The Trocadero Fiesta doesn't have to end at midnight.
And the people. Where were the tourists? Gone. In their place was a migration. I saw a man in a sequined bolero jacket riding a unicycle while playing a trumpet. A group of elderly women— les misérables turned magnifiques —had set up a folding table and were giving away free empanadas from a wicker basket. A DJ had somehow dragged a full generator and two massive speaker stacks onto the steps leading up to the Palais de Chaillot. The bass was a physical presence, a heartbeat that didn't belong to Paris. trocadero fiesta
If you are in Paris, skip the expensive club. Bring a blanket, grab a drink from the nearby market, and join the party. The Trocadero Fiesta is waiting for you. The Trocadero Fiesta doesn't have to end at midnight
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