Decorated with various international flags, the place has an Olympic feel to it, that is until you start socialising, and quickly you realise the homogenous English/Irish character of the place. I once used to think that being a bilingual non-native in Paris would afford me some notoriety – or at best some uniqueness, but after spending some time at Rush Bar, I realize that I am just another Anglo-Saxon in New Paris. It is not all doom and gloom though, as Rush bar harbors all the qualities that the modern Anglo-Saxon breed is most proud of, beer, football, and bar-appropriate conversation. So, if you are not a fan of these then you are probably not going to enjoy Rush bar in the slightest, but if you are, then brace yourself for wild ride. But that is all the stuff of evenings, for in the afternoons you will find a much calmer, almost pastoral grazing bar, full of casual drinkers – you are no doubt recovering from the previous night’s adventures. Perhaps with those grazers in mind, Rush Bar also offers a casual Bistro food menu that will in no way offend your budget.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, if you are a Liverpool football fan, other than at the match itself, then there is no other place you would wish to be on match night.

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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