“When good Americans die, they go to Paris,’ the ghost said, after taking a drag on a small cigarette.”
― Karen Chance, Embrace the Night

The sky decided on delivering a full-blown shower and a trio of very drenched Paris Explorers braved their way on foot across the Eiffel Tower and towards Trocadero. Pretty much everywhere in Paris’ city centre you’ll be able to locate patisseries and cafes that are great for alfresco-dining.

A walking distance from Tour de Eiffel is The Carette Paris where locals and tourists alike can be seen nursing a cuppa, having pre-dinner drinks along the pavement portico, or enjoying a full-course dinner in its premises. Its interior decor is made up of beautiful pristine whites in stark contrast to the red velvet cushions and dark brown mahogany woods of their lounges and seats, which in my opinion is the classiest interior colour combination ever.




Dinner was: iced chocolate, almond and cinnamon infused hot milk, a slice of insanely rich opera cake, a piping hot onion and cheese soup as well as assorted macarons!P1070099

A handful of pistachio, raspberry, dark chocolate and sea salt caramel, rose, and fudge cake macarons. My favourite was the pistachio. So yummy! ^^ See how Paris has spoilt me on the dessert front? Overloading on good pastries is a given when in Paris! They have an impressive collection of macarons on offer, you can never taste them all.
carette paris

macarons paris


chocolate shake paris

delicious food paris

And then there was this: the opera cake. I can never have another coffee/chocolate cake without thinking of this one.


Viktoria Jean

had my heart aglow


Memories aren’t created to be tossed aside or fed to the wind.
Most unfortunately whoever created Man didn’t engineer our brains to work as per a shredder does –
feed it in, tear it apart,
then proceed to expel the remnants.

Letting go takes tremendous practice –
a dab of ignorance, a handful of shrugs,
closed eyes, uncountable sighs
and a whole lot of pretense.
Until it doesn’t hurt to think of it anymore.

Till then, perhaps I’ll simply look away.



Continue reading “had my heart aglow”

ladies in hats and pink poodles


“The next night I went back to the sea dressed in 1950s silk travel scarves –
Paris with the Eiffel tower and ladies in hats and pink poodles,
Venice with bronze horses and gondoliers,
New York in celestial blue and silver.
I brought candles and lit the candles, all the candles,
in a circle around the lifeguard stand and put a tape in my boom box.
I came down the ramp with the sea lapping at my feet and the air like a scarf of warm silk
and the stars like my tiara.

And my angel was sitting there solemnly in the sand, sitting cross-legged like a buddha,
with sand freckling his brown limbs and he watched me the way no boy had ever watched me before,
with so much tenderness and also a tremendous sorrow,
which was what my dances were about just as much,
the sorrow of not being loved the way my womb, rocking emptily inside of me,
insisted I be loved,
the sorrow of never finding the thing I had been searching for.”

― Francesca Lia Block, Echo

153. Paris and Winterson

“She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn’t blow up beautiful buildings. She knew the Eiffel Tower was a hideous symbol of phallic oppression but when ordered by her commander to detonate the lift so that no-one should unthinkingly scale an erection, her mind filled with young romantics gazing over Paris and opening aerograms that said Je t’aime.”
― Jeanette Winterson