Sesame Street in Paris


While attempting to make our way to the National Picasso Museum, Clarrie decided we needed to make a pit stop at a park. As I’ve said before, this is part of the joy (and sometimes frustration) of travelling with little tikes.

What struck us about this park wasn’t the park itself, but the clientele.

Let me explain….

FASHION

paris-parkAs Elyse noted, the Square Charles-Victor-Langlois was like an episode of Sesame Street. There was a bunch of effortlessly cool kids here, aged anywhere from 10 up to maybe 18 years old. There were no brand names in sight- no accessorising and limited makeup and jewellery.

Just a bunch of kids hanging out in a kids park on all the swings and slides.

In arguably the world’s fashion capital, it turns out the coolest brand is no brand. I can’t imagine seeing this is Australia. It would just be a sea of Puma, Nike or New Balance shoes, jumpers and track pants. And there would be chintzy jewellery and makeup.

Maybe I’m just a cynical old man.

Having said all that, on the way to the park we did pass the most elegantly dressed man I have ever seen in my life. And again, effortless, although this man was wearing a purple suit. I turned to Elyse as we walked by him and stated that I wished I too could get up and dress like Prince every day.

The actual park

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So yes, we’re here for Clarrie to have a play, not to look at the fashion of the adolescents locaux.

The park itself follows Paris’ apparent disdain for accessible grass in public spaces (unless it’s fenced off), but it’s fabulous all the same. This park in particular is surrounded by buildings of around 4 or 5 stories. I imagine any attempts to grow grass here would fail due to lack of regular sunlight.

Unlike many of the other parks and playgrounds we’ve been to on this trip, there was no other babies or parents in sight. Clarrie was by far the youngest person here (by at least a decade), with the main clientele being the aforementioned anti-fashionistas, and office workers having their lunch.

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Apart from the usual fare of swings, slides and roundabouts, there was also a ping-pong table. I have no idea if the bats and balls are somehow supplied or if one brings their own.

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The sandpit was a particular favourite with Clarrie, as were the balance swings. There were buckets and spades in the sandpit – I have no idea if they’re part of the park or if there’s a toddler wandering the streets of Le Marais wondering where the hell he left his stuff.

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