24 hours in Paris

8pm - Still 20 minutes from the Gare du Nord. I get three different texts from S, asking me where I was, if she should meet me at the station, and then telling me that she was going to wait for me at Point Ephémère.

8:45 - Bumbling up the quai du Valmy and see S, a blurry figure in the distance. It's cold, and she's wearing what she calls a babushka hat. We walk halfway around the block and onto the actual bank of the canal, walk by a café/restaurant, and spot two guys fawning over Annie Clark, before we head into the show. Bouncer stamps Fs on our wrists. Clare & The Reasons have barely begun their set, but I have to hightail it to the restroom.

9:30 - I look at S, my friend that I always want to impress, my friend who reminds me of the word melena. She's wearing a khaki trench coat and gray Converse, and is the only person in the room singing along to the opening band's encore, a cover of Tears for Fears.

10:15 - We are kind of aghast by the second band, and don't know whether to take it seriously. I scan the room, half-obscure at fellow quirkly-dressed indie music lovers, and hear mostly English (the U.S. kind) in between songs. S and I slump against the wall and catch up, then find courtesy again to appreciate the last few offerings of Windmill.

10:55 - Fog and lights for effects. Annie Clark, aka St. Vincent, has reason to enjoy Paris very much. Very fair, with somewhat untidy black hair. Sleeveless green dress and shiny black shoes, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, a guitar, that she totally slays.

11:25 - She plays most of the songs from her album, and I'm duly impressed, wishing that I could also be a multi-instrumentalist virtuoso.

midnight - S and I are walking steadfast to the Gare de l'Est, trying to decide if we should take the 4 all the way down to her stop, or to transfer to the RER one stop over at the Gare du Nord. 10 stops versus 4? You do the math.

*

around 2pm, the next afternoon - We took our time getting out of the house. Walking past the Montparnasse Cemetery, S comments on how much she appreciates her neighborhood. I joke around and say that it's very quiet. S had heretofore been a fan of the 11th, bastion of bobo chic. According to S, it also now includes the 20th. We stop by the Grande Epicerie for macarons, maple syrup, and baking powder. Upstairs, we also peruse many lovely clothes neither of us can afford. S points out that we could at least "get ideas." My perennial favorites: Tsumori Chisato, Marc by Marc Jacobs, Etoile by Isabel Marant, and Sandro.

4:30pm - Still on a high from last night's musical endeavour, St. Vincent streams from the living room. Then, it's Jawbreaker. I find out that my friend makes cookies. And really good ones. She implores me not to eat any more so I don't spoil my dinner. I tell her she'll make a good mom.

5:20pm - G, S's husband arrives. For the first time since we have known each other, on fait la bise. He, also like a little kid, steals a couple of cookies. My friends are very sweet to each other, very couple-y, and I busy myself with their stellar mug collection. S comments on how his Eeeng-leesh has vastly improved, and I have agree that it's awesome, too.

6:40pm - S is ready to go drop me off at the station, and I've yet to put my shoes on. I don't want to leave, but I'm also somewhat responsible. After saying goodbye to G, saying that we'll see each other next year, S and I retrace our steps. A quick hug and I jump on the train, then she fetches me 15 seconds later and tells me it's the wrong one. We chat for a few minutes more until my actual train arrives. Another hug, and I'm off, watching the city fly by.

The thing that I loved the most was that I did practically nothing and still had a great time. Now I'm counting the days until I return.