Lines seem to be a theme in Denfert Rochereau. You ascend the staircase, and just across the street is a line for the Catacombs. On the West side is a line for the ORLY Bus. To the Southwest, I’ve seen Cafe Oz have lines that intersect the line for the ORLY Bus. It’s almost aContinue reading “The Bowtie’s Big Ass Guide to Every Neighbourhood in Paris: Denfert Rochereau”
May 26th, 2018 The Setting: 30 minutes before the 2018 Champion’s League final, Real Madrid vs. Liverpool with a growing fervor for the upcoming World Cup. Two friends have invited us to a local’s bar in Denfert Rochereau, a small, cool, but not quite a chic hub, which separates inner and outer South Paris. TheContinue reading “5.26 The Blue Notes: Champion’s League Final”
Listen. Tapas are Spanish, but the Spanish don’t just eat Tapas. Got it? One of my friends from Madrid reminded me of this cliché like…hmm..they only drink sangria, and dance Flamenca, and stay up gabbing until 4am, wait, no, that is a real thing. If anything, the Spanish rival the French in terms of tradition,Continue reading “Très Chic, Très Zen Bars: Des Prés Tapas in Montrouge”
There’s really no ‘scene’ in this part of Paris. It’s disappointing to me because, in contrast, the fringe of New York is where the scene begins. Porte D’Orleans, the place is synonymous with fringe, or Door of Orleans, or ‘how the hell did I end up here.’ Amidst the unending horizon of shady bar-tabacs, fast foodContinue reading “7 Places Both Near and Far Enough from Porte D’Orleans for a Drink”
While the vibe may not be snoot-level 100 like the 15th or 16th arr., it is an uncompromising mix of casual and typical Paris.
The Southern gate of a wall destroyed in World War 1, Porte D’Orleans looks like it hasn’t gotten its act together since. For about a month and a half now, I’ve been living in Paris, and I’ve walked through this hub, maybe 100 times. It’s not a pretty place. I said it Paris, Porte D’OrleansContinue reading “The Bowtie’s Guide to Porte D’Orleans: A Sentimental Dump”
I promise to be as objective as possible and to paint Paris without a reference to Picasso’s brush or, god forbid, Hemingway’s drinking habits.
I’m telling you–it was another misty winter night in Paris, same as all the others. Accompanied by sneakers and patterned socks, flowing overcoats and black-brimmed hats with pluming feathers, we arrive. It’s never so cold in Paris to not dress with elegance; life is never so challenging to not act with the same sentiment. TipContinue reading “Paris Isn’t Much of a Jungle, But There’s Always Tiger”