'Where there is Love, there is Life'. Ghandi.
Words can play a significant role in our lives, and yet, at times, we say things we don't mean and hear someone's story, in our own interpretation, of our story. We make them wrong, we make them suitable, but in the end, it is our map we are getting into.
Widen your horizon of thoughts and deeds.
I took the Eurostar to Paris on Wednesday 17th. Actually, the minicab was late, so I only managed to miss my train, a first for me, but the lady at St Pancreas sweetly changed my ticket to the next one without bargaining. Great start.
My boarding school buddy Cherylin, who now resides in Canada, had booked me at her hotel off Champs Elysées, where she was staying. Once at Gare du Nord in Paris, I took a cab to the hotel, dumped my suitcase, and carried it to Fiac to meet Ario at the VIP entrance.
Now, how did I meet Ario? Firstly, a year ago at the Middle Eastern Art show, Sotheby's in Bond Street London, we gathered to end our evening after the exhibition at Hakassan's restaurant in Mayfair. Next, we saw each other by chance at PAD the week before in London and last, at the artsy dinner Aisha had given only a few days ago, where I helped him cab his way back to his residence. When I told him I would visit Paris on Wednesday, he offered to take me to FIAC, the International Contemporary Art Fair. This time in Paris, the dark, cloudy afternoon soon became irrelevant when I was met by Ario at the VIP side entrance of the Grand Palais, and we gained access to a vast white hall with a fantastic glass roof, a building with much more to offer than the art it bore inside. The art on show differed from the exhilarating kind that left one speechless or in aspiration, but it was too bland for my liking.
Words can play a significant role in our lives, and yet, at times, we say things we don't mean and hear someone's story, in our own interpretation, of our story. We make them wrong, we make them suitable, but in the end, it is our map we are getting into.
Widen your horizon of thoughts and deeds.
I took the Eurostar to Paris on Wednesday 17th. Actually, the minicab was late, so I only managed to miss my train, a first for me, but the lady at St Pancreas sweetly changed my ticket to the next one without bargaining. Great start.
My boarding school buddy Cherylin, who now resides in Canada, had booked me at her hotel off Champs Elysées, where she was staying. Once at Gare du Nord in Paris, I took a cab to the hotel, dumped my suitcase, and carried it to Fiac to meet Ario at the VIP entrance.
Now, how did I meet Ario? Firstly, a year ago at the Middle Eastern Art show, Sotheby's in Bond Street London, we gathered to end our evening after the exhibition at Hakassan's restaurant in Mayfair. Next, we saw each other by chance at PAD the week before in London and last, at the artsy dinner Aisha had given only a few days ago, where I helped him cab his way back to his residence. When I told him I would visit Paris on Wednesday, he offered to take me to FIAC, the International Contemporary Art Fair. This time in Paris, the dark, cloudy afternoon soon became irrelevant when I was met by Ario at the VIP side entrance of the Grand Palais, and we gained access to a vast white hall with a fantastic glass roof, a building with much more to offer than the art it bore inside. The art on show differed from the exhilarating kind that left one speechless or in aspiration, but it was too bland for my liking.
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| Grand Palais - fiac |
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| I sometimes feel this way: green and upside down. Don't we all? |
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| The Hanging Umbrellas |
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| Paul McCarthy's attention-gripping piece, 'George Bush Copulating a Pig', was overpriced and sold! |
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| The Grand Palais exhibitors |
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| Is this the direction the world is going? |
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| Pain = Experience |
It is, however, always interesting to see how the minds have evolved when it comes to art. The works of the old masters have been around for centuries and admired by all, but this new contemporary phase is rarely or barely one to lust for. To observe, yes.
Then again, this is purely a personal opinion.
Then again, this is purely a personal opinion.
After circulating the show for a good few hours, a salad break and many introductions to people Ario knew, we headed out to dinner at Mehr's, whom I had never met before. Basically, Arash (whom I had known well and had no idea was in Paris) called Ario while we were touring around Fiac and, upon finding out I was keeping him company had asked Ario to take me to his friend's, where he was treating us to a Lebanese takeaway. We arrived at Mehr's before everyone else, and our charming hostess was more than welcoming; she even offered us a bottle of her homemade compote to take back. Arash arrived with more friends, and the evening was surprisingly excellent. We chatted and laughed till I sadly had to leave at 1:30am for an embassy appointment the following day. I Got to meet more charming residents of Paris, in particular, a wise gentleman who spoke my philosophy: live and let live and make the most of your moments, or they will not return. We clicked in only a few words and said goodbye.
After an early-ish rise in the morning and attending to my chores, I met up with Didier for lunch, and his friend Éric joined us off the Champs Elysées in an Argentinian restaurant. What luck to find Didier in Paris as he was destined to move to the Far East for a few years on a work mission and had only stayed to collect his visa that same day. The boys dug into a piece of lean meat while I chose a deliciously grilled sea bass. Éric had to leave back to work, so Didier joined me for a walk around the magnificence that surrounded the wide, cobbled street of Champs Elysées, filled with old glamour and refined architecture, with golden statues riding high above tall columns and signs of greatness pouring from every corner one looked.
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| Tour Eiffel |
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| Add caption |
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| Street Exhibits. The Fuming King Kong? |
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| Not a red car with a silver key, au contraire |
After walking for hours in Fiac the previous afternoon and more that day, my feet could no longer take it in those Prada boots, so I begged my friend to taxi our way to St Germain.
I left Didier in café de la Croix Rouge with Arash, who had joined in wishing him farewell, for a stroll around rue de Grenelle in the rain that followed. I managed to return with only one skirt from Sonia Rykiel.
Even Didier commented: "Haldita, all this time and only One skirt?!"
A text vibrated my mobile phone from Lola, who had arrived at the hotel I was staying at. Had to rush. Saying goodbye to Didier was hard, as goodness knows when or where we will next meet: Europe? China?
I returned to the hotel in a hurry at almost 7:00pm; it took roughly ten minutes to get ready and unite with Lola, heading to Café Flore, back in St Germain. Who was waiting for us on that pleasant autumn evening at the café but Francine, the statuesque artist I had met previously at Lola's in London? Une coupe de champagne later, the time had come to visit 'the Museum of Everything', set amongst narrow corridors of an old primary school in the heart of St Germain des Près, where Francine had recently been attending yoga classes, now presenting a range of paintings and works of art by untrained and undiscovered artists, insanely exciting music being played and a chichi crowd to add further flavour to this very unusual show of art. The mojitos were flowing past, and the mingling carried on with a delicious range of food laid out on the ground floor, provided by the latest 'derrière' restaurant in Paris.
I left Didier in café de la Croix Rouge with Arash, who had joined in wishing him farewell, for a stroll around rue de Grenelle in the rain that followed. I managed to return with only one skirt from Sonia Rykiel.
Even Didier commented: "Haldita, all this time and only One skirt?!"
A text vibrated my mobile phone from Lola, who had arrived at the hotel I was staying at. Had to rush. Saying goodbye to Didier was hard, as goodness knows when or where we will next meet: Europe? China?
I returned to the hotel in a hurry at almost 7:00pm; it took roughly ten minutes to get ready and unite with Lola, heading to Café Flore, back in St Germain. Who was waiting for us on that pleasant autumn evening at the café but Francine, the statuesque artist I had met previously at Lola's in London? Une coupe de champagne later, the time had come to visit 'the Museum of Everything', set amongst narrow corridors of an old primary school in the heart of St Germain des Près, where Francine had recently been attending yoga classes, now presenting a range of paintings and works of art by untrained and undiscovered artists, insanely exciting music being played and a chichi crowd to add further flavour to this very unusual show of art. The mojitos were flowing past, and the mingling carried on with a delicious range of food laid out on the ground floor, provided by the latest 'derrière' restaurant in Paris.
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| The entrance to the Museum of Everything |
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| One of the musicians playing on the stairway |
All in all, it was an enchanting start to a long evening. Francine suggested we visit David Lynch's private club, Silencio's, accompanied by Lola and Graça, whom I had just met. The four of us cabbed our way to the distinctively wood-panelled interior where a live band was playing, and smoking was allowed in a room separated by a glass sheet with tree-like branches holding ashtrays inside. We all agreed it is one of the most atmospheric interiors for a club.
No photos were allowed!
As the band with a lady singer terminated their performance and another lady DJ began playing on stage, we moved around the different rooms, then decided to part and join the creator of the Museum of Everything at a cafè near rue du Bac, which always brings me back special memories.
We chatted to more people and sat at a large table outside the café, as the weather was delightful for a mid-autumn evening.
When the waiter finally managed to kick us all out as the closing hour was well overdue. We, once again, taxied our way to Maxim's Club, which used to be a restaurant of prestige and ball gowns in my mother's time. It now was a shabby-looking space, with no dinner tables in sight and loud music being played on different floors; more like rock and roll and certainly not glamorous in any way.
While we danced in the first-floor room with a bar at the end, I suddenly felt as if my feet could scream or cry; this was definitely a moment of trauma for them. I really had to get them home to rest. Once more, Lola and I said goodbye to our group's leftovers and left for our hotel at 4:30am. Even the offer of finishing the night at the Baron Club could not tempt us.
And where did we spend the most time of our evening? Guess ... In taxis.
The following day, I left the hotel before midday for a spot (maybe more than just one spot) of shopping back to St Germain (next time, I'll get a hotel in this area!) and the first boutique I went to, Sandro's, got stuck in and came back carrying two large bags with a very smiley shop assistant who had established her sale for the day, she was most accommodating.
Finding my way back to Café Flore took a little longer, as there was a selection of shoe shops to visit on the way. Did you get to read my blog post about a poem on a shopping spree? '
Lola was busy in her 'mobile office'. She waited until my healthy salad niçoise was consumed before heading back to Champs Elysées, where I finally met my old boarding school chum, Cherylin, for an hour of chatter in my hotel room. She left for dinner with her hubby and me and got a text to join Lola and the lovely Gemma at another most unusual setting in Montparnasse. When the taxi left me at the doorstep of an almost empty street, I presumed he must have the wrong address. Still, then Gemma opened the entrance door and led me through a vast, long courtyard, passing glass façades of closed galleries until we got to the end house, in a corner and entered an ample space of what looked like a crisscross between a large living room and a library of a high ceiling. Inside sat a mixed group of about thirty people at a long dinner table and, on one side, the works of K-Narf and Elisa in the form of photos hanging on long white panels against rows of books on wooden shelves. Candles were lit, and dinner was obviously over; it was past ten o'clock, after all. As I sat at the table, a young man began reciting his poem in French; I softly asked Lola: "Is he rapping?"
My young friend seemed surprised by my question and laughingly answered: "You're so old, Haldita! Yes." Haha.
We said our goodbyes to Gemma, hoping to see her sometime soon. This girl had one of the friendliest looks and smiles I had encountered.
As Lola well-put in the words of Paris... Parisians genuinely understand their city's beauty and grandeur and take great pride in it, while most Londoners take their city for granted.
Saturday morning had arrived sooner than imagined, and Lola headed to Charles de Gaulle airport while I went down for a proper heart-to-heart with my old friend Cherylin, accompanied by her husband. Sitting for hours at the Café de l'Avenue was heart-warming, reminiscing on our past and present and returning to the stories her husband told me of one of my father's wine business back home. With the rain pouring outside, I felt the tears inside, sensing my father's spirit all around me. Great old friends are to be cherished, and to see them through decades, each having gone through our own turmoil of what life brings and sharing our stories are as precious as reading the most invigorating book.
Heading towards Eurostar was my last taxi ride on this trip in Paris, with my half-full suitcase now bursting with the latest number of clothes and shoes the city had to offer. The two-hour twenty-minute train journey passed as fast as the flashes of the scenery outside its windows, and I arrived home in London in time for a hairdressing appointment, followed by a three-hour nap before heading to Fabric for the long night, thirty-two hours of nonstop rave. Malik, whom I had met regularly in the club for many years, came to accompany me on the drive to the club. I am truly blessed with the youngest group of unique, bright and super fabulous friends any woman could experience in a lifetime, and I do not take a minute of my life for granted; sure, I get hurt and upset at times, but God, as I tell everyone...
'Ma vie est ma fantaisie'. 'My life is my fantasy and beyond'.
Once at my favourite table in Fabric, Thomas, who I had bumped into in Frieze and had asked to join us for his birthday celebrations, began the party with a group of his wonderful companions. Bretta, with whom we got well acquainted throughout the night, and Jules, who was most charming in calling me a unicorn' by the early morning hours, were especially enchanting. Sirena arrived just after us, accompanied by a girlfriend and throughout the night, others came to leave their footprints momentarily at our table and some in our hearts. The music was excellent throughout the nine-hour stay, and finally, at 10:30am, Sirena accompanied me for a drive back home. Oh, what a night! I have caught every Fabric Anniversary in the past eight years! And as we discussed with Malik, we have made fabulous friends in this underground brick museum of music. MDAaaamazing.
Another week has passed, and I have had a nasty flu. Surprised? Not.
Many times a day, I look back at my life in the past ten years, and every single time, I shake my head and think:
"Wow! How surreal a life am I leading? God, I'm truly blessed and grateful. Thank you."
No photos were allowed!
As the band with a lady singer terminated their performance and another lady DJ began playing on stage, we moved around the different rooms, then decided to part and join the creator of the Museum of Everything at a cafè near rue du Bac, which always brings me back special memories.
We chatted to more people and sat at a large table outside the café, as the weather was delightful for a mid-autumn evening.
When the waiter finally managed to kick us all out as the closing hour was well overdue. We, once again, taxied our way to Maxim's Club, which used to be a restaurant of prestige and ball gowns in my mother's time. It now was a shabby-looking space, with no dinner tables in sight and loud music being played on different floors; more like rock and roll and certainly not glamorous in any way.
While we danced in the first-floor room with a bar at the end, I suddenly felt as if my feet could scream or cry; this was definitely a moment of trauma for them. I really had to get them home to rest. Once more, Lola and I said goodbye to our group's leftovers and left for our hotel at 4:30am. Even the offer of finishing the night at the Baron Club could not tempt us.
And where did we spend the most time of our evening? Guess ... In taxis.
The following day, I left the hotel before midday for a spot (maybe more than just one spot) of shopping back to St Germain (next time, I'll get a hotel in this area!) and the first boutique I went to, Sandro's, got stuck in and came back carrying two large bags with a very smiley shop assistant who had established her sale for the day, she was most accommodating.
Finding my way back to Café Flore took a little longer, as there was a selection of shoe shops to visit on the way. Did you get to read my blog post about a poem on a shopping spree? '
Lola was busy in her 'mobile office'. She waited until my healthy salad niçoise was consumed before heading back to Champs Elysées, where I finally met my old boarding school chum, Cherylin, for an hour of chatter in my hotel room. She left for dinner with her hubby and me and got a text to join Lola and the lovely Gemma at another most unusual setting in Montparnasse. When the taxi left me at the doorstep of an almost empty street, I presumed he must have the wrong address. Still, then Gemma opened the entrance door and led me through a vast, long courtyard, passing glass façades of closed galleries until we got to the end house, in a corner and entered an ample space of what looked like a crisscross between a large living room and a library of a high ceiling. Inside sat a mixed group of about thirty people at a long dinner table and, on one side, the works of K-Narf and Elisa in the form of photos hanging on long white panels against rows of books on wooden shelves. Candles were lit, and dinner was obviously over; it was past ten o'clock, after all. As I sat at the table, a young man began reciting his poem in French; I softly asked Lola: "Is he rapping?"
My young friend seemed surprised by my question and laughingly answered: "You're so old, Haldita! Yes." Haha.
We said our goodbyes to Gemma, hoping to see her sometime soon. This girl had one of the friendliest looks and smiles I had encountered.
As Lola well-put in the words of Paris... Parisians genuinely understand their city's beauty and grandeur and take great pride in it, while most Londoners take their city for granted.
Saturday morning had arrived sooner than imagined, and Lola headed to Charles de Gaulle airport while I went down for a proper heart-to-heart with my old friend Cherylin, accompanied by her husband. Sitting for hours at the Café de l'Avenue was heart-warming, reminiscing on our past and present and returning to the stories her husband told me of one of my father's wine business back home. With the rain pouring outside, I felt the tears inside, sensing my father's spirit all around me. Great old friends are to be cherished, and to see them through decades, each having gone through our own turmoil of what life brings and sharing our stories are as precious as reading the most invigorating book.
Heading towards Eurostar was my last taxi ride on this trip in Paris, with my half-full suitcase now bursting with the latest number of clothes and shoes the city had to offer. The two-hour twenty-minute train journey passed as fast as the flashes of the scenery outside its windows, and I arrived home in London in time for a hairdressing appointment, followed by a three-hour nap before heading to Fabric for the long night, thirty-two hours of nonstop rave. Malik, whom I had met regularly in the club for many years, came to accompany me on the drive to the club. I am truly blessed with the youngest group of unique, bright and super fabulous friends any woman could experience in a lifetime, and I do not take a minute of my life for granted; sure, I get hurt and upset at times, but God, as I tell everyone...
'Ma vie est ma fantaisie'. 'My life is my fantasy and beyond'.
Once at my favourite table in Fabric, Thomas, who I had bumped into in Frieze and had asked to join us for his birthday celebrations, began the party with a group of his wonderful companions. Bretta, with whom we got well acquainted throughout the night, and Jules, who was most charming in calling me a unicorn' by the early morning hours, were especially enchanting. Sirena arrived just after us, accompanied by a girlfriend and throughout the night, others came to leave their footprints momentarily at our table and some in our hearts. The music was excellent throughout the nine-hour stay, and finally, at 10:30am, Sirena accompanied me for a drive back home. Oh, what a night! I have caught every Fabric Anniversary in the past eight years! And as we discussed with Malik, we have made fabulous friends in this underground brick museum of music. MDAaaamazing.
Another week has passed, and I have had a nasty flu. Surprised? Not.
Many times a day, I look back at my life in the past ten years, and every single time, I shake my head and think:
"Wow! How surreal a life am I leading? God, I'm truly blessed and grateful. Thank you."
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