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Part One

PARIS

Packing for Paris

A nouveau amie — yet like the gesture of an old friendship. Are there any words that have a more resonant ring than, ‘An apartment in Paris’? Patrick’s apartment in the first arrondisement is so petite that he moved out to stay with an amie for our four nights in the most exciting city in the world. The photos he sends before our visit add to our frisson of excitement. Our eagerness builds when we plan our itinerary and discover that the glorious Paris Opera House — a must-see this time — is on his doorstep. Next in our planning is the all-important question: Where is the nearest boulangerie to slip out to for a croissant for our petit déjeuner? Not that it will be me going out to buy our breakfast pastry in Paris.

The first thing a woman usually thinks when she is heading for Paris is, ‘What on earth will I wear?’ After years of travelling — make that decades — I aim to finally get it just right.

First, the right bag. Now, while we had an embargo in our household on luggage-buying, I vetoed it — yes, again. And so the bright red Samonsite swivel case was bought. It is the travel bag of dreams. Next, the definitive backpack; must be smart, must be capacious. IKEA, of all places, provided the solution. It was Stuart’s exultant find and he graciously gave it to me. The stylish zip-off day pack is truly the pièce de résistance.

Luggage sorted, it’s on to the perfect travel wardrobe. This from the woman who trudged round Europe with the biggest portable wardrobe in the world on her back. Truth be told, I spend months planning the precise pieces for Paris. And yes, we’ve all read the articles — how to pack six items and create twenty-six outfits. These articles have been avidly devoured — and the advice subsequently ignored. But this time I am determined that, like my swivel case, heads will swivel to look at me. A lofty ambition indeed in the city of chic elegance.

There is no sight quite like it in the world, for a lover of fashion like myself, than to see a French woman strolling along the Champs-Élysées with such style and understated elegance. Their inimitable sense of chic is oh-so-casually contrived and yet oh-so-studiously studied. The Hermès scarf knotted ever so nonchalantly. The Christina Dior bag. It is also to know and ruefully accept that no matter how hard I try, a lifetime would not be long enough to capture the incomparable élan of a French woman, and most definitely not one in Paris.

Months prior, I found a black and white Audrey Hepburn chapeau that had wire and would fold. Perfect. My Parisian wardrobe will consist entirely of clothes that can roll and unfurl into stylish ensembles, all black and white, of course. I declare jubilantly to Stuart that my new black jersey pants will take me anywhere, from a day of sightseeing and trips on the Seine to the quintessential Parisian bistro. A noir frock (or two), several white T-shirts, black turtleneck, black leggings, a long black tunic, black Birkenstocks for the daytime, silver slides for the evening, and just a dash of silver jewellery. A cute cardigan, and my oh-so-nonchalant Pierre Balmain scarf — a treasured find for a mere euro in a village vide-grenier. I’m set.

The first thing a man usually thinks when he is heading for Paris is, ‘What will I eat?’ Stuart’s packing for Paris reflects his customary laid-back attitude to life. It is expressed in his nonchalant packing style: a couple of shirts, a few T-shirts, a pair of jeans and several pairs of shorts. I have to confess, however, that somehow his casual approach works. I am left wondering yet again about the profound difference in how I view life. How can he not have given the matter of what to wear in Paris endless deliberation? And yet, he effortlessly pulls off what I deem to be the desired look essential for a Parisian sojourn.

At the end of the day, though, I believe that I triumph in the Paris style stakes for, let’s not forget, my esteemed vintage Guy Larouche trench coat, the ever-so-not-contrived finissage touch. Paris, I’m on my way!

Then when we arrive, the weather mirrors the days of cold and rain we have just left behind on the other side of the world. So it is that my carefully contrived sartorial plans are thrown out the window. Or more precisely to the winds, for it is cool, damp and overcast. Our four days in Paris are spent wearing the clothes we travelled in and we are encumbered in our sightseeing with warm coats and scarves. This is not the first time this has happened to us in France. Our Parisian photos show me all in black, but not the noir I fancifully imagined. Oh no. Day after day there are shots of me on the Batobus, outside the Louvre, in the Luxembourg jardins — noir jeans, noir polo neck and noir leather jacket. Does it matter in the end that my carefully planned outfits lie untouched in my suitcase? Not at all. What matters is that we are in Paris and the dampness does not cloud our days at all. And actually, head-to-toe black is very French. One outfit would have sufficed after all.

Everyone falls in love with the City of Lights the first time they glimpse it. And then again and again, if they are lucky enough to return. Paris has a magic, a charm, that is all its own. It is a city beyond compare. How to capture its essence? That has been the quest of artists, designers and writers for centuries. The very boulevards resonate with a palpable air of chic elegance. The joy of Paris lies in the random discoveries; the strolling down petite cobblestone streets that provide a heartbeat glimpse into other lives: the back view of an immaculate French woman disappearing round a corner, her trotting, coiffed poodle the perfect accessory; the quintessential young French lovers entwined on the banks of the Seine; the beribboned boxes of chocolat and the tantalising mounds of pastel-hued macarons. It is the soaring buildings, decorated with gargoyles that have been witness to revolutions and war, the golden light that glows upon them as the day closes. These and more are the moments you reflect on after a Parisian sojourn.

We fall upon our first espresso and almond croissant with sighs of rapture on our first morning, and breathe in the heady aroma of newly baked baguettes. To be in Paris once in a lifetime is wonderful; to return is to be blessed with a sense of beloved reunion. We discover one of the famous Passages — Passage des Panaramas — where we sit elbow to elbow with our fellow diners, at the most petite of tables imaginable in the heart of all that is Paris. We savour our melt-in-the-mouth bœuf bourguignon and crème brûlée, and all the while the fashionable and elegant saunter past us. The artful insouciance of Parisians reflects their bien élevé, an unmatched air of well-bred, graceful stylishness.

The historic shopping arcades are either quirky and run-down, or magnificently restored and brimming with chic boutiques. They are maze-like and full of secret entrances; you could lose yourself in them for days, gazing at the glorious chocalatiers, boulangeries and simply stepping back in time in the labyrinth of passages that date from the eighteenth century. For us, Paris is all about meandering, wandering, exploring. It is a feast in every conceivable way, not just culinary. It is the unexpected turn in a corner that makes you gasp when you peep inside a courtyard in the heart of Paris — the pots of scarlet geraniums, the bike with its wicker pannier propped against a golden stone wall, the cat basking in the flickers of sunlight. It is the old and the new, the modern and the ancient, the juxtaposition and how it all blends seamlessly together to create a city like no other.

The Splendour of Paris

The delights of summer