I just came back from my first weekend trip to somewhere else that is not London. I hope that this will be the first of many of such excursions. These types of trips were one of the main draws for moving to London, besides...you know, London.
Getting to Paris from London is about as easy as getting to Connecticut from Brooklyn at 11am on a weekday, after everyone else has already made their commute, a.k.a it's pretty easy. And then there you are, in Paris.
Lots of Brits don't seem really enamored with the City of Lights. Compared to the Big Smoke, it certainly couldn't be more different, that's true. London looms larger than life and when I first moved here I was terrified to step foot into it. Paris, by contrast, seems to invite you into it, to explore. There's always a place to sit and eat. It always seems appropriate to do those things. Coming back after so many years away felt like slipping on my favorite leather jacket, snug and easy, you're always in the mood for it.
I stayed in Monmartre, just above the Abbesses Metro stop. As fair as a Parisienne quotient, the Hill flies off the charts. Roads that wind and meander, quaint houses, always a place to peak into, food is comforting, and restaurants are cozy. You're also very close to great neighborhoods like South Pigalle, or SoPi, which are hotbeds of hipster action.
There was much eating and much too much drinking, but the crystal clear days that Paris gave us helped us get up and moving. We walked from the Hill to the Marais, the Marais to the Jardin du Luxembourg, the Jardins to the Tuillieries. Big fluffy clouds rolled by, the sky was blue, the sun shone, dogs walked themselves and all was right in the world.