Une Ombre De La Rue

Only our second day in Paris and already our trio has inspected most Vintage stores in the area. We are all most satisfied with our finds, which includes Flea's moss green waistcoat (pictures to follow) and Elizabeth's red 60s cape with black, faux-fur collar and cuffs (pictures to follow).
This (partially) was the home of the waistcoat:

 

 

The address is 147 Rue Sant. Martin - the shop is small and crowded, so take your time when exploring it. Do not write it off just because you might get a little sweaty and a little dusty in the process of treasure hunting.

 

Elizabeth's cape was a lucky find; we were about to give up our quest when she stopped in front of two side-by-side vintage shops run by two elderly Frenchmen, both puffing on cigarettes, and asked them if they had a cape. She has been obsessed with finding a velvet cape like the one Emily Browning wears in the Australian shocker film by Julia Leigh, Sleeping Beauty (2011), which incidentally Elizabeth and I both loved - It was crude, direct, honest, disturbing. What's not to love?

Anyway, she was lucky and one of the men told her to look next door (the two shops are at 83 and 85 Rue Sant. Martin). Ta-da! One coat plus a good discount equals one happy Elizabeth and a hungrier Flea. We headed for a restaurant, which happened to be La Coopérative on Rue de Rivoli.

Needless to say, Flea was extremely happy:

 

 



 

Cheesecake, cheesecake and more cheesecake!

For Elizabeth, the safe bet were the Crêpes au Nutella:

 





 







 

The French really do have a very peculiar way of doing things - I mean, look at the way that crêpe is folded - but apart from the individuals who decide that it is in the city's sewers best interest if they urinate in the streets, we quite enjoy the change.

Our little trio ended up going back to the hotel in the late afternoon and decided that we weren't going to do much in the evening, since we stupidly wore heels during the day. Even if you're used to it, even if you brave the London Tube everyday in Jeffrey Campbells, don't prance around Paris in heels. Don't do it. Think of the hours of therapy your feet will need afterwards.

Parisian women's feet are immune to pain by now, after centuries of coercing by their masters.

Don't fret, there is an elegant alternative: watch Funny Face (Donen, 1957), Audrey Hepburn dancing around Paris in perfect flats. You'll feel better about wearing ballerinas or brogues while elegantly floating through Paris, I promise.

 

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