This post is a tribute to this wonderful area that Loke and I just so happened to live in during our time in Paris. Aside from the Montmartre area, this is definitely the highlight of my trip.

Here reads the journal entry of a 22-year-old female roaming around alone on her last evening in Paris:

I am walking along the canal and the day is still bright as a few hours ago. They say summer is coming to an end, but really it feels like it has just begun for me. I see smatterings of people gathered and picnicking, drinking along the waters; a light breeze floats up to greet me as I reminisce the various Monets seen in the Museé d’Orangerie just earlier today; the vivid and colorful paintings look nothing like the plain and smooth green canal waters before and in front of me, but the same fleeting visual qualities link them in my mind; right now, these waters are as beautiful as those Monets before because I can feel the moment and not just see it.

I cross a shaky bridge of a slightly paler green than the canal waters. The men in front of me start jumping to sway the bridge even more; mind you this is no suspension bridge that is meant to sway, but one would not venture to call it a real concrete bridge either. I quicken my pace to make peace with the paranoia and fear of death within me. Soon I reach the other side and continue on my hunt for dinner.

My heart is set on crêpes but the canal does not permit what my heart desires. I will take what the canal can offer me, and right now it is an overpriced Italian pasta meal en terrace with a good glass of light white wine and a wonderful view of aspriring French runners coloring my canvas. My canvas is completed with a snap of my phone’s camera and I’m off to hunt for some sweet crêpes for dessert.

I fear I have angered the canal gods by foolishly asking for more than what they have given me. I walk seemingly miles and miles of water beside me and come to find no crêpes in sight. Should I turn back or should I persist on? Meanwhile along the canal I begin to see more and more indigenous people sitting by the waters. One of the males calls out to me in his native language and I pretend to understand yet smile and quickly walk away in case I am found out to be foreign. The other tribes seem to be wrapped up in their own games of silver balls and bamboo hollows. I know not of their customs but calmly walk past while sneaking curious glances at their domestic affairs.

Alas, I reach a wooden hut almost by the tail of the canal. It is called “Okay Café” and I hurry up the bamboo ladder upon discovering that the café is friendly and serves fresh crêpes with Nutella.