As I sat down and took stock of Café Craft, I became acutely aware that my rickety Packard Bell was an issue of shame. I hesitated a while before taking it out of my bag, but eventually I had no other choice, I only hoped that the others would not laugh at it too overtly.

Craft is as advertised, full of Gap wearing pseudo artists who sit hour after hour clicking away at their paper thin Macbooks. I know them to be pseudo artists as no laboring artist worth his plume would pay 4 Euros for a Cafe crème. That said, in Craft’s defence, once I ordered I was left in peace for the rest of the afternoon. I guess you could say that Craft is the French equivalent of Starbucks. The only difference is that it is a notch above it with regards to the elitist standard it sets. Everything about the place – power sockets, generous internet and no-phone zones – is geared for the Wi-Fi user who wishes to e-browse without interruption.

So despite being overpriced and pretentious, if you want to get some serious work done, and want to be seen to do so by Paris’s new breed of fashionable artists, then Craft is the place for you.

 

Naniso Tswai
I have travelled afar and aplenty but never before have I met a city such as Paris. In fact, “that Paris exists and anyone could choose to live anywhere else in the world will always be a mystery to me” (Woody Allen: Midnight in Paris). This powerful quote both explains and encapsulates my relationship with Paris. Young, energetic and full of life, almost instantly her cuteness consumes you, coursing through your veins until all you desire is to never leave her embrace. But it is not all catwalk perfections, as despite her elegant demeanour, living here is an altogether different and gritty affair. For the tourist Paris dons her most beautiful frock and flirts an irresistible charm, but were you intent on becoming a permanent fixture, prepare yourself for her invariably coarse moods. She is obstinately and often infuriatingly French. She wears her French mantra, indeed breaths it as if though to do anything else would be an affront to her flag. Even when I ventured into her sprawling contours expecting her personality to become diluted, however I was both relieved and perplexed by the resoluteness of character. She is France at its most unyielding, arrogant and concentrated self, but damn, do I love to love her. I invite you to follow my own discoveries of Paris’s hidden corners and whispered beauties.

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