Ahh Paris, you loved me then left me out in the cold. Or, Parisian men are sexy as hell.

I love Paris – I’ve told you this before. It’s a beautiful city, a city I think that I could live in however it has loved me, then left me out in the cold.

It’s so expensive here I can’t believe it. People said to me ‘Japan is expensive!’ but they clearly haven’t been to Paris! It’s so expensive, I’ve booked a train to Munich tomorrow just so I can regroup! But I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to tell you what I have learned about Paris so far.

Firstly, Parisians are affectionate people. The PDA is not lost on Parisians & it’s lovely to see. It’s not gross and overkill like most places, it’s a loving hand on the waist, a gentle nuzzle on the neck or a soft kiss on the lips. Their PDA’s are loving & caring in a way that makes you look longingly, wishing for that kind of affection, not make you want to run and puke cause you’ve just witnessed your own live softcore porno. It’s a beautiful thing this Parisian love display and I thank them for making my stay just a little bit romantic.

Secondly, they have musicians that play on the subway. It’s been like my own Parisian soundtrack – I love it. They play Parisian music too which is awesome and totally unexpected. It’s not like they’re hired by the metro or anything, they kind of busk but they are everywhere and I quite enjoy a little background music every now and again! Actually, combined with the copious displays of affection I’m greeted with, I kind feel like I’m in my own chick flick!

Now the third thing I’ve learned about Parisian women is their strong sense of style. I know it’s already out there, you are saying as your reading this – well of course Yarni, Parisians are well-known for being uber fashionable women but it’s odd. When I first arrived I didn’t really think that they looked much different to you or me. I was expecting something completely different thanks to this stereotype that’s been built up in my mind. It’s so much more subtle than that. On the outskirts of things they do look like anyone else but when you look closely, you start to notice the skill with which this skirt has been teamed with this top, this jacket been matched with these shoes. You start to see where the label comes from and my god – it’s like they’re all born knowing what to throw on without any effort at all! I want to steal one away and make her teach me all her tricks! A large proportion of the younger women remind me actually, of that girl who plays the Russians daughter in the last two eps of Sex & the City. It’s hard to pinpoint it exactly but they all seem to have this Je ne sais qua about them. There is a similarity in how they do their makeup, their hair. They seamlessly team military or tuxedo style jackets with ankle boots, bum length coats with tights & skirts. They seem to have the same thin mousey brown hair that hangs half way down their backs, the same lanky frames and model faces. There is something slightly disturbing but intriguing about it at the same time.

Now down to business though. French food. I will tell you that I have had the pleasure of tasting a few of France’s better known dishes and I have not been let down. I even think that the boeuf bourguignon I had the other day might possibly have been considered by your average Frenchmen to have not been that good but I loved it. I can’t imagine what the most superbly made dish would taste like. It’s sauce rich in beefy/winey goodness, the meat tender and flaky. And the Soupe gratinée à l’oignon – oh my god, shoot me now. The buttery oniony flavour, the baguette drenched as it lay in the soup, the cheesy top that covered it all like the pastry top of a pie, baked so it was crispy on top. My spoon breaking through the wafer thin crust to reveal the creamy yellow goodness oozing underneath. Heaven. I almost went without tasting the croissant – I’ve had some pretty good croissant – how could they make it any better right? Wrong. Oh! The pastry was so light, so delicate but so rich in buttery goodness at the same time. I grabbed two on the run today as I head for the subway; still warm, I tore bits off those doughy gods and I swear it was so delectable I almost transcended to another level of spirituality. I have found my religion in France. It’s the religion of cuisine. There shouldn’t a statue of Jesus on that altar, there should be a bowl of beouf bourguignon to pray to. I’m not even going to go into the Eclair au chocolat. This food, it’s ambrosial. Unfortunately however, because I haven’t really been eating at restaurants the presentation hasn’t been that great so I haven’t taken pictures of everything but I have something for you to visually devour at least. But alas, there is only so much ‘praying’ I can do before my jeans no longer fit so tomorrow I’m heading for Munich. I can’t consider myself much of a gastronome without a wee bit of time spent sampling the fine, fine beers of Germany now can I? On second thoughts, not sure there is much I’m going to be able to do about that waist line but we all have to make sacrifices for the things we love I guess. As long as I still have room for some good ol’ fashioned black pudding; and a couple of yorkshire pudding with my classic English roast I’ll be a happy girl.

The last thing I want to discuss with you is a topic just for the ladies unfortunately but it has to be said. In fact, it’s closely related to the topic of food for me – given I love both almost as equally. I’m just going to lay it out for you plain and simple here.

Parisian men are hot.

And I mean the kind of hot where your mentally slamming them up against a wall in the middle of a crowded restaurant hot. Never in my life have I seen as many gorgeous guys as I have here in Paris. They dress well too but not in a snag sort of way though. They have perfected that well dressed, gentle but still manly demeanor and it works; oh how it works. The other day I was walking past a brassiere and caught a glimpse of the sexiest man I have ever seen behind the counter. I literally stopped, took two steps back and gave him a bit of raised eyebrow look over before he looked at me and I realised what I was doing. I promptly continued on my way albeit not without a few stops in consideration of returning to the brassiere for a drink or two, let me tell you!

Oh and I finally got my cold – it’s 8 degrees today and raining like hell; just in case you were wondering. I wandered around the Pere Lachaise for an hour before I was so drenched and so cold I could no longer feel my extremities. Don’t get me wrong, the rain wasn’t ideal. I would have preferred an umbrella so as to have continued my wandering in the cold as it was the wet that finally forced me to seek shelter but I really feel like finally I have found my paradise!



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