out to help them. As I went to shut the door behind me I heard a strange noise coming from the 'facilities'.  

4. I'm in Paris, and when you're in Paris all is magical and everything goes as smoothly as can be.

We will just see how long that theory lasts shall we.

TBC...

10 Things I Have Learnt in London...

My time in London concludes at a Starbucks on Brompton Road. I ask for a long black and receive a confused look from the cashier, a cute barista takes over and asks me what it is that I'm after exactly. I explain that its coffee but without the milk, he smiles and presses a paper cup against a machine and then gives me what they refer to as just 'black coffee' for free despite trying to give him a five pound note.

"Same, same but different." he says smiling then resuming his busy barista duties. 

After connecting to the free wifi and scoring a seat overlooking the amazing Harrods building I start to ponder the 10 main things that I have learnt during my time in London. 

10 Things I Have Learnt in London...

1. For those of you who are looking to travel to London or even thinking about moving here London is a very, very expensive place to live. For example, a coffee at popular café chain Costa (similar to Gloria Jeans) costs 2.45 pound, sure $2.45 ain't bad for your morning soy cap but when you're hit with an exchange rate of 1.8 you're actually forking out $4.43 Australian dollars, that's almost double! All I'm saying is that if I'm paying a small fortune for a latte the cute English barista better come with it. 

2. Everything is expensive except for alcohol. Not only is it cheaper than in Australia, it's even more accessible as well. There's no need to waste time hunting down an open bottle shop on a Friday night, just kill two birds with one stone and pick up a few bottles of tequila next time you’re rushing into the supermarket to buy party food. Only have a crumpled twenty in your wallet? no sweat this will get you enough booze to intoxicate an entire university. 

3. Londoners think that all Australians love avocado and poached eggs for breakfast, unlike the 'all Aussies ride kangaroos' myth this generalisation is pretty spot on. Show me the avo!

4.  Shopping in London is a million times better. Last Autumn in Australia I set myself a mission to buy the perfect leather jacket. I was willing to fork out a small fortune to get something that was the perfect fit and a good investment. To my inner fashionistas dismay I spent nearly the entire season looking for something, anything! By the time I found one Winter was almost over. On my first day in London I walked into at least five stores with countless styles of  leathers, the next one more amazing than the last. I know where I’ll be shopping come next pay check…online! All Saints you're my favourite for leather jackets, please come to Australia!

5.   On a Saturday night in Soho you’ll find more men then the entire male population of Sydney. Dear Sydney, please pick up your game ASAP! x

6.  Autumn in London is like Winter in Australia but colder! How is it possible that one day I’ll step out covered in every piece of clothing in my suitcase and the lad sitting next to me on the tube is wearing nothing but a football jersey?

7.   Keep to the right, KEEP TO THE RIGHT. If you're brave enough to catch the Tube (London's main form of transport around the city) there's only one way or the highway. When standing on all escalators you must keep to the right unless you want to be trampled on by commuters. 

8. You okay? You alrigh'? My fellow Australian shopper, the sales person isn't asking you if you are okay because look sick or tired or poor, "You okay?" or "You alrigh'?" are common English greetings, the same as "Hi, how are you today?" Don't worry, their motive as sales people are still the same as ours, they all mean I hope you buy lots of shit so I can smash my budget and go to the pub. 

9. The pub is the best place in the world. See number 3 for one of the many reasons why. Come on who doesn't dream of drinking a beer the size of their face?

10. Although the temperature can drop to below freezing, ever since the first time I visited London there has been something about this city that sets my heart on fire. The buildings, the shopping, the big red buses and the opportunity to do or be anything. There's plenty of reasons why you'll find so many Aussies working hard to live in this unbelievable city. 

Although my time here is up I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be back someday...maybe even to live, provided I know where I stand with the locals on the elevators. 

Oh I almost forgot, maybe the best thing about London is it's strikingly close proximity to Europe. 

Paris - I'm looking at you!

Tea Time at Harrods

Sometimes it's nice to feel just a little fucking fancy and Harrods in London is the perfect place to get your fancy fix.

With gold and black Egyptian style escalators and 6 levels of designer goodness, no wonder it is the number one shopping destination for cashed up tourists and bored trophy wives.

Escape the hustle and bustle of the first level food court and take the opulent elevator up to the top floor. Beyond the Burberry and other luxury travel accessories lie a classic English Tea Room.

My eyes drift over the exuberant prices on the display menu, ouch! and then I remember it's in pounds and I instantly feel faint and need to sit down.

Pairs of women sit at tables for four. Two seats for them and two seats for the leather French companions.

Despite the fact that the Tea Room's specialty is a blend of green and jasmine, the beverage of choice seams to been sparkling wine and calorie free black coffee.

Since I am minus one Peruvian Prince and plus one pair of stretchy jeans I decide to order 'The Chelsea'. The Chealsea consists of scones, jam and cream, a pot of English breakfast tea and two espesso's please.

The waitress stops to tell me a story of Princess Diana and her lover Dodi Fayed. We all know of the illicit love affair that ended in tragedy, but I wasn't aware that it was Fayed's father who created Harrods. Before their death they were seen drinking champagne in Paris (as you do) The waitress told me that those exact champagne glasses and the secret engagement ring Fayed was meant to give to the princess remained preserved in glass on the very bottom floor of this building. After his son's death the father created this memorial to celebrate the couples eternal love.

I was so consumed in the story that I had failed to notice my sleeve had slipped into my cup of tea, oh dear, how fancy of me!

I couldn't leave Harrods without purchasing something.

Did I purchase a) a rare diamond ring carved by 12 wise monks or b) a Christmas ornament from the least expensive section of the department store?

Ok so it may not be a diamond ring but this key sure will look fancy on my Christmas tree!

Oh how time flies when you're living the charmed life.

"Waiter, check please."

"Can I give you any further direction Madame?" She asked me as she took the rest of my money.

"Would you mind pointing me in the direction of the closest MacDonalds please?"

After this spending spree, fast food will be the only thing I can afford to eat!