After three months in Parigi I’ve just hosted my first guest. Phones were broken and shrooms tripped, compelling me to inform your next sojourn.
La bouffe
For grubbing I have two recs. The first is Benchy, a favorite of expatriated editors. We went here three times in seven days. Delicious coffee—elusive in a city where much tastes burnt—and sandwich delights. Sit at the street-facing bar if you want to show off your outfit. The second is Bouillon Chartier, by Gare de l’Est. Unpretentious and economical. The bottle of house red was 15 balles, the steak 12. We apéritifed with Lillet blanc and digestifed with Calvados. I am their newest regular.
Spectacle
Elijah bought us tickets to a PSG match. As a man of the arts and letters I love to act like I’m better than sports, but the moody atmosphere was a nice change of pace from the routine of cafés and salons. We did slide to Orsay, more modern than the Louvre. Smoky dancehalls by abstract expressionists have influenced my next tattoos.
Musique
Reggae spinning, Bambino hosted us Friday night for a cheeky bottle of sparkling orange wine and red-lit cigs. This place runs heavy on Australians and hot foreigners, making it ideal for practicing your French and flirting in English. The following evening we slid to a soulful Persian nightclub. Serious dancers. More cigs and polyglots. Santé!