1 March 2015

One recent lazy Sunday morning, I found myself scanning through hundreds of photographs on my iPad. It was the height of winter in NYC and the temperature outside had dipped far below freezing.

From my window, I could see the streets and sidewalks littered with dirty snow and ice from the blizzard that swept through weeks back. But inside my apartment, the warmth from the radiator and Edith Piaf’s quivery voice from the turntable made me almost forget the cold.

I swipe my index finger on the iPad screen and come across pictures from my recent trip to France. And I am wistful.

Medieval hilltop village of Gordes

My friends and I had spent a good part of July in France this past summer, spending a few days in Paris before bunking in for a couple of weeks in a rented house with a pool in the lovely town of L’ Isle Sur la Sorgue in Provence.

Paris has always captivated the artist in me. Every street corner seems picture perfect. I can fully understand how, more than a century ago, even the most mundane Parisian scene could inspire artists to paint.

Viewing Impressionist paintings at the Musee D’Orsay on our first full day in Paris, I decided that this time around I wanted to experience Paris in a more basic off-the-beaten-track manner and, inspired by these artists, would try to capture typical Parisian moments armed only with my digital camera and a lot of (amateurish) enthusiasm.

Serendipitously, upon coming home to our Airbnb apartment that night, I received an email from Airbnb offering small group walking tours to less traveled neighborhoods of the city guided by native Parisians. I immediately booked a spot in one of the tours.

Our guide Ludovic had recently quit his job but had discovered that bringing curious tourists around “his very own Paris” was a great way to pay the bills and share his city. My friend Amie and I, along with 4 other curious tourists, met him at a nondescript corner at the pedestrian district of Montorgueil.

We walked along less manicured boulevards and streets, browsed through local markets and enjoyed coffee in secluded cafés. We ordered pain au chocolait at a local boulangerie and got a kick out of local street art. Over the next few days, we, ourselves, ventured to outer arrondissements and were pleasantly surprised at what we discovered.

These are some of those photographs, taken candidly and surreptitiously. How fascinating it is to witness ordinary Parisians in their own haunts.

A father and a son sitting in the eclectic salon of Le Comptoir General near Canal Saint-Martin.

Le Comptoir General, Canal Saint-Martin

A young handsome executive making a phone call on the balcony of his swanky apartment near the Bastille as I glanced from the Coulee Verte (an older Parisian version of the High Line)

Man and his mobile. An apartment near the Bastille

A boy posing in front of a colorful carousel near the Tuileries

Boy in front of carousel. Jardin du Tuileries

A man pensively waiting with his bicycle in the Square Louise Michel at the foot of Sacre Couer

Man and his bicycle. Square Louise Michel. Montmartre. Sacre Couer in background

A tall, dapper, young man of North African descent strutting along Rue Montorgueil

Well-dressed man walking along Rue Montorgueil

Provence was also a perfect setting to capture simple scenes that had inspired Impressionist painters.

We drove along narrow winding roads to visit medieval siena-colored hilltop towns, passing by vast fields of lavender and coquelicots. We took the train to hip and historic Avignon during its art festival and had a nice lunch at an outdoor café in picturesque Arles, not far from the café immortalized by Van Gogh.

The inspiration for Van Gogh”s Cafe Terrace at Night

We visualized Monet’s Lilies as we dipped our feet in the cold, clean, green waters of the river Sorgue, and watched carefree teens row their makeshift canoes in its currents.

The emerald green River Sorgue

Teens on a canoe. L’Isle sur la Sorgue

As the days wound down, we settled in the warm waters of our pool as our quaint home laid resplendent in the late afternoon sun.

Our Provençal home

A nostalgic smile comes over me as I glance over the photographs of that lovely summer in France, relishing these “paintings” of life in less-travelled Parisian neighborhoods and quiet idyllic afternoons in Provence.

As I sit by the window of my NYC apartment, it is wintry cold outside, but my home is basking in the golden warmth of a Provençal summer and the fragrant scent of lavender from Luberon.

Lavender fields of Luberon