First night in Paris at the Quartiere Vavni in Arrondissement 6.

I’ve got a bad case of VSOE withdrawal. Going from complete service on the Orient Express to fending for myself in Paris.

As it happened, I found myself at a cafe on a corner in Luxembourg for some epic people watching.

A couple in their late thirties. Both professionals. He arrived at the table first, ordered himself a glass of rosé and lit up a cigarette. 15 minutes later, a chic looking woman joined him. He then ordered a carafe of rosé and a little glass bucket with ice. She is talking – French – sounds like she had a bad day. Oh but wait – they’re flirting. I think they’ve just started dating. Why? Because he’s actually listening to her.

Unless that’s what French men do.

Behind me – I haven’t stared yet, give me a second. It’s two men in their twenties who are working in fashion. Bitching about being assistants to someone who doesn’t appreciate them. Beautiful. African I think. They seem to be a couple. With them an Asian woman who they chided should order in English if she wanted to. Odd, I thought. But, she did.

All the while I am luxuriating in sloppily eating Petites Sardines á l’huile d’Olive. Slathering the butter that came with my order on what to them is probably some mundane bread (and to me is a little piece of heaven).

Digging the little Basque fish out of the can – and strategically laying it over the buttered bread. Squeezing some lemon and trying to maneuver it into my mouth without oil dripping down the corner of my mouth and onto my chin.

Not sure I succeeded, but man it was soooo good!!

Ha! The waiter just came and took all the goodies away. No “are you finished, Madam.” By that point I had progressed to squeezing the lemon into the oil left in the can with tiny bits of fish. And just dipping the bread into it. I guess I’m done.

Over my left shoulder – as I discreetly tried to take on the scene – sits a bohemian looking woman with white hair. She was nursing her one cup of coffee and madly scribbling away on a small pad. She seems oblivious to the “scene” around her.

Oh did I mention – everyone’s smoking.

A superb perch for people watching. An elderly couple crossing the street – he has a cane – she a baquette.

A woman sitting at a table with her two dogs. I suspect this is HER table. She was sitting in an alleyway that had bins of books, a restaurant and a theatre. At least one was a stage theatre – I might go see their Macbeth (The Notes) just for the experience. And though I didn’t see where the movie theatre was located – I did see posters for movies.

Earlier, I saw a Parisian woman confident and striding across the street. She was sporting the quintessential Breton-striped shirt. She was tastefully braless, and wearing baggy denims that had a high hem. And unpretentiously and unconsciously stylish.

Welcome to Paris.