After living through a fraction of what the French Antarctic explorers endured down south in the 18th century, I wanted to get a sense of what drove Jean Baptiste Charcot and co out to the harshest conditions on earth and name half the islands on the continent after themselves and famous French people. How come they didn’t they frequent cafes and romanticize ideologies like their peers back in the day? Who am I kidding. My friend wanted something from Chanel.

I was put off the last time I visited Paris 13 years ago on Easter weekend for a wedding of some sort of royalty or whatever they call themselves. Le Vendome, members only clubs, the Ritz. Not for me. I put Paris on the back burner for until I read all the classics and studied THE artists and architects whose expressions turned Paris into a cultural behemoth. The last thing I wanted to feel was dumb while brushing shoulders with the “sophisticated” or so I thought.

Sans agenda, deliberately, I flew to Paris for a couple of days wandering les rues and cafes which inspired some of my favorite authors. I wanted to spend more time admiring how a melange of architectural styles constructed the beautiful city it is today. Some of the grandest buildings store the most important and original documents, art and books in the world.

Whenever I think of Paris, I think of the spirit of the earlier centuries which brings life to every nook and cranny of the city. There’s a story everywhere you look, the name of the streets in particular. I translated my visualizations into black and white just because there are times I wish I belonged to a different era. 

Our 39 room boutique hotel was once a private thermal bath in 1885 where the likes of Marcel Proust and creme de la creme thinkers and artists used to hang out. Monet? Yes. In 1978, it turned into a disco (just cuz -1978). Philip Starck designed the checkered dance floor where Prince, Depeche Mode, among others played small shows for the likes of Karl Laggerfield, Andy Warhol, Kate Moss, Grace Jones, Jack Nicholson, Sean Penn.. In 2015, it transformed into the hotel I stayed at. The souls of the aforementioned absent, but some remain in books on my Kindle that I left behind. Instead there were DJs who played at the bar for an elite crowd that went nuts rocking the dance floor to ABBA “Gimme Gimme Gimme”. Je n’en reviens pas!

After we checked in and inhaled the hotel’s expensive perfume brand, we walked towards Centre Pompidou and turned into Rue De Rambuteau and admired the grand buildings of Archives Nationales, le Biblioteque and neighborhood parks. Private mansions reflected off the mirrors of modern storefronts on Rue De Turenne. An elegant Japanese concept store “Ogata” hidden in between De Turenne and Rue Vielle De Temple. I couldn’t resist the freshly made mochis, how French.

Dinner at Parcelles, on Rue Chapon

The next morning, we had coffee at one of the many speciality coffee shops breeding like rabbits around the city. We walked towards Square de la tour Saint-Jaques and admired the black and white photographs hung on railings that fenced the exquisite Hotel de Ville.

Lunch at Le Bon George on Rue Saint Georges

To burn it off, we walked towards Palais Garnier, the Opera, teeming with tourists waving their smart phones up in the air despite it veiled by renovation work. Palace Vendome was as grand as ever surrounded by les noms that define Paris while hard-working customers either waited in queues, were waitlisted, or turned away because they did not book appointments. We walked towards Le Louvre via Jardin des Tuileries occupied by World Cup Rugby organizers setting up a classy feast for the finals. My attempt to admire and photograph Le Louvre from different angles was obstructed by the scorching heat. I wasn’t prepared to bathe in my own sweat, so we walked back to the hotel. La Prochaine Fois.

Dinner at Kubri on Rue Amelot, a quick stop at Madame Reve’s rooftop

The next morning, we walked along Rue Beaubourg, crossed the Pont D’arcole and headed towards Notre Dame, renovation in progress, while people queued outside Shakespear and Co. and the cafe next door to it. We meandered around the Latin Quarter, crossed Jardin de Luxembourg and had lunch at Villa Medici on Rue St Placide. Via St Germain, we walked back to our hotel crossing the beautiful Isle de la City.

Dinner at Tekes, Rue St Sauveur, followed by people watching on Rue Mandar

We went back to Bon Marche in St Germain after breakfast at Coutume on Rue de Babylon because who am I kidding, I am a self proclaimed non conformist who likes to dress nice. Did I want to feel like an outsider at the airport while the real fashionistas and shopaholics queued to collect their tax back covered in brands head to toe? Yes. I bet these people spent most of their holiday queuing everywhere. I thought of how queuing on holidays has taken over our lives while I scanned my one receipt from the unpopular local jewellery designer on Le Marais.

Lunch at Le Giraffe en Palais Chaillot – deliberate cliche moment

Tourist galore at Trocadero, so we zoomed out to Plaza du Republique and walked along Boulevard Saint Martin and took a turn towards Quai de Valmy and back towards Le Marais.

Dinner at Bon Kushikatsu on Rue Jean Pierre Timbaud followed by a stroll down Quai de Jemmapes

Fun Fact: Victor Hugo was Jean-Baptiste Charcot’s wife’s grandpapa!