A Yorkshireman in London

There are many things I find different about Paris, but the most surprising, yet I suppose not the most unexpected, is the ability of Europeans to party. I am as yet usure as to how they survive on so little sleep … but perhaps for them the day merely does not exist. Having said that, every now and again it needs to be seen from the inside.

Friday night we trekked across town to ENSTA, another Grande École, for what turned out to be an beginning-of-term party. A large section of the school itself, it seemed, had been draped, lit, transformed into a party venue on two floors. So after the initial confusion of having to purchase a drinks token to successfuly use the bars, the Pastis was flowing freely, the appalling continental dance music was flowing freer, and all to soon I found myself on the first metro home.

Today, we decided that it was not sufficient to spend the whole day nursing a temperamental mind and body, so we headed into the midst of the Fête des Jardins. This event apparently spanned the whole weekend, and was an opportunity to raise awareness of the many parks, squares and gardens that the city has to offer.

I decided not to get my hands messy with the other children taking part in plant re-potting workshops (but you get to keep the plant …) and instead spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly, admiring concrete tennis tables, joggers, dangerous children, with their games even more dangerous to the general public, and pretty little vistas such as the one above, from the Parc de Choisy.

This evening we thought it was time to investigate the conveniently close China Town, where we were pleased to find sustenance for as little as 12 Euros a head, including wine. For the rest of the night my table tennis skills were hounded by Sam, a definite professional, and Lieven, a quicker learner than I am. There is, of course, a whole year for me to learn, and sunday night seems an appropriately quite time in the Bureau des Élèves (similar to a Students’ Union) to indulge this hobby.

Later we drank perculiar smokey bacon beer, with malt, and were showed how babyfoot should be played by Bruno, one of the French guys we came across. Pool, or billiards, however, well that’s quite another matter. Magnanimity, though, my friends …

This entry was posted on Sunday, September 25th, 2005 at 11:48 pm and is filed under Paris. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.