hard to believe that it was 5 weeks ago I was in paris & saw mike rosenberg (better known as passenger) perform, one of the best gigs I’ve ever been to.
he played the song in the video below, travelling alone, which struck a chord with me, hence me naming my travel blog after it.
cheers mike.
paris – the sights
here is probably the part where I should warn you, whoever you are, that I am a swearer. I swear a lot. this blog wouldn’t be authentic if I didn’t write it like I talk, so I apologise in advance. probably don’t read it to your kids, nieces or nephews as a bedtime story, just in case.
I arrived in paris at the ungodly hour of 0730am sunday morning. jet lagged, exhausted and emotional that I finally made it; I pulled myself together, had a shower to wash off the 24 hours of travel and got out to enjoy the bloody beautiful weather that paris put on for me. so I started walking. I don’t think there is a better way to explore a city than by aimlessly wandering around, taking in the sites and trying to get your bearings.
my apartment was in le marais area of paris, in my opinion has got to be one of the best parts. central, surrounded by restaurants and cafes, easy to get the metro from… a total win. infact from my window in my apartment I could see notre dame. if that doesn’t scream ‘you’re in paris’, nothing will (unless you stay at one of those decadent hotels that overlooks place de la concorde or the eiffel tower, I guess that would also scream paris).
view from my apartment
a massive paris highlight was getting to see passenger at le trabendo. there’s something seriously liberating about going to a gig on your own, particularly when you’re probably the only native english speaker in the place because you’re the only one singing every word to every song, not just the chorus of ‘let her go’. and the fact it was just mike and his guitar made it even more special, it was a celebration of his music, him sharing what he does best. it was phucking brilliant (yes I know how lame it is to spell fuck like that, but I don’t know who is gonna read this & my grandparents, should they ever get around to technology, don’t need to know how much I swear, or that I know how spell. and sometimes I feel it’s more confronting to see the word fuck written than when it’s actually said in person, I obviously use it as an adjective – it helps me describe things… I make no apologies).
like I wrote before, I walked the shit out of paris. walking from le marais up rue de rivoli to champ des mars/eiffel tower is a bloody long way but I always feel like you can better appreciate the city you’re in if you walk it’s streets. in my first few days of walking, my feet hardly hurt and I thoroughly enjoyed the sunshine. so then thursday morning when I got up, I thought “hey if I’m doing all this asking, perhaps I should wear my birkenstocks that I bought especially for my long days of walking”. fan-phucking-tastic idea victoria.
I read a quote on a coffee mug in one of those god awful tourist shops that said “a bad day in paris is still better than a good day anywhere else”. I really like the sentiment, except for the day I thought I’d dress like a hippy and wear my new birkenstocks because “they’re great walking shoes”… I would have rathered a shit day on nursing placement with an awful supervisor who quizzes you on every drug before you give it, than this day. 2 massive phuck-off blisters as well as a couple of baby onesis not how I imagined I would spend my last two days, hobbling around paris like one of many gypsies I saw on the way (doesn’t help that I also dress like them)
whenever I go away, I always have an amazing time – except for the time I got bali belly that lasted nearly 2 weeks from start to finish – but I sometimes forget the little things that I did or saw. but something I never forget.. food.
travelling alone 