One thing I have learned from my practice of Tigress Yoga is that when one’s sensuality begins to feel lacklustre and routine has dampened a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’, the first place to go to begin to rekindle the flames of desire is pleasure. Parisians it seems are effortlessly attuned to the experience of pleasure and like a hungry child I am keen to absorb as much as I can. I keep meaning to ‘do’ things while I am here. You know, touristy things like making the trip to Versailles and such but the days seem to meander away from my intentions and I am aware of a force that is pulling me away from the ‘doing’ place and towards a slower orientation, one that allows me the space and time to get lost in sensation and the simplest of pleasures. It seems to have taken all day to visit my favourite boulangerie for breakfast, stop via the market for olives and a silk scarf, take a train to Tulieries to find an English bookstore I get lost in for several hours, finally settle on a copy of Colette’s, ‘The Pure and the Impure’,(for more lessons in pleasure) pause at a beautiful tea salon for decadent hot chocolate and spend the afternoon basking in the autumn sun in the gardens, reading, writing and dreaming into the evening. It is the beginning of nuit blanche and the sun still beams over the luminous, untouched lawns that no one sits on. It’s as if the grass is sacred here, existing only for our viewing pleasure too. Can it really be the evening so soon? I am beginning to blend a little too well into Parisian life. Today I was asked directions from several French peeps and I am getting better at finding a way to express my inability to comprehend or speak this beautiful language without ruining the chance to engage in the sparkling banter that is so enchanting in this city. It is the cocktail hour and I think a glass of rouge wine by the lake will make a perfect end to a perfectly pleasurable day.