On our last morning in Paris, I popped into a little toy shop near the Luxembourg Gardens to pick out un petit cadeau to bring home to our niece. As I waited in line by the register, I stood behind a woman and her daughter. The daughter set her selection down on the counter, a little crocheted bear that was wearing a polished outfit.
“Ahhh,” said the shop manager to the mother with a fond smile, “She has eyes.”
The mother looked confused. I was confused too, all told. Was she talking about the bear? A strange comment, if so, as the bear’s eyes were just two stitched, curved lines that made it look like the creature was sleeping.
“She has eyes,” said the shop manager again, as though repetition alone would offer sufficient explanation. This time, her statement was met with deeper expressions of confusion from the mother and daughter.
“Anglais?” said the shop manager to them, then, “Non?”
The mother shook her head apologetically. The shop manager then turned to me as if I could be of help interpreting, for her own sake it seemed, above anyone’s.
“She has eyes?” she said to me, “Euh… euh… I don’t know how to say.”
I didn’t understand what she was trying to say either though. I did, however, understand that feeling of being misunderstood. I had been in her shoes, after all, for four days already, fumbling my way through little interactions and exchanges across Paris, only partially confident in my rusty French speaking and comprehension skills. I’d been met with my own share of equally puzzled expressions over the days there.
“Je suis désolée,” I said. I’m sorry.
The shop manager then rested a hand on the crocheted bear, looked at the little girl, and then to the girl’s mother, in one final attempt.
“She has eyes,” she said, “For… beautiful things.”
Ahhhh, I realized then. She has a good eye. She has good taste. I smiled and nodded, agreeing.
“Ah, oui,” I said, “Très bon.”
The shop manager seemed relieved that someone finally understood her meaning. I’m sure the little girl in the shop had an exquisite eye for beautiful things, though I think perhaps it helped that she was surrounded by the landscape of Paris. Paris is, after all, a city abundant with beautiful things. From its Haussmannian architecture to its manicured parks, to the winding Seine, mouthwatering cuisine, legendary art, impeccable style, and graceful inhabitants, you need only open your eyes within Paris’ city limits to spot something of notable beauty.
When my mother in law first told us that she had a dream of renting an apartment in Paris for one month, once she retired, and having us all come to visit, it seemed like nothing more than that. A dream. A year later, that dream turned into a reality.
Day 1: The Latin Quarter, The Arc de Triomphe, Dinner in Ternes.
As our Uber driver struggled to maneuver the narrow, winding streets of the Latin Quarter in Paris’ 5th arrondissment, we took in our first glimpses of the city from up close. The sandy walls of the Haussmannian apartment buildings and shops glowed golden, compressing the cobbled, heavily pedestrian-trafficked streets in between them. The driver dropped us off around the corner from the apartment where Mike’s parents were staying and Mike’s mom met us down on the ground floor.
She explained that the elevator was very small so only one person could go up with the bags. She was right. Mike and I would actually be staying in hotels for the duration of our trip, but it was too early in the day to check into our first hotel, located in a different part of the city. Still, we were looking forward to seeing the place where my in laws were, quite literally, living their dream. I took the stairs up with Mike’s mom while Mike sardined himself into the elevator with our carry-ons.
As we entered the apartment, daylight poured through the large, open window in the living room. The place was older, but not lacking in charm. It gave off a distinct sense of authentic Parisian living.
“So, you guys are like locals now?” I joked to my in laws as we cluttered their small hallway with our bags.
My mother in law took us through the adventures they’d already had during their first two and a half weeks in the city. Trips to The Louvre, dinner at the Eiffel Tower, all things Monet at Giverny, and the bohemian wanderings on the hill in Montmartre. She’d written a list down in a little lined notebook so as not to forget anything. They’d made a habit of picking up dinner from their local market and dining in- rotisserie chicken is big here, they said. They offered us brioche they’d made at a breadmaking class the day before, gone a little stale, but still good to us after hours of nothing but airplane meals. It all felt very relaxed, very Parisian in the sense of gathering and the enjoyment of everyday life, and making sure to reserve attention for sharing and savoring simple moments.
After catching up for a bit at the apartment, Mike and I headed out to check into our hotel and get some rest before we were set to rendezvous with everyone again later at the Arc de Triomphe. We hopped on the 21 bus and took in the streets of Paris along the journey up to Batignolles.
After some much needed rest after our red eye flight, we reluctantly roused ourselves from our nap to go meet up with everyone again. As we walked toward the Arc de Triomphe, we cut through Parc Monceau, an enchanting patch of nature within the 8th arrondissement with lush gardens, impressive statues, architectural structures, and excellent people-watching.
The 360 degree views from the observation terrace at the top of the Arc de Triomphe were worth the 284 step climb. You could even call them breathtaking, in more than one sense. It felt surreal to see the Eiffel Tower in person, the rooftops of Paris spread out all around us, adorned with clay chimneypots and TV antennas, just as I’d imagined.
Tree-lined avenues stretched outwards from the very circle atop which we were perched. We were confounded by the intuitive traffic etiquette that seemed to make sense to the Parisian drivers, though it was baffling to us. All I could keep thinking as we surveyed our surroundings was this is so cool, which is my lame American way of having eyes for beautiful things.
As golden hour approached, the crowds grew, waiting to catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower sparkling at the top of the hour for the first time that evening. I held fast to my spot to claim stake on my own view, surrounded by people speaking in all different languages, each voice animated with inflections of excitement and anticipation.
And then the magic began.
At eight o’clock sharp, the Eiffel Tower began to glitter all over with white sparkles as though covered in diamonds all catching the light at once. As if Paris wasn’t already enchanting enough.
Our next stop of the evening was dinner at a restaurant in Ternes called La Grange. We sat outside on the terrasse along the quiet street and immersed ourselves in the very Parisian practice of sharing a slow meal and good conversation as a group. I did my best to only speak French to the server and was surprised when she seemed to understand everything I said. I was even more surprised when I could understand everything she said to me as well. I found I really enjoyed using my French while in Paris, though granted, it is a bit rusty.
I ordered the salmon which was served with a lemon cream sauce and seasonal vegetables. The meal was simple, yet delicious. For dessert, I ordered the apple tart. As I broke off a piece of the tart with my fork, the flaky crust emitted a crispy crackle so satisfying that I have chosen to permanently commit the sound to memory for all the childish joy that it evoked for me in that moment.
We ended day one with a slow walk back to our hotel in Batignolles, Hôtel du Théâtre, a simple, yet comfortable spot where the keys were so ornate that the concierge staff asked guests to leave them with the front desk whenever going out. I fell asleep that night dreaming of the crispy crackle of cutting into my apple tart.
Day 2: Pont Alexandre III, Versailles, Montmartre
As we waited for Mike’s brother to meet us at the Invalides RER station to head to Versailles for the day, we took in some views of Pont Alexandre III, probably Paris’ most iconic bridge spanning the Seine, a beautiful piece of artistry amongst Paris’ incredible surrounding architecture.
Paris’ public transit is a breeze once you have a handle on it. Their bus and train system is one of the best I’ve used and I used to live in New York City. It only took us missing two RER trains to figure out the Bonjour RATP app in the station after the ticket machine decided it didn’t actually want to print the passes we had purchased. C’est la vie. We live and we learn and we get the show on the road.
The train ride to Versailles was easy (once we figured out the app, like I said) and the town of Versailles was picturesque and pleasant with a walkable downtown comprised of quaint shops and cafés. Before making our way to the grounds of the château and gardens, we were in the mood for some galettes. Carré aux Crêpes seemed to be a popular spot. We were seated inside and soon placed our orders. I opted for the tomate/champignons galette which had egg, tomatoes, mushrooms, and ham in a buckwheat crêpe, a satisfying and perfect way to begin the day, if you ask me.
The Palace of Versailles is an opulent marvel, both from without and within. Originally built under the instruction of King Louis XIII as a country hunting lodge, the palace was greatly expanded by his son, Louis XIV, who intended it as a new permanent residence for the French Court. It was meant to be extravagant and impressive and it is. The palace was also home to, perhaps its most famous, or infamous, residents, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.
As we followed the herd through the palace’s wings of apartments, I found myself disappointed in the lack of furniture. My brother in law agreed with me. The interior of the palace is more like a really fancy art gallery. The walls, papered and painted in materials like velvet and gold, housed many paintings of landscapes and people, but the rooms were sparsely furnished, some with no furniture at all. Only two rooms seemed to be fully furnished as they might have been while Versailles was inhabited, King Louis XIV’s bedchamber and Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette’s bedchamber.
This said, Versailles is a place where it seems imperative to purchase the audio guide. While that certainly would have helped in our understanding of the palace, it was the crowds that made me feel like I wanted to escape at the earliest possible moment. Shuffling through Louis XIV’s red bedchamber, crammed in among multiple tour groups, was giving me flashbacks to our visit to the Sistine Chapel. By this, I mean it was too crowded to actually be present and reflect on the wonder of the setting and enjoy it in the moment.
“So why do they call it the Hall of Mirrors?” said Mike’s brother as we entered the famous corridor. I laughed, appreciating his dry humor. Along the lefthand side of the corridor is a long line of mirrors that match up with the windows lining the righthand wall. The room is bright with daylight and allows far reaching views of the fountains and reflecting pool in the sprawling gardens behind the château.
Just a little further along was Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette’s bedchamber. The crowd was a little thinner here, the famed Hall of Mirrors still occupying a majority of the crowd’s attention, being the main draw for most visitors to the palace in the first place. I paused for a moment to admire Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun’s 1787 portrait of Marie Antoinette and her children, an empty bassinette prominent in the piece, representative of a mother’s grief after losing her youngest child in infancy. I couldn’t help but fixate my gaze on Marie Antoinette’s long, elegant neck and wonder if she had any notion of what was to come in the near future.
The gardens were a respite from the stifling palace walls. First, we took in the Orangerie with its intricate lawns, gravel paths, and orange trees in planter boxes. How strange, I thought.
We wandered further down the gardens, along the outskirts of the Latona Fountain, on a curved, pebbled path lined with quirky, sculpted hedges, our next destination still a long walk away, as its inhabitant most likely intended.
When I first set eyes on the whimsical, pastoral fantasy that was once Marie Antoinette’s Hamlet (Hameau de la Reine), I wished that we had skipped our visit to the main palace, altogether. This was more where my interests lay, I thought, this is why I am here.
Built as an escape from Versailles for France’s doomed queen, I got a sense for how out of touch Marie Antoinette must have been with the reality of her countrymen and women’s suffering preceding the horrific events of the French Revolution. Only a person with a head full of dreams and no sense of the depth of her pockets would have such a place built with public funds while the people in her kingdom were living in severe poverty, partially at the expense of her whims. Complete with a pastoral palace, working farm, mill, lighthouse, pond, and streams, walking the grounds of the Hameau felt like walking in a dream that was too good to be true, a nightmare in disguise, lurking unseen, just beyond the outer walls of the garden.
The gardens closed early the day of our visit so we followed the herd of people along the exterior streets, back to the center of town. The train back to Paris was packed and we stood on aching feet, tired and ready for rest and some dinner.
After getting off our feet for a bit at our hotel, Mike and I headed back out, Montmartre in our sights for the evening, the bohemian town on the hill. We grabbed some dinner at a café called Adélaïde, eating on the terrasse and taking in the views and people-watching in the area around Place des Abbesses. After our meal, we strolled over to get a glimpse of Le Sacré-Coeur, the imposing limestone basilica perched atop Montmartre hill. We were approaching the top of the hour and I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle again so we climbed one of Montmartre’s many staircases to get a better view and scoped out a spot on Rue Saint-Éleuthère for the show.
For our final stop of the evening, we sat down for a drink at Le Saint Jean for some cold beers and second hand smoke, allowing the end of the day to wind down at its own pace.
Day 3: Seeing the Sights
I wanted to see Montmartre in the daytime, so we headed back there with the intention of finding a cozy spot for brunch, a spot so cozy, in fact, that it’s in the name, Kozy. Well, turns out Kozy isn’t some well-kept secret. The line for the restaurant stretched around the square, so we decided to continue on with our exploration of the neighborhood and try to find a brunch place near our next stop, later in the morning. We climbed some more stairs, took in some street art, and some of the neighborhood’s iconic structures like La Maison Rose and Le Moulin Rouge before we decided that we’d had enough of the area’s crowds and climbs for one morning.
We walked to the bus and took it up to the Opera House, Palais Garnier. As our hunger increased, we wandered in search of a place for brunch. It was getting closer to mid-afternoon and the options we were finding weren’t quite satisfying what we were hoping for or were simply closed. In Paris, there is a noticeable structure to mealtimes. Outside of these traditional mealtimes, restaurants, bakeries, and cafés may close until the late afternoon, or sometimes won’t reopen until dinner. Breakfast is from about 7am until 11:30 or noon. Lunch is from noon till 2pm. Snack, or le goûter, is from 4pm and dinner is from 7:30pm. Outside of these mealtimes, our go-to was to go into a local market and get some fruit and nuts or pop into a touristy bakery for a decent, though perhaps not Paris’ finest, pastry. As we wandered around the 9th and 2nd arrondissements, this is just what we did.
Fueled with a tarte au framboises (raspberry tart) from a chain bakery and some cashews and bananas, we explored one of Paris’ covered passages in a better mood than before. Passages des Panoramas is a covered alley lined with cafés and tiny shops selling antiques, artisan goods, postage stamps, and vintage postcards. It was a quirky escape from the neighborhood’s wide, bustling streets, and I enjoyed leafing through the boxes of postcards.
Next, we wandered back to the 9th to Galeries Lafayette Haussmann, a shopping mall known for its expensive wares and its impressive architectural elements such as the web-like glass-paned dome ceiling with balconies overlooking the open interior of the building, like opera boxes. There is a glass walkway that you can walk out on if you choose to, but we decided to skip this “opportunity” and instead, went up to the rooftop terrace to take in what I’d read was an incredible view of the city.
The rooftop terrace of Galeries Lafayette was my favorite view of Paris after that from the Arc de Triomphe. One difference between the two is that the view from the Arc de Triomphe will run you about 22 euro a piece, while Galeries Lafayette’s view is free to take in. From the rooftop, you will catch an amazing view of the beautiful Palais Garnier as well as the Eiffel Tower, in the distance. Despite the clouds, the day was only getting better.
Still craving a leisurely café experience, we headed back up to Batignolles and sat down at a café that we had walked by a couple of times, Le Dôme Villiers. We ordered some drinks and a meat and cheese board to share. It takes a while to be served in Paris, but that’s just a suggestion to enjoy the experience even more, take in your surroundings, the architecture, the people, and simply partake in the enjoyment of living.
When our food arrived, we sampled everything. My favorites were surprising to me. Rillettes- a pork fat spread, gooey, melty Camembert, and a flavorful Roquefort with a suspiciously fuzzy patch of greenish gray mold. Yum! Yes? No?
We returned to Hôtel du Théâtre to collect our bags and check into our next hotel, Hôtel Elysa, near the Luxembourg Gardens. Following Hôtel du Théâtre’s simple, yet comfortable functionality, Hôtel Elysa seemed luxurious. Being just around the corner from what I would soon find was one of my favorite spots in Paris already seemed like a bonus, plus, we were much closer to my in laws’ apartment and my sister in law had just arrived in town, earlier that morning.
Mike’s family met us outside our hotel and we took the bus up to Notre Dame together. I valued the opportunity to see this beautiful, iconic cathedral without its being shrouded by scaffolding as it had been for almost five years, following a devastating fire in April 2019.
The restoration work on the cathedral was truly amazing and I spent a little while trying to take in the details, the sculpture work, the intricately carved archways and the melodic toll of the bells as they echoed, commanding attention from all in the square. As we hung around before our dinner reservation at Chez Suzette, golden hour struck and bathed the cathedral in golden light.
We walked back along the Seine in the direction of dinner, capturing views of the bend in the river and one of the city’s many unique bridges.
After dinner at Chez Suzette, Mike, his sister, and I took the bus over to the Eiffel Tower Gardens to see the old gal glow and sparkle up close. As we waited, we watched the elevators traveling up and down the sculpturesque structure, each of us saying that we much preferred our view from the ground to the idea of being inside one of those elevators.
Day 4: The Luxembourg Gardens, Le Louvre, Le Marais, Le Calife
To start our day off right on our fourth day in Paris, we planned to pick up some breakfast treats from a boulangerie to eat in Luxembourg Gardens. Boulangerie Moderne was a short walk from our hotel and gave us our first taste of authentic bakery culture in Paris. You may think it ridiculous, but what I found most stressful about our trip to Paris was deciding what to order from the bakery.
There is no taking time to think of what you want to order from the offerings in the bakery cases in an authentic boulangerie. If you want to think it over, it’s probably best to excuse yourself in to take a picture of the options and then study them out of line before getting back in line to actually place your order and pay. It’s also best to use French in this setting as well, which I feel like helped us out a little, at least.
We floundered for about thirty seconds, to the irritation of the bakery staff and the man behind us. Thirty seconds is about twenty-nine seconds too long in the bakery line. Nous sommes désolés, bakery patrons of Boulangerie Moderne! Still, we walked out with our bounty of a croissant, a tarte framboise, and a brioche au chocolat.
The croissant was the best I’ve ever had. There is no debate. Crispy, flaky, buttery. A total mess, but a delicious one that I’m sure the pigeons in Luxembourg Gardens were grateful for.
The tarte framboise had a buttery, crumbly crust and a smooth, thick custard to balance out the light, tart, sweetness of the raspberries. An absolute delight.
The brioche was a little outshone by the other two, to be honest, though still wonderful in its own right, doughy and swirled with a chocolate paste and little chunks of chocolate.
We ate near the fountain and took a stroll around the park’s gravel paths. We soon learned that the gardens are home to a series of twenty statues of queens of France and famous French women. According to further research, the sculptures were commissioned by King Louis-Philippe I between 1843 and 1846. I really enjoyed stopping to highly regard these powerful women on their pedestals and wondering what life was like for them in their own times.
The gardens were a peaceful and colorful oasis within the busy 6th arrondissement. From the flowerbeds to the manicured trees to the girl power statues, I was a pretty happy tourist.
Mike and I took a little stroll through the pretty streets of Saint Germain des Prés after our visit to the gardens.
Next, it was across the Seine and to Le Louvre.
I was amazed when I saw just how massive The Louvre is. I had seen it in pictures and movies and textbook-associated videos in French class in high school. I had read about it in Dan Brown’s thrilling novels. But my goodness gracious me, to see it in person for the total behemoth of a fortress that it is, my jaw was on the cobblestones.
About three times the size of the Palace of Versailles and taking up approximately twenty percent of the 1st arrondissement, this former palace and fortress not only houses marvelous works of art, but is an absolute marvel itself. I wandered the portion of the courtyard nearest the main entrance, the one with the three pyramids, the one that I thought was the entire courtyard, but is actually only about a third of it.
The architecture and sculpture work of The Louvre are a definite must-see, in my opinion, even if you do not have plans to go inside. Personally, I didn’t go in and see The Mona Lisa or Winged Victory, but is it terrible to say that the way tourists are expected to experience these famed works of art could not have held a candle to my experience of exploring the artwork that is the building’s exterior in my own time, at my own pace, and with my own space. Ahhh. Just magnificent, really.
We headed over to the Hôtel de Ville (City Hall) next and then met up with Mike’s sister in Place des Voges to do a little exploring in Le Marais and get a drink at a café. The parts of Le Marais that we saw were mostly shopping areas with high end stores with familiar names and unattainable wares, for us at least, so if you are taking a trip to Paris, I suggest starting your adventure in Le Marais in the northern part of the neighborhood, rather than the southern part, if you’re not into that sort of thing.
With aching feet and tired legs, we slowly made our way back to our hotel for some much needed time off our feet before our next, more leisurely activity.
Le Calife is a floating historic monument on which dinner cruises are offered for tourists who wish to experience the Seine and its adjacent landmarks in a setting emulating the lavish, art deco style of the Orient Express. From the moment we met up with Mike’s family and boarded the vessel, we were transported to a 1920s style setting with stained glass lampshades, paneled wooden walls, and pristine white tablecloths. We were offered welcome cocktails and non-alcoholic alternatives and perused our three-course menu options.
I ordered a glass of rosé, pumpkin squash soup, duck confit with mashed potatoes and seasonal vegetables in a morel sauce, and a chocolate lava cake for dessert. Everything was absolutely delicious.
The whole experience was touristy, of course, but magical all the same, and offered an excellent vantage point for spectacular views of some of the city’s best known sights and landmarks such as Le Louvre, La Conciergerie, Notre Dame, The Eiffel Tower, The Statue of Liberty, Musée D’Orsay, Pont Alexandre III and many other beautiful bridges of Paris. We even saw ballroom dancers along the banks of the river at Quai Saint-Bernard, adding to the magic of the evening.
After disembarking from our journey on Le Calife, we said goodbye to Mike’s family, as we were heading to the airport the next morning. Mike’s mom was in disbelief that her month in Paris had only eight days remaining. All good things…
Before heading back to our hotel, there was one last place we were hoping to see. We walked from the banks of the Seine to Église Saint-Étienne-du-Mont in search of some cinematic steps. We’ve been fans of the film Midnight in Paris since before… well, you know. It was around 11:30pm and I wanted to live some movie magic, if only in my imagination.
We took turns sitting on the steps where Owen Wilson’s character, Gil Pender, waits for the Peugeot to come and bring him to the past, the likes of Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and T.S. Eliot already onboard to accompany him for the whirlwind ride. If only movie magic could be real. But, hey, there’s no harm in dreaming, is there?
With our last stop complete, we made our farewells to the City of Light at its best time, in the glow of the streetlamps, along the cobbled streets, the sounds of sirens in the distance, the café managers turning out lights and closing up shop before taking a much craved draw on a late night cigarette. The city was saying its own good night to us.
“Vous parlez français!” said the shop manager of the toy shop near the Luxembourg Gardens. You speak French!
I was already past the time Mike and I agreed we’d leave for the airport, but this was my last interaction in the city and my last opportunity to use my language skills for what might be a long time.
“Oui, un peu, mais, je ne suis pas très bon.” Yes, a little, but I’m not very good.
She laughed.
I explained in French that I had taken the language for ten years in school.
“How are you finding using it?” she said in English.
“It’s difficult to understand when I have to listen,” I said in French.
“Moi aussi, me too,” she replied, “For English. Tout le monde parlent vite, vite, vite.”
Everyone speaks fast, fast, fast.
“Exactement,” I said. Exactly.
She wrapped up the gift for my niece and decorated it with colorful ribbon, literally putting a little bow on the last moment of my Paris adventure.
“Merci beaucoup,” I said, “Bonne journée.”
Thank you very much! Have a good day.
“Bon voyage!” she replied.
Until next time, I thought. And until that next time comes, I will remember Paris well and think of it often, in the savoring of simple moments and everyday joys of living, in the practice of having eyes for beautiful things.
