On my first trip to Paris I was so keen to soak up all this picture-postcard-perfect city has to offer. From vintage flea markets, to flower markets, pastries galore and the stunning gardens of Giverny. One of my first stops was exploring the vintage flea markets or puces where I spent many hours sifting through cards of vintage buttons, fabrics and gazing longingly at vintage clothing. Unfortunately I didn’t really have the budget to bring home too many souvenirs but I did purchase some gorgeous vintage buttons that will eventually adorn outfits in need of a little pizzazz.

My favourite place was actually a train-ride from Paris in the picturesque town of Giverny. Monet’s famous home and garden did not disappoint. Being early spring, the garden was awash with blooms: roses, tulips, wisteria, poppies.

Tiptoeing through the tulips at Giverny

It was such a glorious sight that I spent a number of hours walking the garden paths, capturing as much of the living colour with my camera as possible. That Monet really knew how to live a grand life!

Monet’s house at glorious Giverny

My friend and I stayed in a cosy apartment in the Marais in Rue Beautreillis, and it certainly was beau. We found ourselves a short walk from wonderful bistros such as Cafe de la Poste and from museums such as the Musee Picasso. We spent two weeks becoming part of the neighbourhood, eating copious patisseries at Miss Manon and dining out on several occasions at our favourite local bistro.

Trying hard to look like a Parisian

My schoolgirl French made for some entertaining moments such as the time I asked a gendarme for the way to the flea market with ‘Where’s the place where they sell the old things?’ (I couldn’t remember the word for flea market). To his credit, the gendarme didn’t bat an eyelid and pointed us in the right direction. But boy did Janine and I laugh. Much hilarity was caused by our Franglais, which we were careful only to adopt between us and not in the company of French locals. I found the French to be friendly and very polite, especially when you try to speak their language.

Janine and I enjoyed pretending that the apartment at Rue Beautreillis was ours and coming and going like locals, even if our French sometimes gave the game away.

Cycling at Versailles