Three perfect days in Paris 6eme Rive Gauche – day one

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At six in the morning there was a run on the gates of Eurostar in St Pancras International, it seemed like everyone was leaving London. Looking around me I was struck by one of those thoughts that quickly morphs, aided by a recent shot of coffee, into a mini theory. It had to do with last night’s exasperation at my inadequate wardrobe – I wanted to be comfortable but chic for the journey – because it’s not everyday you get to go to Paris by train.
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As the Juicy Couture bottoms bounced past in loud “I’m going on holiday” voices, a beautifully svelte and polished lady joined the queue behind me. I did not have to ask her where she was from, I could see from how her clothes were put together that she was from the continent – an overall grace achieved with subtle colour highlights and character choice of accessories. It was visually impossible not to notice that those boarding the train fell into two distinct camps – one with a flare and edgy scruffiness in defiance to the male gaze, the other polished and ready for an impromptu lunch date.
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If I could, I would travel everywhere by train – it is still by far the most luxurious and least stressful way to travel. Not only for the space and time it gives us, but for the sense of movement – I was gently rocking and rolling to Paris. Secretly, I always imagined I would meet my soul mate on this train; after all there are many ways to start an adventure. Meanwhile Michelle Jana Chan and Mike Reeves were racing to the end of, wearing the same pair of jeans they started in, were somewhere racing across the Alps finishing the last leg of the world’s most grueling and epic classic car rally, Peking to Paris 2013 Rally. Holding second place they were still in with a chance to win and still, as far as I knew, very much a couple.
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As a counterpoint I was taking the leisurely route – why compete with them – with a vague itinerary planned for a walk on the left side in Paris 6eme ahead of their arrival. Arriving into La Gare du Nord the easiest way to get into the heart of the 6eme arrondissement is to hop in the metro and take the blue line #4 heading to Odeon. However, you might want to jump in a taxi and take in the epic scenery as you cross over La Seine from the right to the left bank, just don’t expect the driver to talk to you. Parisian Taxis are notoriously rude, for-warned is for-armed.
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The first figure you meet when stepping out of the metro into the Boulevard St Germain is Danton (1759 – 1794), an imposing bronze created by Auguste Paris. His arm is flung out with such audacity that your eyes instinctively follow the trajectory of his pointing index finger. They come to rest on the Odeon cinema, like a warning; as if Danton is highlighting France’s complicated relationship with foreign influence. La Patrimoine Culturelle which verges on protectionism, is also the very reason why everyone loves to come here – for its cultural integrity. Beneath the famous revolutionary are inscribed the words: “Pour vaincre les ennemis de la patrie, il nous faut de l’audace, encore de l’audace, et toujours de l’audace.” This was to become my mantra then.
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Walking down Rue de Seine straight into the morning market throng, a festival of colour inspired me to empty my pockets on a bouquet of freesias, half a kilo of apricots, and two blocks of foie-gras mi-cuit pressed with figs from stall outside the butcher on Rue De Seine. Seeing my reflection in a window stacked with pyramids of pastel coloured macarons, it was clear I would need a cooler bag for my return.
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The best way to visit any city is through the eyes of someone who loves it, and over three days the Parisienne I was about to meet would finally afford me a glimpse into her enigmatic world and thriving artistic community in the legendary Quartier Latin. Now that I was all grown up with a career and family of my own, my mother, Germaine Kos, was ready to give me un passe partout for a day in the life of an artist/ producer. We lived here briefly in the 1970s and then again in the ‘80s as a family and though life has occasionally intervened to take her elsewhere, it seems this is the only place that feels like home.
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With the whole day before us, Germaine had knowingly structured it around a good lunch. She had made a reservation at La Mediterranée where we were to meet author and producer Patrice Samara and creative director Juanita Koetze, in Paris for fashion week. Looking out on to le Théatre Odeon, surrounded by a watery fresco by Jean Cocteau the scene was set for a perfect day. Its fresh seafood menu and a reasonably priced set lunch make this a local favourite, so advance booking is essential. We began with ceviche, followed by cabaillot au chorizo and finished off with un café gourmand, which is just on the right side of indulgence.
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It’s proximity to Les Jardins du Luxembourg provides the perfect opportunity to walk off your lunch hand in hand – past the pony rides for children and the chess games being played in the shade of the jacaranda trees – far from the maddening crowds. There is a wonderful café there for people watching, or le Rostand just outside the park gates, ideal for those who want to read the papers and opt out of any retail therapy. However the boutiques were calling, and Germaine steered us to her favourite LBD shop Sandro on 16 Rue de Vieux Colombier. Their signature combination of flattering silhouettes with graphic materials and acid colours make their dresses perfect day to night staples.
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Hard as it may seem, hold yourself back for the ultimate triangle of fashion where Rue Jacob meets Rue du Seine. With Isabel Marant, The Kooples, and Ventilo all in a happy cluster you are spoilt for choice. Incidentally the best pharmacie in the quartier is there run by the lovely Jean-Philippe Brege. 61 Pharmacie de Seine is a repository of fantastic cures from anti-histamine to gels for tired legs and boasts an excellent skincare range including NUXE and Claudalie.
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In the mood for “un pause the” we head across to Le Mariage Fréres Rue des Grands-Augustins. The cool colonial atmosphere of this tea apothecary is otherworldly. It is a place to share secrets or find out if you are comfortable in each other’s silence, over a silver pot of Love Song or Falling in Love tea accompanied by delicately scented macarons at Pierre Hermé – the wheat free and therefore guilt-free Parisian indulgence of choice.
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Next door is the little watering hole Bob Cool that also functions as a gallery and makes fabulous mojitos for happy hour if you need to pick up the pace again.
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These both lead onto Rue Christine, where the Relais Christine is nestled discreetly as the most romantic address on the left bank. Made for lovers, this bijoux of a luxury hotel has everything on its doorstep from an art deco cinema, to the best coiffeur in town: Christophe Nicholas Biot Maison de Coiffure et Bar a Chignon.
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His decision to leave his salon on Avenue George V on the right bank and migrate to the left was met with such disdain he could have crossed the Seine on a wave of raised eyebrows. “Mais tu est fou!” everyone told me, but my decision to move here was based on a fundamental difference between the type of customer I was going to get. While the right bank is emphatically BCBG there is a more sophisticated and self-possessed clientele on this side.
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He moved to Rue Saint Andre des Arts in 2010 and within 11 months had acquired the salon and set about creating his own line of products. Christophe has flawless honey toned skin and thick natural fair hair, and very much embodies the image of someone you can entrust with your own transformation. When I ask him his secret he admits to never smoking Gitannes late into the night, combined with his latest creation: Huile Seche no11 – Bio by Biot, a completely organic oil for the face and body that dries instantly on the skin.
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He may operate in a highly superficial industry, but maintains that how you look is not nearly as important as how you behave and touches on a theme that is central to what we at Glass are all about – the story that lies beneath. “People have lost a sense of what luxury means. New things are gilded because they have no history, but real luxury is about the story and history behind it.” Bling without substance is something that appalls him; what he is seeking to establish with his Maison is something that appeals to women with their own evolved sense of personal style.
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“You cannot say that ‘les femmes cultives’ are only sur la Rive Gauche (Left Bank), but la Rive Droite (Right Bank) still holds onto the more superficial – a uniform of sorts and everyone looks like each other – sur la Rive Gauche pas du tout! Here you get real colourful eccentrics, in spite of Paris being very classic. You also get a different kind of foreigner sur la Rive Gauche, they seem to be more refined, more cultivated and are not purely judging on outward appearances. Therein lies the difference between the two banks and it is pretty significant!”
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Christophe then gives me my first “chignon” and sets about turning my bird’s nest into a crown of glory. In 10 minutes I am completely transformed into the image of chic I always had in my head but could never achieve. Cleverly you can choose from three options: 10, 20, and 30 minutes depending on the occasion, and budget which makes his Maison much more accessible to the next generation of fabulous Parisians.
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That evening it was clear that the salon is still very much a way of life in Paris. People from the far-flung corners of the world gathered in a kind of orbit around Germaine who unites them in a shared atmosphere of acceptance. Steve Foster had just returned from London where he is producing a West End show, the criminal defence lawyer Alain Fraitag was fresh out of court, and Carlton from Givenchy cast his cool eyes over me in a protective assessment of his dear friend.
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Why I was here to research this city ahead of the arrival of my friends Michelle and Mike at the end of the Peking to Paris 2013 Rally in their 1940s Ford V8? I was exploring the endless variety and secret passageways that make up this small and perfectly formed Quartier Latin while they raced across thousands of kilometres to get here. There is no map for your heart, and this is a place where mother and daughter, sister and brother, old friends and new lovers can get lost and find each other again.
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by Nico Kos Earle
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All photos by Nico Kos Earle

About The Author

Glass Online arts writer

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