Paris: Drinking Pink at the Chameleon

By Nayeli - Sometimes, it is best to leave the see-and-be-seen spots to the tourists and just blend in. In Paris, times such as these call for a visit to the Latin Quarter's cheery and charming Chameleon bar. When you tire of donning black and waiting in line to catch an overpriced glimpse of chic stars in sleek outfits, put the color back in your life by spending some time at my favorite hangout in the 5th. Here, as the name implies, you can camouflage yourself in the midst of interesting characters and sit back until you come to understand what they mean by "seeing pink".

You won't find the place unless you're looking for the reptilian mascot above the door. Upon arrival you will begin de-jading yourself with a beverage. For the partygoer whose world has gone grey, there is one obvious choice in the drink department: "La Vie en Rose" -- an original house concoction of champagne and peach juice that delivers everything which its name suggests. If you are lucky, Sofiane (the regular bartender who bears a striking resemblance to Jimmy Fallon) will be serving up the fizzy that night. If you are really lucky, or if the night's a bit slow, he'll even offer you a bit of entertainment from behind the bar, dancing and getting his inner Edith Piaf on with renditions of the drink's namesake song, "Quand il me prend dans ses bras"?

But cute drinks (and cuter bartender) aside. Chameleon has got more going for it than gimmicky cocktails and eye candy employees. It's got character. While the Chameleon blends into the outer facades of its adjoining buildings on rue St. Andre des Arts, it stands out for its coziness, its character, and its mysteriously immaculate restrooms. I felt rose-colored glasses from the first time I sat in Chameleon's dimly lit and crumbling back room, girlfriends squished tightly by my sides with neighboring German intellectuals arguing over the significance of Picasso's Guernica, replicated on the wall behind us.

Chameleon claims to be a jazz spot but don't be fooled! A good jazz joint sits back with an ironic look in its eye and lets you wander around in the music. A swing bar winks, yanks you out of your chair, and leads you toward something fantastic and unknown. Chameleon does not scat- it swings.

Curled up on one of the dusty red velvet couches forming a maze in the basement one can enjoy free Friday night concerts in what must be the only non-smoking section of France. Last week, after a few miserably blase nights out at swankier techno-pop clubs, I convinced some friends to spend an evening at one such concert for what turned out to be the most literally engaging live music I'd heard yet in Paris.

Our night began with a rendezvous in the upper lounge where, over the stereo system, Diana Ross begged us to "Stop! In the Name of Love". We briefly enjoyed her music as we waited for drinks but ignored her advice and continued downstairs. After entering the basement, "Vie en Rose" in hand, it took a few moments to find seats on the already crowded couches. As the musicians tuned up, I noticed several murals peeling off of the room's yellow walls and spotted a few familiar faces. A faded Miles Davis was chatting up Gershwin in the corner. Nearby, Maria Callas laughed at something Louis Armstrong was saying in her ear. On the ceiling; a moon playing the saxophone serenely surveyed the scene. Nothing fancy, the artwork was mediocre even, but in the flickering candlelight of the room, these designs added to the already amorous atmosphere.

At this point the concert got under way. The singer/trumpeter introduced his fellow musicians, smiled bashfully at the audience and, with a whimsical grin exclaimed, "Ain't Misbehavin''!" The band jumped into his song with an ironically mischievous air which became contagious as their performance slowly became a sing-a-long. The crowd (comprised mostly of grizzly, goateed students and their legging-clad, paint-splattered dates) was surprisingly eager to join in. My friends and I were in no position to object, though I'm pretty sure we were the only ones who knew any lyrics beyond the song's chorus. Rather than let this encumber the entertainment however, everyone eventually threw words to the wind in favor of "La, las" chanted until the song's end. After that, the band continued with a fun, energetic and eclectic set, dancing with their instruments and interacting amiably with all who looked on.

The concert experience concluded in an entre deux between the two trumpeters. They were obviously enamored with each other, and left it to the crowd to decide who won. She had more air behind her horn, and delivered a powerful melody like nobody's business, but he ultimately won us over with his antics and enthusiasm. As sparks continued to fly on stage, I looked around to find I was not the only one taken in by all this romance. Half of the audience members around us were no longer listening to the music but making eyes at each other (and in some cases more than that). Though I was playing third wheel that night, I was still giddy with the sight of it all. You see, at Chameleon you not only drink the "pink life" - you get to live it as well.