Travel. Write. Drink Coffee. Repeat

(I lovingly wrote this piece in my Parisian hotel room in 2018 – before Brexit happened. Enough said!)

As the countdown to Brexit continues with a yet unknown form or function, travellers may want to take advantage of one of the best things about living in a member country before any unexpected travel obstacles appear in March 2019. 

Short travel times and cheap flights to Europe’s cities make it worthwhile to get in some spontaneous trips to see a few specific things rather than cram everything in just to make the expense worthwhile. 

With tickets as low as £29 per person, visiting Paris to see two favourite art and fashion institutions in two days fits the budget and timeframe. Musée Yves Saint Laurent and Fondation Louis Vuitton are my favourites.

The pervading atmosphere of excitement among the fashionistas outside Musée Yves Saint Laurent is tinged with expectation. Around two blocks, fashion followers of all ages are smoothing their hair, buttoning jackets, checking lipstick, and trying to maintain a suitable nonchalant air. It wouldn’t do to giggle like teenagers waiting for their fave boy band. This is Paris.

I walk to the front of the line with the superiority of one who has booked a ‘skip the line’ advance ticket. I am cringingly underdressed for this queue, but at least I’m comfortable.

I pass red-soled Louboutins, sky-scraper high Jimmy Choos, Nikes (must be American or English) and slightly scuffed Cardins. Accessorising the sculpturally shod feet are vintage Chanel tweed suits, Prada handbags and ‘everything’ Gaultier.

After every show during his five-decade reign, Saint Laurent and his brilliant partner Pierre Bergé, packed away a few of their creations, storing them for some unknown use in the future. The Musée YSL is the result of this visionary action. What foresight, what pride, and what absolutely justified arrogance.

Entering the first high ceilinged salon, a black and white video is flickering with grainy images of a Saint Laurent fashion show from the 1960s. A young Saint Laurent looks more like an accountant than a fashion designer with his black horn-rimmed glasses. Stars of the day, Catherine Deneuve, Johnny Halliday, and a youthful looking Karl Lagerfeld are seen on screen mingling around the catwalks with towering supermodels.

Moving on through darkened salons, elegant sculpted mannequins in stylish vignettes loom over the gawping visitors. Here, a spot-lit tableau of black velvet evening gowns with sparkling jewelled trims; there, a blaze of embroidered and appliquéd colour on Gypsy inspired skirts and blouses. In the corner, geometric pop-art shifts á la Mondrian that I had coveted in my skinny youth. I catch sight of my Marks and Spencer clad reflection. Thank goodness it’s dark.

An impeccably tailored guide directs me to a glass case where two crystal and pearl encrusted evening jackets glisten. Reflections bouncing off glass and mirrored cabinets. It’s like seeing double. 

While I am a dedicated follower of fashion (even if I don’t look the part) there’s a place in this museum that interests me even more than the beautiful clothing.

On the top floor of this Napoleon III style building is Saint Laurent’s studio. The monochromatic office has an ethereal feel. It’s where the legendary design work took place. I almost expect Yves himself to enter, sit at his desk and create. His sharply pointed pencils stand like soldiers in a cylinder next to a stack of expectant drawing paper. Colour swatches and buttons sit atop half-finished sketches. 

Photos, illustrations and architectural doodles are pinned to a cork board on the wall behind. Snake-like curls of silver and gold braid, vibrant silks, floaty feathers and curiously shaped clasps, all within arm’s reach. And poignantly, his late dog Moujik’s water bowl still sits empty under the desk. Saint Laurent’s presence and genius is in every corner of the room. And judging by the silence as others enter, they feel the same vibe. 

While my fellow fashion groupies rest their stiletto-pinched feet, I am thankful for my Nikes. Especially as I am planning a transportation combo of metro, bus and a bike share to my next stop a few kilometres away. 

Fondation Louis Vuitton

For those of us who thought Louis Vuitton was just another luggage maker, here’s the scoop. For six consecutive years, the company, whose products include books, jewellery, silk scarves and the ubiquitous logo-ed suitcases, was named the world’s most valuable luxury brand. No surprise then that there was money available to fund a multi-million euro exhibit space for the world’s greatest contemporary art. 

American architect Frank Gehry was an inspired choice to design this art showcase. His impressive portfolio of art establishment successes includes the Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao; Ohr-O’Keefe Museum of Art, Biloxi, and the Art Gallery of Toronto. 

An almost foregone conclusion, then, that Fondation Louis Vuitton (FLV) was immediately catapulted into being acknowledged as one of Paris’s most iconic buildings.

While the visiting and permanent exhibits are intriguing, it is the building that is the star of this show. 

Open air terraces look out to 360 degree views of Paris. To the north, the shiny futuristic high rises of La Defence. To the south-east, a distant silhouette of the Eiffel Tower. To the west, the billowing trees of Bois de Boulogne. All framed by the wings of glass and gently curved wooden beams pierced with steel, that magically jig-saw this building together. 

The architect himself referred to his building – ‘…as a boat, or even a regatta in the park’. A fitting description of the multiple glass sails sweeping across the structure, which constantly reflect the changing meteorological activity above.

Le Frank restaurant is on the cavernous ground floor. A dizzying art installation – an illuminated shoal of huge fish – swims at ceiling height above the diners. 

Only in Paris could a museum restaurant serve one of the best meals I have ever eaten. Anywhere. Frothy mushroom and coffee velouté, smooth as velvet. Creamy, aromatic diced celeriac topped with a perfectly poached egg. Followed by a warm pear crisp with a lozenge of vanilla ice-cream melting away alongside. There’s a church-like silence as diners eat their way through the many menu choices.

As I unlock my shared bike, I am thankful that I didn’t try to pack more into this brief trip Paris. I’ll wobble back to my hotel and have a cup of tea. Catching another sight of myself on the side of a shiny bus, perhaps I should cram in some clothes buying tomorrow before I leave. After all, who knows how Brexit will change our shopping opportunities.