We were walking in Bastille, photographed street art and checking out some stores with manga-inspired clothing. We had lunch on a side-walk and took the moments as they came flushing over us. A guy in a mini-van painted in traditional hippie-style introduced himself as Cherry from Jamaica, inviting me to take a picture of himself and his car.
We walked to La Maree, following a large street towards the Seine. By the side-walk, three man were sitting down smoking. Another one lay on a matress behind them. Infront, there were two rabbits. The one man opened up the box and told us their names were Romeo and Juliet. I held Romeo in my arms, his soft and shiny fur felt as if the clouds far up in heaven, the ones you wish you could touch and imagine would feel like the smoothest cotton on earth, were stroking my skin. He curled up in my lap and I kissed him on his forehead. I wished I had not removed the carrots from my bag that same morning, but we gave the man a few cents to buy some. I put Romeo down again, and watched him as he nibbled on the lettuce for a moment before we walked away.
We accidently found Yellow Corner on our way. I don’t have any photo from the place, nor the photographs. And I can not explain the beauty, soul and excitement in that place. It’s a combined exhibition hall and store where they sell photographs, really good photographs. As I entered their travel section, I couldn’t hold back a couple of tears. They fell from my eyes in small drops. It was amazing. Inspiring. I could not wait until I get to be there, in those mountains and on that beach. I could not wait to meet those fisher men and see those mats myself.
I decided that when I’m all grown up and have a husband and a house (and half a fortune in the bank, they were not for free), then I will return to Yellow Corner and buy pictures for our walls.
I strongly recommend the place, it’s in Bastille and I’m sure anyone can point it out for you when you ask someone there. It’s a very famous place.
In the night our host and some of his friends took us to a rock’n’roll club, International, and we had a blast. We also walked around on the streets, and had a very late dinner at an italian restaurant in Bastille (at four am). I can not recommend a better way to explore the night life in a strange city than to couch surf and hang out with the host. It felt as we got the best of the best, and all after our own taste and interests.
We were supposed to go to a trance-party, but as we left International and started walking towards the other place Charly got a phonecall from his friend who was the DJ there. “Sorry guys, the party is over.”
So we just walked around randomly in Paris instead.
We talked to a lot of people that night. We sang a swedish song to two women, about 35 years old, and we sat down with them talking about life and love. Charly and his friend Celine pretended they were foreigners as well. One of the women taught Celine how to say bonne nuit (good night), Celine twisting the pronunciation and sounded quite much like I believe I do when I try to learn it.
We walked by a fruit shop and got fruit. Charly had two kiwis and I chewed on a peach while we talked to the owner about how the fruit gets bad when people keep picking it up, touching it, and putting it down again. “The fruit does not like it, they get bad. They don’t feel good after being touched, it’s not their way.” the owner said. I believe he might be right, because the fruit does get bad quickly after being touched. Doesn’t it?