The moment when I came across a tiny street lined with rustic restaurants I could swear Hemingway must have haunted. Or when a brass band started playing and everyone who passed danced. When a round-faced little boy spinning to the music of said brass band became so dizzy he couldn't walk straight and stumbled right into me. Or walking across the tuileries in the yellow setting sun and watching the old men play pétanque and the kids push boats in the fountain.
It is each of these experiences that catch me suddenly and linger on...a sort of secret between Paris and myself. A little piece of Paris just for me. And I think it is these moments in a place that start to make the difference between visiting a place and truly living in it.
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An afternoon stroll in the Tuilerie gardens
Brasse ta Roquette
Mouff'tot? or Mouff'tard? Well...in any case, this is the quaintest street I've stumbled upon yet...
...and apparently Hemingway did come here!
Street art in Montmartre
Quiet street and a cat
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