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Clubbing in Paris
By Patrick Welch

Posted: Mon Feb 19 2007
A night out clubbing in Paris is as easy as catching a train

Parisian DJs: Mexican 'tache, Mexican wave
3.11pm ‘We’re, like, probably headed to the hottest party in Europe right now…’ smarms one of our gang as we board the Eurostar en route to Ed Banger records’ fourth birthday party in Paris. The train is packed with smart toddlers, Valentinesing couples and a bizarre male model who parades up and down.

6.54pm Gare Du Nord. It is neither raining nor freezing. Hurrah! We jump on the Metro to the trendy Marais where we see a chihuahua wearing a camo parka.

8.09pm Quick bite to eat at the charming Le Petit Fer à Cheval, which delivers well on all stereotyped fronts: excellent food, authentique decor and an impeccably dressed, insanely rude waiter.
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10.30pm We grab a cab to grubbily hip Rue Oberkampf where we start a bar crawl. First stop is Brazilian Berimbar, where we order loony-strong le planteur cocktails – essentially alcoholic Um-Bongo. Next stop, Au Chat Noir, is quiet so we scram and try the normally pretty happening Café Charbon. But we leave tout de suite because they’re playing a particularly crap Cypress Hill remix. Finally, we settle on Abats-Jours – a jumble sale of a place with Singer sowing machines on every table and a banlieue graffiti/Picasso thing covering the walls.

12.34am We hop on the Metro, which, as we have said before in Time Out, smells of death. Getting out at triumphant Place de la Concorde we find ourselves in an altogether more bling Paris. We spot the venue. Then we see the queue and it starts raining. It seems that from Chalk to the Champs Elysées, maddening, freezing queues are an international phenomenon.

1.30am Upon entering Espace Pierre Cardin, it seems pleasantly mixed. There’s the super-rich from western Paris – all navy sweaters and perfect English, there’s hip hop kids in baggy T-shirts and New Era caps but, although people are dressed up, no one looks ridiculous. It makes a nice break from London’s uniform of black skinny jeans and quasi-outrageous Day-Glo tops. Being Paris, everyone is smoking.

2am We hit the dancefloor. Uffie needs to huff and puff a little louder but the crowd love the attitude. There are too many hip-hop hands and not enough booty-shakin’, however. Whether it’s the sensible attitude towards drinking or wanting to play it cool, you wonder why people seem reticent to get down and dirty. In the corridor we bump into Xavier – one half of Justice, who have just finished a world tour. He says he doesn’t care where he plays, as long as the crowd’s good: ‘People in Paris think electronic music is intelligent music; I think it’s party music.’
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