The next day Philip and I both had problems getting up. As I expected, rain and wind had followed my airplane over night and were howling in front of the window. Exploring the neighbourhood in daylight but almost carried away by rain and storm, I went to buy breakfast and we sat in the kitchen for hours, talking and refusing to leave the house.

Eventually we decided it's time and the sun came out for a little bit with us. We took the tramway to get to one of the richer suburbs, but were disappointed of very few people on the street. I later took a long walk around the city center on my own, being fascinated by the architecture and condition of the buildings and sights, but mostly unimpressed by the scenes the streets offered for my camera.

I think I was just very exhausted from all the walking in Paris and overwhelmed by another new city to explore. I just didn't find my vibe that day. At night I cooked my famous bolognese and we stayed home exchanging life stories.


In front of AKH.


Two Wieners.


Multikulti.


After work.


Contemporary hairstyles.


Woman vs. dog.


Party all night long.


Shadows in the suburbs.


Postamt.


Highlights printed.


Old Straßenbahn.


Walking stories at Schottenring.


Street scene Am Hof.


Arranging flowers on a bench in central Vienna.

All Photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [Austria] [Vienna] [Street Photography] [Diary]

Departing from Paris I felt an itch in my toe, realizing this could be one of the few cities I think I would like to live for some time in my life. I knew that Vienna would have a hard time getting me excited after those wonderful days spent in Paris.

With wet feed from my walks in the rain I sat in the plane until I arrived at Vienna airport. On my travels to Macedonia I had always spent some time here - so the airport was somehow familiar to me. I waited for the train sweating (compared to Paris it was quite warm and humid here) with a bunch of Austrians and some Parisians and took the S-Bahn to Handelskai and the U-Bahn to Alser Straße, where I got welcomed by my old friend Philip who I hadn't seen in ages (and who carried the damn suitcase for me).

We had the wine and sausage I brought from Paris and talked for hours, before we wrapped up and went to see another long lost friend of mine living in Vienna, Eva.

When it became late and we were all about to fall asleep, Philip and I took a walk through the city, had a last beer at an outdoor party and went home to sleep.

I only took one photo that day, at the airport, getting some fresh air.


Photo: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [Austria] [Vienna] [Street Photography] [Diary]

It was my last day in Paris and I woke up with mixed feelings. The last days it had been pretty chilly occasionally rainy - but now it rained like crazy and it never stopped during the whole day.

I peeled myself out of the bed, and left the house early, trying to see as much as possible on my last, last day in Paris. I decided to get off the tourist track and to take the métro to Belleville to see the local market. I was a bit disappointed, because the first stands offered nothing but smelly Chinese plastic trash and sparkling synthetic clothes. Though, a bit farther down there were the smells I was looking for, fresh fish, tons of vegetables, sweet fruit and market screamers offering me everything they could (and a few marriage proposals, as well).

Unfortunately it rained that much, the market was packed and there were waterfalls splashing down on customers every few steps. I was wet to my underwear after a few minutes and had to be very careful not to drown my camera. I bought some sweet apricots and munched them on the way, than sat down in the front row of a little café and had some coffee. The gathered water on the street grew to a river and I realized that photographing wouldn't be very comfortable that day.

Anyway, I walked into sidestreets catching some great shots but probably looked like a complete idiot trying to keep my camera dry under my coat, holding an umbrella always about to flip over and having serious problems coordinating the two tasks. Since I was wet anyway, I decided I could walk back in the crazy rain, didn't look at the map but just followed random street signs on my way.

I found a sweet little thrift store in the middle of nowhere and bought the perfect Paris-in-the-Rain jacket for ridiculously cheap. Jumping over all the small and big puddles crossing my way, I headed towards home, walking for more than two hours.

Back in Rue de Panama, I packed, ate the leftover's of yesterday's dinner together with Marianne and then left to the airport to catch my flight to Vienna. I really did not want to leave.

Paris, je reviendrai.


Market snapshot.


Restaurant in Belleville.


Epic moment in the rain.


Libre Service.


Father and Son.


When streets become rivers.


Jumping puddles.


Stairway on Rue des Pyrénées.


Fish Shopping.


At the Royals by Place de Stalingrad.




Airport views at Charles de Gaulle.

All photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [France] [Paris] [Street Photography] [Diary]

I woke up when Marianne ate breakfast next to my couch camp and later had a coffee with Jean-Babtiste before they both went to work. I took a long hot shower and inspected my brooze (it's still here, but it's about to fade away... think of a wild tiger's bite on the hip in dark purple, sprinkled and sparkled with black, red, blue and green spots and vains. I have never seen anything alike on my poor body. That damn suitcase...).

Above Rue de Panama, I sat on the little balcony for a while, watching characters and figures passing by underneath, returning, walking circles, rushing, standing still - before I collected my camera, my umbrella and myself and left the house.

Wanting to photograph street merchants, market screamers and hookers, I walked around Goutte d'Or, but realized sometimes it's better to see and to remember than to photograph. People were kind and smiled at me, but the camera was better to keep in my bag for most situations and scenes that I saw.

I took the métro downtown to Pont des Arts, where lovers put their locks on the rail and throw the key into the Seine. I sat down by the railing and watched a young girl trying to "lock" a golden necklace with a broken heart to the bridge. She was crying. After a while I got scared the bridge might collapse under all the weight of broken hearts - and I left.

I watched the water police trying to rescue a sinking boat by the banks of Île de la Cité and walked down the boardwalk back to the métro, getting out a stop later and crisscrossed Île St. Louis, when a heavy rainstorm suddenly chased tourists and pedestriants off the beautiful island. Me and my flipped checked umbrella stayed for a while, getting wet and breathing in the fresh air. With a rather wild hairdo, I passed the bridge back to the mainland and walked towards le Marais.

On Rue de Rivoli, I bought a sandwich and some orange juice and sat on a bench under a tree. A lady approached, sat down and started a little conversation. She was sure if I was carrying my camera around like that, it would be stolen from my shoulder in an instant. When I smiled at her and said that if I hid it in my bag it wouldn't be of any use, she stared at me, puzzled, as if I was the craziest person she had talked to that day. I took off being proud I'd spoken French, leaving my camera hanging on my right shoulder with pride.

After strolling around not finding anything of great interest, I took the métro to the invisible Bastille and walked down Boulevard Henri IV over Pont de Sully to Institut du Monde Arabe to find it closed. Yes, it was monday! I took a left on Boulevard St. Germain and passed a huge construction sight called Sorbonne, walked through Quartier Latin watching old ladies with dogs drinking their café and dropped by at Jardin du Luxembourg, enjoying a few sunrays hitting my nose, left through the back exit, got passed by a sad funeral in the rain at Cimetière du Montparnasse and watched shopwindows and busy Parisians on Rue des Rennes.

Due to heavy rain I took the métro at St. Sulpice back to Montparnasse Bienvenue, walked long tunnels and took long escalators, took another train to Place d'Italie and from there to Censier Daubenton. I found Rue Mouffetard completely deserted in the rain and decided that's why I love such weather. Accidently I passed Hemingway's apartment on Place Contrescarpe and regretted I didn't bring any of his books to follow his routes.

I changed streets to Rue Monge, got soaking wet and took the métro back to the Marais area, thinking I might have missed what's all about it. From Sully-Morland I walked the whole area, observed a young couple making out on the street and watched a beautiful prostitute waiting for clients in a side street of Rue de la Verrerie. My feed started hurting but I kept on walking until I reached Le Louvre, sat down and watched people passing for a while, until I got on my wet feed again, crisscrossed the Seine over several bridges, walked along the riverbank passing a French history lesson for American students by the river and, heavy-hearted again, took the train home to Château Rouge.

I walked up Montmartre to find an open store to buy some wine for my hosts and, knowing this would be my last real day to explore, tired out of my mind, exhausted, cold and wet, I reached Rue de Panama, had a great dinner with Marianne and Jean-Babtiste and slept like a baby.


Heaven above Rue de Panama.










Pedestrians on Rue de Panama.


Backyard in Rue de Panama.


Wig shop in Rue des Poissonniers.


Métro Château Rouge.


Magic moment in the métro station.


I might have gotten observed.


On Pont des Arts.


Old lady windowshopping at a boucherie on St. Louis.


Storm on Pont Marie.


Chitchatting at le Marais.


Street scene at le Marais.


Brasserie at le Marais.


Flower shop at Quartier Latin.


An old man enjoying the few sunrays at Jardin du Luxembourg.


Pedestrian at Jardin du Luxembourg.


Beauty on Rue Vavin.


Breasts "all over the shop" in Montparnasse.


Rue des Rennes.


Pigeon attack on Rue des Rennes.


Saint in Quartier Latin.


Waiting for business near Rue de la Verrerie.


Making out at 4e.


Wonderweel by Le Louvre.


Young couple enjoying the evening on Pont des Arts.


Businessman biking home from work.


Tunnel views by the Seine.


An old lady and a young girl delighted by each other.


Home is where my clothes are.

All photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [France] [Paris] [Street Photography] [Diary]

After sleeping in, I woke up, tickled by a few sunrays - as for the first time, it was actually a bit sunny, but still stormy outside.

I took a walk around Versailles, observing a family breakfast with flying sausage and baguette at Pièce d'Eau des Suisses across the street, watched visitors of le château sitting on the stairs enjoying the sun with flying hair and hats, spent some time on Place d'Armes at the entrance of the castle and studied the sociology of tourist groups and the strategies of souvenir merchants.

In a small bakery I bought a whole bag full of Pain au Chocolat, went back home, munched them all and packed my stuff. Heavy-hearted, I left the beautiful apartment, almost falling down the stairs trying to lift that damn suitcase. I took the RER to Paris, got out at Château Rouge and searched for Rue de Panama, my new home in more or less central Paris.

At the station, instead of taking a left up Montmartre like the day before, I took a right into the area of Rue des Poissonniers, a sadly well known street in France, due to right wing propaganda against the Muslim community dominating this area who - due to mosques that are way too small - every friday, convert the streets of this quartier (Goutte d'Or) into a huge open-air prayer session.

What seems to make the right wing Frenchmen very mad and scared, made me absolutely fascinated. Unfortunately I missed the prayer session - I was only there from sunday until tuesday. Anyway I absorbed everything an area almost completely inhabited by African Muslims has to offer.

My hosts at Goutte d'Or were a lovely couple of young French journalists, Marianne who makes photo-sound-documentaries for online media and Jean-Babtiste, a editor for public television. In their tiny and very cozy apartment, they welcomed me like old friends.

I dropped my stuff after getting a crazy brooze from lifting that damn suitcase up to the 4th floor, took my camera and went on a long walk passing Gare du Nord, Gare de l'Est, enjoying a few moments of sun by the banks of Canal St. Martin, walked around the area of Place de Stalingrad and then walked back along the tracks of the métro line on Boulevard de la Chapelle, up Goutte d'Or, where I enjoyed African-French evening family life on the street. When I got home at Rue de Panama with a bottle of wine, Jean-Babtiste and Marianne had cooked a lovely couscous dinner for us and we sat in their livingroom-kitchen half the night, talking, drinking wine and exchanging travel experience before I fell asleep on their bedcouch.


Stairway at le château de Versailles.


We all like to impress.


Business as usual at le château.


My favourite subject today.


Reflections in the train.


In a rush at Gare de l'Est.


A reader at the banks of Canal St. Martin.


Philosophers on Place de Stalingrad.


Pigeon hunting.


Pigeons on Boulevard de la Chapelle.


Philosophers on Boulevard de la Chapelle.


Views at Goutte d'Or.


Parisians love their dogs.


Streetlife at Goutte d'Or.


Streetlife at Goutte d'Or.


A silent spot in busy Paris.

All photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [France] [Paris] [Street Photography] [Diary]

After sitting on the window sill for hours, drinking coffee and watching the raindrops hit the glass and fly with the storm outside, I finally wrapped myself up and went outside. The RER ride from Versailles to Paris was a sociology lesson on its own and I sucked up all multicultural impressions and scraps of conversation into mental photographs and sound recordings every second on board.

Since I usually don't have a plan when I visit a city for the first time (at least for the first time in a decade), I stuck to my routine and got out just somewhere to see what might happen. Randomly I landed at St. Michel, probably one of the only places in Paris I instantly recognized when I went up the stairs from the métro, because I had been here before at least twice.

I strolled around and found the most impressive figure of the whole trip at first sight right next to Île de la Cité: An old lady with braided white hair, a fabulous white coat and leg-breaking white high heels. Like a ghost from ancient times, she took her path through tourists and street merchants, and I could only snap her back before she disappeared in the crowd.

I accidently passed Shakespeare & Company, where Hemingway met Sylvia Beach in 1922. Sometimes reading books can serve better than a lonely planet.

Facing crowds, I'm scared to death, so I only took a glimpse of Notre Dames, passed la Fontaine St. Michel quickly and jumped back into the métro system, walking long tunnels, taking long escalators, watching people passing by. I also bought a checked umbrella for two Euros which flipped over right when I took a step on the street.

At Gare du Nord, I saw countless fare-wells and welcome-backs, helped an old lady up the stairway and left as fast as I came, taking the métro to Château Rouge. I walked up Montmartre from the backdoor, took a quick snap of tourists watching the skyline, danced in the rain and haunted pidgeons in front of Sacre Coeur, took a loop down the hill through less crowded backstreets and ended up in front of a mass of Marilyns letting their hair and skirts (and their umbrellas!) fly in front of Moulin Rouge on Boulevard de Clichy.

I walked all around le Cimetière du Montmartre just to realize the entrance had been right next to my origin and to finally find the gate closed. Even better, I tried to hide from the rain, soaked, in a building entrance and saw some most photogenic Parisians and their dogs trying to escape the beastly weather.

On my way back home to Versailles I decided that even I had to see le Tour Eiffel, at least at 10pm, in splashing rain and storm. I stood in a huge puddle for an hour being fascinated by the world and its extras, not wanting to leave. But I did, eventually.

In Versailles I bought cheese and wine in one of the late night shops and sat on the window sill again. After a very long, cold and wet day, I fell into a deep sleep.


Girl waiting at the RER station.


First signs of Paris from the train.


Tourists and Parisians in the train.


Notre Dames.


The white ghost.


Boy posing in front of la Fontaine St. Michel.


Guy sleeping in the métro.


Storm in the metro tunnels.


A caring mom on a métro escalator.


Trains passing by.


Gare du Nord.


Shop window in a backstreet of Montmartre.


Lovers taking photos.


Paris from above.


Pigeon in Montmartre.


Boys exploring a hole in the wall.


At Moulin Rouge.


Boy posing in front of Moulin Rouge.


Cimetière du Montmartre from the bridge at Rue Colaincourt.


Sofisticated dog on Boulevard de Clichy.


Soldier guarding Champ du Mars.


Couple watching the Tour Eiffel in the rain.


Sinking fair at Pont d'léna


Tour Eiffel in the rain.


Couple looking for a cab at Quai Branly.


Late night pedestrians in Versailles.

All photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [France] [Paris] [Street Photography] [Diary]

I just returned from Spain and am back at home.

Because during my trip I only occasionly went online, I decided to give a peek into what I've done with words, not only pictures. There might be doubles to previous posts, but I guess we can all live with that.

Descending over Île de France was the first highlight of my trip to Paris, though almost too cheezy to photograph. Godrays laid over the city, illuminating the skyline about to dip into shadows.

A lovely Parisienne sold me the right metro ticket in slow and easy French and I jumped on the train to Versailles. When changing trains I got lost for a second because I was so fascinated of the light disappearing over the land. So I missed my train and had to wait 60 minutes in a dark and shady trainstation with drunken teenagers all around me.

In Versailles I pulled my suitcase (almost as heavy as me) to the place du marché to pick up a big key chain for my host's apartment. While walking and pulling that damn suitcase, Versailles welcomed me with beautiful fireworks in the dead black sky. At Rue de l'Orangerie, right next to a beautiful lake facing le château, I found (after a while...) my beautiful old-fashioned own château for my first two days in Paris (merci beaucoup, Florian!). It was so cozy, it was hard to leave it in the morning after peeking and photographing pedestrians from my bedroom window in the rain (yes, right after I arrived, it started raining).


Descending over the city at dusk.


My stairway to heaven.


Pedestrian in the rain.

All photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [France] [Paris] [Street Photography] [Diary]

Au revoir, Paris. Je reviendrai.






All Photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [France] [Paris] [Street Photography]

All Photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [France] [Paris] [Street Photography]

It's my last full day in Paris, I moved from dignified Versailles to divisive Goutte D'Or and ran around the city all day long. I feel like this is my place, what ever I see, whereever I go, things work out and coincidence has been on my side for almost everything. I might just pack my stuff and move here, sit above Rue des Poissonniers, use all my senses and watch the city's flow pass by. I hate to go.













All Photos: Carolin Weinkopf

[Photography] [France] [Paris] [Street Photography]