Who of you hasn’t watched Amelie. Longed to skip stones across that canal. Splashing away time. In a red dress. I know I did. Actually I’m pretty sure it was that scene that alerted me to the fact that Paris actually had a canal. Through the Tenth Arrondissement. With picturesque iron bridges and lochs lined pale green. The light filtering softly through the chestnut and plane trees. That it might be a cool place to hang about in. And it is.
The Tenth Arrondissement is a modern everyday sort of Paris. Not postcard pristine. Yet oddly pretty. Sometimes. Still urban and multicultural. Yet in that bo-ho-fair-trade-organic-artisan-hipster kind of way these days.
Sometimes a woman wants to be the mistress not the wife. I know you know what I mean. And these qualities are not cultivated in those tasteful stiff sort of places overlooking grand monuments. No something a bit edgier dare I even say seedy is needed. To reawaken this inner goddess. So what better location than the former playground of the likes of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Pablo Picasso and Josephine Baker. The ninth arrondissement. Where striptease was invented. Et du famous quartier de Pigalle. The almost former red-light district whose old hostess bars and massage parlours are being replaced by artisanal cocktail bars, vintage everything shops and edgy boutiques. The “pipole” are now hanging out around here. That’s French slang for hip beautiful or famous. C’est parfait.
It was in the Sixth Arrondissement that I very nearly became victim to death by chocolate.
Patrick Rogers main chocolate shop was close by. I was planning on going there next. I wanted some of his lemon-grass and basil infused bars. I’d seen them in the window display. So sleek and shining. Almost sinful. I swear could taste the cocoa and herbs on the base of my tongue. Though the glass.
At the time I’d been ingesting small quantities of high quality chocolate for about three hours.
So I may have been a little delirious. Intoxicated.