I am in gregarious company at the Brasserie Lipp on St Germain Pres, toasting the 19th century Left Bank institution made famous by celebrity customers, Ernest Hemingway, Francoise Sagan, Yves Montand, Sharon Stone, Harrison Ford and French presidents Mitterand and Chirac before they became presidents. Hollywood too has anointed its reference in its halls of fame. “Let me take you to Lipp’s and buy you some pork,” says Anthony Hopkins to Julianne Moore in Surviving Picasso of a restaurant that bans pipe smoking and mobile phones. Tables are placed at elbow-touching distance and designer clutches brush past seqinned handbags but the cramped space does not deter the determined diner from relishing the house special, choucroute garni, washed down with an Alsatian white wine. I settle for the sole meuniere and absorb the old worldly ambience of a setting that was often inaccessible during the previous proprietor’s time. The severe Roger Cazes, I am told, personally summed up your ‘worthiness’ of begetting a table, affluence and lineage be damned! Eight o’clock sharp and we are shuffling into our seats at the 2500-seater Theatre du Chatelet to watch Tanguera, a dance drama set in the poor quarter of Boca in Buenos Aires at the end of the 19th century. As we lose ourselves in the poignant travails of young French immigrant Giselle, the show traces in its tale the beginnings of the tango, the popular South American dance form. It is here in this historic theatre that the London Philharmonia Orchestra has annual residency and where live tiger cubs and pythons recently made a startling appearance for Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s flamboyant production of Padmavati. Waking in the morning in the refreshingly unconventional Missoni-upholstered Hotel de Sers off Ave George V, we prepare to get astonished by the truly radical. Renowned French sculptor Cesar’s compressions, human imprints, expansions and metal beasts are on show at the Fondation Cartier in a specially curated tribute by Fondation architect Jean Nouvel. Nearly 100 of the most significant works of the late artist’s oeuvre are strategically placed in the light-filled transparent structure that provides creative space for artists and viewers alike. For over two decades, the Fondation Cartier has been the springboard for debutant artists, helping many achieve international recognition like Australian hyper-realist sculptor Ron Mueck and Japanese photographer Rinko Kawauchi among others. Today, Cesar’s inimitable gilded bronze thumbs, angular animals and gigantic compressions of newspapers and automobiles continue to mesmerise. This is a day for art we discover as my companions and I almost weep at the sensual purity of Israeli sculptress Ruth Bloch’s stylised elongated figures seemingly locked in an unending circle of life.The slender forms and highly textured patinas are a big draw at a little gallery at Place des Vosges, the oldest square in Paris. Located in the creatively tuned Marais district, it was built in the 17th century in honour of Henry IV and was the scene of many a tragic duel. An early example of urban planning, obvious from the clean stone facades and steep slate roofs, it is the fulcrum of antique shops, little cafes and Victor Hugo’s maison. Marais, a former swampland, now a Bohemian neighbourhood, nurtures well tended gardens, jewellery designers, quirky boutiques and the Picasso museum. Eccentricity flourishes here. Home to a large gay population and the Jewish quarter, the price of real estate is mind-numbing but a walk through its charming maze is free. Lunch is a nine course meal (I kid you not) at Le Bristol, the quietly unobtrusive hotel opposite Christian Lacroix’s store in one of the most high fashion streets of Paris. Chef Eric Frechon’s offerings are smooth and satisfying, cooked with a tender touch, whether it is the succulent lamb, the crispy fish or the stewed morello cherries. When we finish with the peach poached in verbena and the ice cream with Chartreuse liquor, we know it is an afternoon well spent. Le Bristol is where the well-heeled and the genteel-born tuck into their lemon cabio and grapefruit mousse and it is no surprise when we hear from an acquaintance that her next table diners earlier in the year happened to be the French president, Carla Bruni and Tony Blair! Well, we spotted Isabelle Adjani. Out in the pale sunlight once again, we stroll past designer-driven windows sporting glassy-eyed mannequins and enter the cool portals of Lancome. Magnifique, the sharp new fragrance occupies centre stage but up on the first floor, calm rules. Under enveloping white curtains, await moments of repose and replenishment. There are massages and anti-ageing treatments, aromatic therapies and Plantar reflexology. And after, a soothing Lancome tea, exuding jasmine and red fruits specially created by Mariage Freres. Walking past the Buddha Bar onto Place de la Concorde, we notice metal barriers and a surging crowd. Madonna’s in Hotel de Crillon and we too stop for moment, then (correctly) decide that she won’t step out for an hour at least and continue on our way. The shops beckon and we collectively agree that the luxe buys this season have to be Sophie Katt’s Scarlett O’Hara-inspired corsets at her store at Rue Mandar, Stohrer’s (Rue Montorgueil) cream and raisin-enriched babas and Caran d’Ache’s gilded Ganesh pens at the famed Point Plume. Our last night in Paris calls for a wholesome dinner and we meet at La Closerie des Lilas restaurant reminiscent of Parisian avant-garde, artistic celebrity and 19th century creative bloom. This is where Hemingway wrote (The Sun Also Rises), Picasso sketched, Oscar Wilde honed his witty nib, Trotsky played chess and where Emile Zola brought his friend Paul Cézanne for a drink. Legend has it that the brasserie serves the world’s best champagne julep at the bar. We went straight for the food. To the enthused sounds of a jazz pianist, our girl gang, forgetting their diets for the night, feasted on high end brasserie cuisine: medaillons of veal flavoured with tarragon, foie gras with fig marmalade, boléro lobster salad and flambed crepes suzettes. The restaurant first opened its doors in 1847 and was the first eating house to establish the reputation of Montparnasse. Settling into the back of a limousine, we take a detour to the hotel via the Eiffel Tower, presently lit up in shadowy blue sprinkled with gold stars, the colours of the European Union, which President Sarkozy heads for a year. We step out for a picture and within minutes, are surrounded by the local gendarmes for parking in a ‘no parking’ area. But that’s another story!

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