Clubs are yesterday according to Mademoiselle Lili who recently discovered a new dancing pleasure: in the good old guinguettes.
It’s the first day of spring, I iron my swinging white lace dress, put on my straw hat and get on the RER train, which takes me far beyond the gates of the city, to Champigny-sur-Marne. My destination: a real guinguette, like the ones I’ve seen so often in the paintings of Vincent van Gogh or Pierre-Auguste Renoir. For a long time, the guinguette was to Parisians what the beer garden is to Germans, a popular place to go by or on the water. In the 19th century, the grand Sunday outing for nature-hungry city-dwellers consisted in going to taverns along the Seine or Marne for lunch and dancing. And to take a rowing boat out on the river in the meantime. From the 60s, this French tradition fell dormant. Today, there are only a handful of such establishments left around Paris. One of them is Guinguette on Ile du Martin-Pêcheur (www.guinguette.fr)