I don’t remember Paris ever being this hot. Heat rises up from the ground and radiates from the stone walls. Every dress that I had reserved for the city of lights, sits helplessly in the closet of my sweat-box apartment.
The ice cream stands are fantastic business models. While half of the people in Paris are sipping wine, the other half are eating ice cream. The small cafe Flore En Ils, at the foot of the Notre Dame has mastered tourism. This cafe sells the “Best Ice Cream in Paris”. Or so I am reminded by each consecutive tour guide at 5 minute intervals. Each group between 20-30 people line up to buy a scoop at 6 euro a pop. I admit… it is totally worth it! That is how they can afford to gather 35 of the best chefs in Paris to continually come up with new and whimsical flavours. So far, I’ve tried wild strawberry, raspberry, passion fruit and dark chocolate. Is it wrong to have ice cream and wine for dinner? If so, then I don’t ever want to be right.
Sancerre, ice cream, and classical violin (complements of the man on the bridge)… I’ve almost forgot about the oppressive heat.
Walking back to the Marais, the diminishing evening sun intensifies each narrow cobblestone street stretching out shadows making things seem larger than they are. Sometimes in these moments it’s serenely magical… sometimes I like to pretend that I am the Cracken from the Sea…