The second day in Paris was probably the most uneventful day, although there were moments of hilarity when Olivia couldn't get it up and was crazy grumpy because of it. You'll see what I mean.
It began with a late rise, yet again. We (Pierre, Dave, Andrea, Olivia and I) headed out to a Korean Restaurant for lunch that is, lucky for me, right across from Notre Dame! We had a delicious meal--I had chop che and Korean beef. Afterwards Dave and I wandered all around Notre Dame and admired the Seine. Although we weren't actually able to go in because of the massive line of tourists--a little disappointing, since I wanted to buy my mom a rosary. Later we started shopping and that was when the shitshow happened. Pierre, a fantastic gay man, made out like a bandit--a Boss sweater, a coat from Zara, a couple other purchases. I can't remember if Andrea bought anything, but she had gotten some jeans and glasses the night before. I was satiated by my purchases the day before and still riding the guilt train. Conspicuously absent from the list of successful shoppers was one Olivia Lee, who is usually the valedictorian of shopping. We saw her waning. We saw her giving up. So we refueled by buying delicious candy from a street-side vendor and began shopping. Mango--nothing good, as per usual. It was in Zara that the grumpiness really hit, I think. I was helping Dave pick out new clothes (he got a great new coat, a beautiful brown blazer and a couple shirts). Olivia was visibly peeved and made remarks such as "that looks bad, take that off," "no not that" and "that's an ugly shirt." When we suggested that there were ways to veto a potential purchase that did not involve such bluntness or hurt feelings, we got *the look*.
Why was Olivia grumpy? Why was she taking it out on other, unsuspecting shoppers? I'll tell you why: Olivia could not get it up. Once armed with potent shopping mojo, she was now shooting blanks, wandering from store to store, trying her hardest to want things, failing, and getting pissed as fuck at anyone and everyone who made purchases. Her little fingers itched to use those credit cards, but alas, we were in Paris and Olivia couldn't buy anything.
Olivia was unable to shop, and she didn't let us forget it. Whether we were in the bathroom, at dinner, in bed at night, walking the streets of Paris, we heard the forlorn cries of one who had been foiled in her heroic attempts to buy. We heard a lot of "I swear to God guys, this never happens" and "This has never happened before" and "I don't know why this is happening to me, this is totally unprecedented." We consoled her by telling her that it happens to everyone now and then. It doesn't mean that you're less than anyone else. But I was worried. What had I gotten myself into? I was firing on all cylinders and Olivia was not delivering as a shopping partner. My mind wandered back to the weeks before we went to Paris, where Olivia would express through multiple media, in multiple locations, and at inappropriate times one single thought: "I'm going to shop sooooo much in Paris." Was it all just a tease? Was my shopping partner not going to buy a single thing in Paris?
The Grand Blank was shot at Galerie Lafayette, where we had about 50 minutes to shop before they closed. We walked around, appearing calm, but in fact frantically looking for something that Olivia could buy. A cashmere turtleneck? No. A black bowler hat? But where would she wear it. We saw her favourite designers, but the stuff was too expensive, not cute enough, there wasn't time. Finally we ended up at Louis Vuitton, where a bag was fondled and admired and seriously considered. I must admit I advised against it. The store was closing in 10 minutes. I thought it might be a goggled purchase. It was like the end of the night at a borrel. You don't take home the first thing you see of the last few pieces of meat there. You'll live to regret it. Olivia decided to think about it.
We put it all behind us and went out that night. First, we went to Olivier's apartment. A fabulous and gay tax collector.
Olivier and his friends were talking politics or some such subject that I did not understand, so I started drinking. I started in on the punch. I switched to the white wine. I switched to another kind of white wine. And a third.
Before I knew it, Olivier was dancing, then everyone was dancing, doing ridiculous poses, and wearing French wigs and shiny jackets and boas.
Before I knew it hours had rolled past and we were due at Nuit Blanche. We went to some park for Nuit Blanche. We spent the night trying to steal red umbrellas from a display. Pierre stole one while Olivia and I sang and danced for the security guard. We went over to the silver coin display. We got us one of those. We ate crepe. We went pee in sparse bushes. I went twice. We tried to take the bus home and stole the bus sign. It was a wonderful night of random and senseless thievery in Paris.
The next day, Olivia finally claimed what was hers. Over and over again. It was her moment in the sun. It was working again. First we did brunch at Kong, which was made famous by the season six episode of SATC where Carrie does brunch with Petrovsky's ex ("hideous, just hideous"). The bread was delicious, the champagne cocktail was good, but the meal itself was disappointing. I had the seared tuna, but it was cooked the way through and I like it RAW. We went to le Marais area, which is the Jewish/Gay/Fashion district. I've never seen so many intensely stylish-no-expensively dressed people rounded up in one place.
The seal broke, I believe, on the way from the Kong to le Marais with O's purchase of a beautiful pair of Chloe glasses. After that we sailed through Le Marais like a dream, going into everywhere, taking it all in, and wanting it all. We went into beautiful boutiques with names I can't remember that had wearable clothes in gorgeous fabrics. I may have destroyed a pair of soft, yellow, leather kid gloves but let's not talk about that right now. We also went thrifting, which was the best part--I bought all those vintage bags I talked about in my "pockets" post. The vintage stores were buzzing and filled to bursting with crazy shopaholic women and their grabby hands. You had to act fast, act strong, and get out of there. Right after the thrift shopping, I bought my Longchamps bag. That was a rush. Olivia bought a beautiful, soft gray scarf from a great store that sells bath and body stuff. We went into this gourmet boutique where the owner could speak Japanese. I bought rosemary honey and Livs some tomato sauces. When we went to pay, the owner was at the cash register and singing along like a ridiculous human being to the music that was on while trying to impress us with shoddy Mandarin. He also drew Olivia "moonlight" in Chinese characters on the tissue paper he used to wrap up her purchases. We went into a shoe store and both bought ballet flats--her in patent black and I in camel. It was a wonderful day. Satisfaction was in the air. Olivia was beaming. We dropped our purchases off and stared lovingly at the rows of bags. Now how the fuck were we going to 1) get this on the train; 2) move this on our bikes.
No matter, we needed to get dinner. We headed for a Chinese restaurant, which is one of the coolest Chinese restaurants ever. It was beautiful and Frenchified, yet still in the Chinese style. It was just off of Champs Elysees. Me and Olivia had "Thai fondue", which turned out to be spicy hot pot! It was really good. We had dinner with some old friends of Olivia's--they are French, but I guess they met Olivia while studying in California on some sort of exchange. Afterwards, Olivia, Andrea and I browsed Virgin Megastore and picked out a British comedy to watch that night. When we got home, we watched the movie and snacked and packed and went to bed.
A couple more things-- near Andrea's flat is a street called Rue Montorgueil, a trendy street in the 2nd arrondissement (in the Châtelet-Les Halles district). It is all trendy young couples and food stores--butchers and vegetable and fruit stores and patisseries.
Always busy and always fabulous.
Also, when we were in the subway once, there was an Asian man busking there, playing a Chinese instrument called the "yi wu". Well halfway into his playing he stops and starts to sing a Chinese song in Mandarin. Me and Olivia just started laughing because his voice was kind of funny and the abrupt and random singing was just comical. THEN, he immediately stops singing and starts playing some kind of flute instrument. Me and Olivia are laughing even harder now, making jokes about how Asian people have to over-achieve even in the field of busking. Then a group of a guy and two girls who are Caucasian also begin visibly making fun of this man and his Asian music. Me and Olivia immediately stop laughing. Here's what happened:
Me and Olivia: *arguably racist laughter*
Olivia: *stops laughing and with a stony face* "Oh my God, are they laughing at him?"
Me: *with an even stonier face* "They better not be making fun of him, fucking racists..."
Olivia: "Oh my God, they are making fun of him...bitches...he's just trying to make a living."
Me: "I'm offended"
Olivia: "I'm completely offended. Racists."
Andrea: "I'm offended too. And I'm not Asian."
Don't worry, I know. A prime illustration of the double standard and lovin' it.
The train ride home the next morning was kind of horrific for me. As predicted, I had a hard time fitting all my new stuff into the tiny backpack I brought, so I had a huge Zara bag with me while trying to catch the train. Both Olivia and me were saddled down with all our new purchases. It was raining. My bag fell apart. My ticket fell on the train platform because of this. I didn't realize that until we were already moving. I searched high and low for my ticket and freaked out. I barreled through the train and spoke to the train conductor who was so nice to me but was basically like you idiot we have your train ticket. But the scare made me grumpy the rest of the trip and I wrote sullenly in my journal for the remainder of the trip. At least some angsty writing came out of the funky mood.
All in all I really loved Paris. I couldn't keep living the way we were or we'd be broke, I'd have lung cancer, liver failure, and probably heart disease from the way we were eating. However, it was a wonderful time and it really is a magical city. My favorite hour of the day (as everywhere) was dusk. At dusk, the light would hit whatever magnificent building we were near--Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Opera, and colour it golden. When I think back on the Paris trip, I'll think of that golden light on the most beautiful buildings in the world.
I'll think of pink and green macarons, soft leather bags, beautifully fashionable people, and the elegance of a city that makes you so grateful to be young.
