Paris - Revisited - Part 4
At 3 pm that afternoon, I approached Cafe Pierre, a cafe at Place de la Republique, where I'd breakfasted earlier in the week. I was pretty sure the fabulously dressed thin guy with great hair talking on his cell phone was Sebastien, but I couldn't be positive, so I stood a bit away from him. He hung up and after a minute or two approached me. We introduced ourselves formally and exchanged French cheek kisses.
I got the Gay tour of the Marais. Which is somehow better than just wandering around the area, knowing it's the Gay center of Paris (though Monmartre is now giving it a run for its money), with shops, restaurants, bars and nightlife. The Centre Pompidou is in this area, but as I'd been by it many times, Sebastien took me a slightly different route. He pointed out the cool nightclubs on the way to one of the Islands in the middle of the Seine, Ile Saint-Louis. We walked by Notre Dame on Ile de la Cite, and onward to Saint Germain and the Latin Quarter, where Sebastien took me inside Eglise St. Germain.
Wandering around the flea market outside the church, we ran into Paul & Mary. Paris isn't that small, and so yes, it was odd to run into 2 of the 5 people I knew in the city.
From there we walked to Eglise St. Sulpice, thus completing my Da Vinci Code tour of Paris. The Delacroix murals were all I expected, and I'm glad Sebastien and I managed to find the church.
We boarded the Metro and headed toward Monmartre, home to the Moulin Rouge, and Paris' second largest concentration of gays and lesbians. The area immediately in front of the Moulin Rouge, on Boulevard de Clichy, is safe enough by day, but a rough area at night. The gay enclave, as you head up the hill toward Sacre Coeur is slightly more upscale and exclusive than Le Marais.
As we climbed toward Sacre Couer, Sebastien took me on a detour to show me one of his favorite spots in Paris. Down a side street to stand beneath a balcony with a plaque in French on the building, explaining that an Egyptian-born Italian Chanteuse named Dalida had hung herself in the bedroom, just inside the door to the balcony of her home. Her suicide note said simply "Life has become unbearable ... forgive me."
She was 55.
It was not her first attempt. She'd tried before, in 1967, when her singer lover Luigi Tenco successfully took his own life. Her ex-husband shot himself several years after she left him, still distraught over losing her so shortly after their marriage in 1961. In 1983, her lover, magician and entertainer Richard Chanfray also took his own life.
It's not hard to imagine why she felt life had become unbearable.
From there we walked to the junction of Rues Girardon and Abreuvoir in the Butte Montmartre, where a lifesize bust of Dalida was erected in 1997, 10 years after her suicide, commemorating the spot as "Place Dalida".
Over the course of the afternoon, Sebastien had made and received a few calls on his cell phone. Outside the Moulin Rouge, he'd told me we would be meeting up with a couple of his friends.
We met Eric and Sandrine outside the Dali Museum, and they came with us to Sacre Coeur. They were cute, and sweet, but not a couple. I'm pretty sure Eric is gay. I know for a fact Sandrine has a boyfriend, and though she's in her early 20s and they aren't yet married, they are trying to have a baby.
They also happened to speak less English than I do French. Communication wasn't easy, but we all tried really hard!
I was probably more disappointed with Sacre Coeur than any other site on my journey. This huge church built to rival Notre Dame. There was just something so - American - about it. It's not old, but they are full as fuck of themselves. No pictures allowed -- of course not, because they want you to stop in the shop and buy them.
The view from the steps of Sacre Coeur, however, was breathtaking. You look down at the rest of Paris. And it was a beautiful day. We sat on the steps for sometime afterward. Partly to give Sebestien's feet, and my own, a rest. But partly because it is so stunning.
The View:
As we were sitting there, a commotion started on the steps beneath us. A young couple was getting married! It was touching, and it made me cry.
Until the bride stripped off her "wedding dress", a tear-away thing she'd just had on for the photo shoots. They were simply taking the announcement photo for the newspaper. I felt jipped.
We made our way back down to Monmartre proper, and Sebastien sent me with Sandrine and Eric to have a drink while he went shopping for food to make us for dinner. Thank god I had my french-english dictionary with me, or we would have sat there staring at each other.
Outside Sebastien's studio, we said goodbye to Eric. Sebastien lives on the 5th floor of a 6 floor walk-up. Oh, you want to know why Parisians are so skinny when all they eat are fattening, saucy foods, boiled, nutrient lacking veggies, and pastry? It's the walking. And lack of elevators. The French outside of Paris resemble Americans - it's only the nature of Paris urbanity that keeps Parisians fit.
We were not there long when Sebastien's lesbian friend, Sabrina, joined us. While Sandrine would be leaving after dinner, Sabrina was going to come out with Sebastien to lesbian bars. Sabrina looked like your typical butch-lesbian. I think maybe they were trying to set me up, because until we were walking around and I said something about a cute boy, Sebastien had been under the impression I was a lesbian, not bi. Unfortunately, I don't go for butch - unless it's that kind of ambiguous, is she butch, or just tough and suicide girl like, kind of butch. The upside was that Sabrina was at least slightly more conversant in English.
Sebastien pulled out a photo album and I got to see a set of pictures from his latest drag performance. He and his current boyfriend are a part of a Cabaret Troupe that performs at gay and lesbian clubs around Paris. That was a LOT of hair. And a lot of shock-blue glittery eyeshadow. But they were fabulous.
When we said our Goobyes to Sandrine, Sebastien, Sabrina and I headed back to the Marais. First they took me to a divey little lesbian bar that didn't seem very lesbian: half the patrons were men, and not with women, and not easily identifiable as gay. That was unusual for this space, according to Sebastien - it's one of the places his Cabaret performs.
Eventually they took me to another bar called "3W". Now THIS is what lesbian dance clubs should be like. Full of smoking hot, scantily clad, not butch, super cruisy lesbians that look you up and down like they're going to eat you alive. Oh. My. Goodness. YUM.
If only we'd gotten there earlier, or I wasn't so tired from being on my feet for the better part of 12 hours, maybe I would have gotten French pussy in addition to the French cock I'd had earlier in the week.
Ah, regrets.
Still, it did turn into Sunday while we were in that lesbian nightclub. I turned 30 in a lesbian bar in Paris.
The bar closed down, and Sebastien offered to take me to another, later place, but I was exhausted. He walked me home, and we said our goodbyes.
He was sweet, and hospitable, and generous, and I really enjoyed spending time with him and his friends. He reminded me SO much of a french version of my best friend, Steve (who is just a little less gay than Sebastien, but not much).
Sebastien, Sandrine, & Eric:
Thank you, Kristy!!
I got the Gay tour of the Marais. Which is somehow better than just wandering around the area, knowing it's the Gay center of Paris (though Monmartre is now giving it a run for its money), with shops, restaurants, bars and nightlife. The Centre Pompidou is in this area, but as I'd been by it many times, Sebastien took me a slightly different route. He pointed out the cool nightclubs on the way to one of the Islands in the middle of the Seine, Ile Saint-Louis. We walked by Notre Dame on Ile de la Cite, and onward to Saint Germain and the Latin Quarter, where Sebastien took me inside Eglise St. Germain.
Wandering around the flea market outside the church, we ran into Paul & Mary. Paris isn't that small, and so yes, it was odd to run into 2 of the 5 people I knew in the city.
From there we walked to Eglise St. Sulpice, thus completing my Da Vinci Code tour of Paris. The Delacroix murals were all I expected, and I'm glad Sebastien and I managed to find the church.
We boarded the Metro and headed toward Monmartre, home to the Moulin Rouge, and Paris' second largest concentration of gays and lesbians. The area immediately in front of the Moulin Rouge, on Boulevard de Clichy, is safe enough by day, but a rough area at night. The gay enclave, as you head up the hill toward Sacre Coeur is slightly more upscale and exclusive than Le Marais.
As we climbed toward Sacre Couer, Sebastien took me on a detour to show me one of his favorite spots in Paris. Down a side street to stand beneath a balcony with a plaque in French on the building, explaining that an Egyptian-born Italian Chanteuse named Dalida had hung herself in the bedroom, just inside the door to the balcony of her home. Her suicide note said simply "Life has become unbearable ... forgive me."
She was 55.
It was not her first attempt. She'd tried before, in 1967, when her singer lover Luigi Tenco successfully took his own life. Her ex-husband shot himself several years after she left him, still distraught over losing her so shortly after their marriage in 1961. In 1983, her lover, magician and entertainer Richard Chanfray also took his own life.
It's not hard to imagine why she felt life had become unbearable.
From there we walked to the junction of Rues Girardon and Abreuvoir in the Butte Montmartre, where a lifesize bust of Dalida was erected in 1997, 10 years after her suicide, commemorating the spot as "Place Dalida".
Over the course of the afternoon, Sebastien had made and received a few calls on his cell phone. Outside the Moulin Rouge, he'd told me we would be meeting up with a couple of his friends.
We met Eric and Sandrine outside the Dali Museum, and they came with us to Sacre Coeur. They were cute, and sweet, but not a couple. I'm pretty sure Eric is gay. I know for a fact Sandrine has a boyfriend, and though she's in her early 20s and they aren't yet married, they are trying to have a baby.
They also happened to speak less English than I do French. Communication wasn't easy, but we all tried really hard!
I was probably more disappointed with Sacre Coeur than any other site on my journey. This huge church built to rival Notre Dame. There was just something so - American - about it. It's not old, but they are full as fuck of themselves. No pictures allowed -- of course not, because they want you to stop in the shop and buy them.
The view from the steps of Sacre Coeur, however, was breathtaking. You look down at the rest of Paris. And it was a beautiful day. We sat on the steps for sometime afterward. Partly to give Sebestien's feet, and my own, a rest. But partly because it is so stunning.
The View:
As we were sitting there, a commotion started on the steps beneath us. A young couple was getting married! It was touching, and it made me cry.
Until the bride stripped off her "wedding dress", a tear-away thing she'd just had on for the photo shoots. They were simply taking the announcement photo for the newspaper. I felt jipped.
We made our way back down to Monmartre proper, and Sebastien sent me with Sandrine and Eric to have a drink while he went shopping for food to make us for dinner. Thank god I had my french-english dictionary with me, or we would have sat there staring at each other.
Outside Sebastien's studio, we said goodbye to Eric. Sebastien lives on the 5th floor of a 6 floor walk-up. Oh, you want to know why Parisians are so skinny when all they eat are fattening, saucy foods, boiled, nutrient lacking veggies, and pastry? It's the walking. And lack of elevators. The French outside of Paris resemble Americans - it's only the nature of Paris urbanity that keeps Parisians fit.
We were not there long when Sebastien's lesbian friend, Sabrina, joined us. While Sandrine would be leaving after dinner, Sabrina was going to come out with Sebastien to lesbian bars. Sabrina looked like your typical butch-lesbian. I think maybe they were trying to set me up, because until we were walking around and I said something about a cute boy, Sebastien had been under the impression I was a lesbian, not bi. Unfortunately, I don't go for butch - unless it's that kind of ambiguous, is she butch, or just tough and suicide girl like, kind of butch. The upside was that Sabrina was at least slightly more conversant in English.
Sebastien pulled out a photo album and I got to see a set of pictures from his latest drag performance. He and his current boyfriend are a part of a Cabaret Troupe that performs at gay and lesbian clubs around Paris. That was a LOT of hair. And a lot of shock-blue glittery eyeshadow. But they were fabulous.
When we said our Goobyes to Sandrine, Sebastien, Sabrina and I headed back to the Marais. First they took me to a divey little lesbian bar that didn't seem very lesbian: half the patrons were men, and not with women, and not easily identifiable as gay. That was unusual for this space, according to Sebastien - it's one of the places his Cabaret performs.
Eventually they took me to another bar called "3W". Now THIS is what lesbian dance clubs should be like. Full of smoking hot, scantily clad, not butch, super cruisy lesbians that look you up and down like they're going to eat you alive. Oh. My. Goodness. YUM.
If only we'd gotten there earlier, or I wasn't so tired from being on my feet for the better part of 12 hours, maybe I would have gotten French pussy in addition to the French cock I'd had earlier in the week.
Ah, regrets.
Still, it did turn into Sunday while we were in that lesbian nightclub. I turned 30 in a lesbian bar in Paris.
The bar closed down, and Sebastien offered to take me to another, later place, but I was exhausted. He walked me home, and we said our goodbyes.
He was sweet, and hospitable, and generous, and I really enjoyed spending time with him and his friends. He reminded me SO much of a french version of my best friend, Steve (who is just a little less gay than Sebastien, but not much).
Sebastien, Sandrine, & Eric:
Thank you, Kristy!!
posted by Serrephim | Thursday, August 03, 2006
1 Comments:
Turning 30 in a lesbian bar in Paris sounds pretty fab. Hurrah!
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