Le Marais

Back in Hannover, I can reflect on last week’s 4-day trip to Paris.

Le Marais has been on my list of geographical locales to wander around (or as the French would say, be a flâneur in) for some time… Learning about its existence as the gaybourhood from a film called ‘Paris, Je T’aime’, I first journeyed there in 2008. I hung around in a lesbian bar, where I learned that Parisian queer women also choose to be accountants at a higher than usual rate, like their Sydney counterparts. (I imagine it has to do with financial stability, when other parts of your life offer upheaval.)

Since then, I’d heard that the district (also known as the 4th arrondissement) had gentrified. The internet told me that, while prices had gone up, there hasn’t been a new gaybourhood to definitively emerge, so if I wanted a dose of queer (and Jewish) culture, it was the place to be.

I loved my 2025 trip there more than my 2008 one: I visited in the mornings, when the refracted light rectangles from windows catching the sunshine lay on the tall, pale facades. I felt like I was a cat chasing a light beam, as I strolled the touristy but elegant backstreets. 

The passing Parisians were few in the morning, making for some nice sensory experiences. When I say ‘touristy’ I am thinking about English language signs which were the only language of communication. I entered a small, glamorous café called ‘City of Light’ which seemed particularly beautiful in sleek whites and velvety port pinks. Under-lit and overpriced, I enjoyed a café latte there, while asking the barista about the salads of the area and not meeting with an actionable recommendation. 

Along the way, over three days, I found a Swedish Institute, an educational institution dedicated to environmental sustainability, a small restaurant for Tunisian street food, plaques commemorating Jewish residents who had called Le Marais home until they were tragically abducted and killed by the Nazis, a micro-park dedicated to a gay man, the Carnavalet Museum (a pleasure to photograph from outside, and also brimming with beauty on the inside), a highly regarded crêpe restaurant where I had a salad with sliced gallette rolls on my first visit and a gallette with foie gras on my last…

By the third day I’d invited my Dad to enjoy the neighbourhood with me, and enjoy he did. We found our way to the Place des Vosges, a small, square park with four fountains (one near every corner), and a giant statue of a former king on a horse. Even though it was popular with locals and tourists alike, we managed to acquire a shaded bench to sit on and people-watch from. We had a box of cherries with us, Dad’s favourite fruit, and they were lovely.

I left the park before I’d had my fill of it, due to the sudden influx of American tourists generating uncomfortable levels of noise behind us, but we had time to drop by a few of the many upmarket art galleries surrounding it.

An honourable mention goes to a little courtyard lined with small businesses that I stumbled upon. There was nobody to be seen there, but a sign informed me that it was a little space to be enjoyed in times of greater activity. Additionally, a small, concrete square was lined with restaurants and looked charmingly stylish. A peek inside the most popular one turned up rustic decor with eclectic lamps in all sorts of colours.

Close to the church of St Paul (where the metro gets its name from), I loved to see a store which I had seen in other parts of France, Pylones. I acquired a few things from there, including gifts. There was a patisserie called Miss Manon where I savoured a chocolate eclair on my first day, and an artisan chocolate shop were I tried a sample of something crunchy.

All in all, Le Marais offered pleasurable moments aplenty!

Future Travels?

In the event that I can continue visiting Europe for my holidays, the list of destinations below can act as a guide:

a) Bruges & Ghent

b) Lille

c) Colmar, Strasbourg, Riquewihr, Eguisheim, Freiburg im Breisgau, Baden-Baden

d) Rothenburg ob der Tauber

e) Dresden

f) San Sebastian & Bordeaux

g) The Hague, Rotterdam, Utrecht, Giethoorn

h) Alberobello

i) Taormina

j) Bolzano

k) Lake Como & Lake Garda

l) Vienna, Hallstatt, Salzburg, Innsbruck

m) Munich, Mittenwald, Füssen & Neuschwanstein

n) Bamberg

o) Regensburg, Augsberg, Würzburg, Dinkelsbühl

p) Siena

q) Bremen*

r) Tomar, Tavira, Lisbon

s) Madeira

t) Corsica

u) Greek Islands

Island Life

The architecture is often sandy, pock-marked stone, with boldly coloured balconies jutting out into narrow streets. Valletta is laid out in a grid, allowing air from the Mediterranean Sea to flow through. There is very little greenery, but the capital has a languid charm, the locals persisting in helping the traveller out. The capital is walkable, not much more than a kilometre in diameter at its longest stretch. There are Michelin rated restaurants, catering to a mostly European traveller. You won’t hear many American accents in this part of the continent.

I got to chatting with another solo diner from Ragusa in Sicily, who told me the island has heady notes of Italy. He had come to Malta via the waterways. We watched deliverymen drop off fresh vegetables and potatoes from Italy and Britain to Nenu The Artisan Baker’s, where I had had a traditional bread with anchovies, olives, potatoes and tomatoes sprinkled with herbs. Light on vegetables but a heavy on tradition, the decor of the place was organised around a partially arched ceiling, with accents of pink-red. 

I fell for the unique architecture, which dazzled me in the warm sunlight and kept me guessing with different patterns. Curves abound, and the balconies get asymmetrical often enough to keep me wanting to document the way they pop up.

An elderly clothing store owner taught me how to say Hello in Maltese (which I have but forgotten now), calling me sweetie every so often as he recounted his family’s immigration around the time of World War Two, mused that there are probably a lot of Maltese in Australia (especially in Perth), exclaimed that he couldn’t handle the day-long journey to my part of the world, and complained that visitors to his shop don’t say Hello and Goodbye today, just drifting in and out. Consistent with this sentiment, he made sure to greet me again as I passed by later that day, even though he was in conversation with a group of people. I returned the greeting. 

I have found that the Maltese respond to genuine friendliness in kind, though they seem kind of low in enthusiasm.

Lübeck

You turn to me co-conspirationally

A smile never far from your lips

We savour a familiar connection

Set amongst unfamiliar surroundings

You are the sweetest, most considerate of friends

I notice you taking the gentlest of care with me

We move through a soothing variety of spaces

Emboldened by the air of the Baltic sea

Distinctly neon pink

I am wearing a shirt from the Australian company Sportsgirl, and it is a shade of pink I haven’t made peace with. I feel somewhat self-loathing as I notice it on my body. I think the colours we wear have no inherent meaning, just that which we assign to them, based on our personal, social, economic and historical contexts. 

I enjoy most shades of pink. Some look better on me than others. Others have, for some time, reminded me of negative qualities I associate with women, such as people-pleasing, being apologetic and smiling a lot (all qualities I possess in some way). Maybe I should make peace with those qualities, because they are a part of me. Even bell hooks (or Bell Hooks) wore pink in the later stages of her life, presumably because she liked the feeling she got from it. That was something she changed her mind about, going from fear of reinforcing stereotypes to embracing her personal preferences. She remains a role model. 

Traditionally feminine traits also include loving and empathising. They include reflection and gentleness. Emotional depth and thoughtful communication. Sensitivity and kindness. 

I am no less a feminist for wearing neon pink. I am tired of trying to be superhuman and transcend the patriarchy. I can resist the patriarchy in many ways, but there are some battles I can’t pursue. I have the limitations of a person socialised as, and perceived as, a cis woman, meaning that I need to practice self-care, and that means rest, comfort and relaxation in their own right. The luxury to just “be” without the friction of questioning gender norms endlessly.

It’s chilly in Hannover today, so no-one has seen my bright pink shirt. But I see it, and the part of me that likes it will keep wearing it - and continue reaching out to the part of me that struggles with it.

Poem

It’s a quiet day, 

with rainfall thickening

the atmosphere.

I remember the delight

of watching you 

observe the world.

With steady curiosity,

radiant kindness…

you remind me of a pearl.

London and Berlin

My favourite moments in London were those in between the sights I had researched and planned for: 

a) wandering down lanes of high-contrast townhouses, noticing the decor people had chosen to make their homes stand out (a Buddha here, a line of large ants there), spying signs warning of prosecuting the humans that let their dogs ‘foul the pavement’ (such fancy language, yet so punitive).

b) having a brief chat with an elderly, white man who mused that the exhibition he had just attended at Victoria & Albert had been less well attended than the exhibitions of his past, although the quality was still high.

c) I discovered Kave, a café that advertised artisanal coffee in Shepherd’s Bush, full-length windows giving it an open, airy feel, while warm, gold lights facing the eclectic artworks on the walls ladled on cosiness and charisma. My Toffee Latte here was delicious. 

My stay in Berlin was unexpectedly social, what with an old friend meeting me for dinner. Susi, the nomad, was spending a year in the capital of her home country, and she was still discovering new sights among the museums, galleries, and other cultural hubs on offer. It was lovely to talk travel and international living with someone who had been all around the world, and was alive to the beauty of Europe. 

I have long admired the caps on rent in places like Berlin and Hamburg, but to my surprise, a recent government had lifted Berlin’s, and now rents are comparable to Sydney’s: highly expensive. 

Susi also taught me that pet-sitting was not the done thing in Botswana. The locals laughed at her (good-naturedly, I assume) when she described what she was doing there, because animals are seen as communal and wild there, only loosely kept by humans. 

According to Susi, Danish people are protective of their social groups to the extent that they’re not open to new arrivals. She anticipated getting involved in a nomadic or immigrants’ group if she and her husband spend some time in Copenhagen. She felt that hygge was the secret of the Danes’ happiness, and I’m open to this insight as I don’t have enough experience with the country to know which ingredients decisively sway the Danes that way.