I woke up when Marianne ate breakfast next to my couch camp and later had a coffee with Jean-Babtiste before they both went to work. I took a long hot shower and inspected my brooze (it's still here, but it's about to fade away... think of a wild tiger's bite on the hip in dark purple, sprinkled and sparkled with black, red, blue and green spots and vains. I have never seen anything alike on my poor body. That damn suitcase...).

Above Rue de Panama, I sat on the little balcony for a while, watching characters and figures passing by underneath, returning, walking circles, rushing, standing still - before I collected my camera, my umbrella and myself and left the house.

Wanting to photograph street merchants, market screamers and hookers, I walked around Goutte d'Or, but realized sometimes it's better to see and to remember than to photograph. People were kind and smiled at me, but the camera was better to keep in my bag for most situations and scenes that I saw.

I took the métro downtown to Pont des Arts, where lovers put their locks on the rail and throw the key into the Seine. I sat down by the railing and watched a young girl trying to "lock" a golden necklace with a broken heart to the bridge. She was crying. After a while I got scared the bridge might collapse under all the weight of broken hearts - and I left.

I watched the water police trying to rescue a sinking boat by the banks of Île de la Cité and walked down the boardwalk back to the métro, getting out a stop later and crisscrossed Île St. Louis, when a heavy rainstorm suddenly chased tourists and pedestriants off the beautiful island. Me and my flipped checked umbrella stayed for a while, getting wet and breathing in the fresh air. With a rather wild hairdo, I passed the bridge back to the mainland and walked towards le Marais.

On Rue de Rivoli, I bought a sandwich and some orange juice and sat on a bench under a tree. A lady approached, sat down and started a little conversation. She was sure if I was carrying my camera around like that, it would be stolen from my shoulder in an instant. When I smiled at her and said that if I hid it in my bag it wouldn't be of any use, she stared at me, puzzled, as if I was the craziest person she had talked to that day. I took off being proud I'd spoken French, leaving my camera hanging on my right shoulder with pride.

After strolling around not finding anything of great interest, I took the métro to the invisible Bastille and walked down Boulevard Henri IV over Pont de Sully to Institut du Monde Arabe to find it closed. Yes, it was monday! I took a left on Boulevard St. Germain and passed a huge construction sight called Sorbonne, walked through Quartier Latin watching old ladies with dogs drinking their café and dropped by at Jardin du Luxembourg, enjoying a few sunrays hitting my nose, left through the back exit, got passed by a sad funeral in the rain at Cimetière du Montparnasse and watched shopwindows and busy Parisians on Rue des Rennes.

Due to heavy rain I took the métro at St. Sulpice back to Montparnasse Bienvenue, walked long tunnels and took long escalators, took another train to Place d'Italie and from there to Censier Daubenton. I found Rue Mouffetard completely deserted in the rain and decided that's why I love such weather. Accidently I passed Hemingway's apartment on Place Contrescarpe and regretted I didn't bring any of his books to follow his routes.

I changed streets to Rue Monge, got soaking wet and took the métro back to the Marais area, thinking I might have missed what's all about it. From Sully-Morland I walked the whole area, observed a young couple making out on the street and watched a beautiful prostitute waiting for clients in a side street of Rue de la Verrerie. My feed started hurting but I kept on walking until I reached Le Louvre, sat down and watched people passing for a while, until I got on my wet feed again, crisscrossed the Seine over several bridges, walked along the riverbank passing a French history lesson for American students by the river and, heavy-hearted again, took the train home to Château Rouge.

I walked up Montmartre to find an open store to buy some wine for my hosts and, knowing this would be my last real day to explore, tired out of my mind, exhausted, cold and wet, I reached Rue de Panama, had a great dinner with Marianne and Jean-Babtiste and slept like a baby.


Heaven above Rue de Panama.










Pedestrians on Rue de Panama.


Backyard in Rue de Panama.


Wig shop in Rue des Poissonniers.


Métro Château Rouge.


Magic moment in the métro station.


I might have gotten observed.


On Pont des Arts.


Old lady windowshopping at a boucherie on St. Louis.


Storm on Pont Marie.


Chitchatting at le Marais.


Street scene at le Marais.


Brasserie at le Marais.


Flower shop at Quartier Latin.


An old man enjoying the few sunrays at Jardin du Luxembourg.


Pedestrian at Jardin du Luxembourg.


Beauty on Rue Vavin.


Breasts "all over the shop" in Montparnasse.


Rue des Rennes.


Pigeon attack on Rue des Rennes.


Saint in Quartier Latin.


Waiting for business near Rue de la Verrerie.


Making out at 4e.


Wonderweel by Le Louvre.


Young couple enjoying the evening on Pont des Arts.


Businessman biking home from work.


Tunnel views by the Seine.


An old lady and a young girl delighted by each other.


Home is where my clothes are.

All photos: Carolin Weinkopf

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