by Joy is the city that surprises you – that was my birth and I completed a long weekend in Paris. More than ten years had passed since I first visited the French capital, and I remember very little of that two-day event, just scattered memories of anxiously dressed women shopping in Saint-Germain-des-Prés and a trip to Notre. The Dame Cathedral, which was still covered in scaffolding due to the terrible fire of 2019.
Back then, the noble city of romance in Europe was lost on me. I didn’t have any friends there to help unlock it and, fearing tourist traps, I was too lazy to put in the legwork to get to know the streets. I suspect my lethargy was also due to the fact that Paris is so easily accessible from the UK that I could afford to “put it in the bank”.
Between then and now, I’ve been busy elsewhere, focusing on book research in places that are harder to get to: Central Asia, the Caucasus, Turkey, Ukraine, Russia. It is a great shame, and a great fault of mine, that I was mistaken for Paris the first time.
An art exhibition drew me back: a large-scale Mark Rothko show (until April 2), at the Fondation Louis Vuitton, located in the Bois de Boulogne, a sprawling park in the west of the city. I visited Rothko’s birthplace, now the Mark Rothko Art Center, in Daugavpils, Latvia, and I sometimes stood in the Rothko room at the Tate Modern in London. I am a fan. The show was spacious and immersive (and very busy), and the building designed by Frank Gehry – white blocks like icebergs surrounded by tall glass sails – would be one reason to visit. But by the end of my mini break it turned out to be one of the many highlights.
As with any successful travel experience, the real gems are usually the “unknown unknowns” – those who stumble, unexpectedly, in advance. None of them were particularly hidden or secret, but they were novel to me.
The mosque glowed, its tiles geometric motifs dazzling in green, peach and white
For this stay, I made my base in the 5th arrondissement, close to the Sorbonne, and on the first morning, with the weather on my side (the hotel receptionist told me how lucky I was, because ” raining for days”). , I set out for a jog. It was a bright winter day and, rounding a corner, I saw the first unexpected sight of the day: sunlight hitting the sand-colored minaret of the Grande Mosquée de Paris, inspired by the Al-Zaytuna mosque in Tunisia. Square, Moorish in style and 33 meters high, it glowed in the light, its tiles dazzling geometric motifs in green, peach and white.
Jogging across the road and into the Jardin des Plantes, I stopped to photograph another unexpected, and very different, unknown: a zoological enclosure housing a group of very cute red-necked wallabies, meeting in sunshine. I went on, past the large wrought iron greenhouses, huge palms pressing against the glass, and more joggers into the park. The Seine, just over there, turned me back towards it, and I ran along the river – past the Shakespeare and Company bookshop, the self-proclaimed “Literary institution of the Left Bank”, where there was a queue watched by a bouncer at already composed, as it is. the power of Instagram (although photos are prohibited inside the famous store). I ran past dozens of pavement cafes, each looking more inviting than the last.
Librairie Galignani is definitely a contender for the world’s prettiest bookstore
Looping back to the park, I stopped for an espresso at La Fontaine Cuvier, sliding over to one of those classic woven French bistro chairs that calls for a hit novel and a cigarette rather than a running Garmin watch, but I don’t mind.
Having showered and breakfasted, I walked to the next rue de Rivoli, in search of bookshops to browse in (an unusual habit of a foreign ex-seller). After a mooch in the elegant Librairie Galignani – surely a contender for world’s best bookshop with its high ceilings and potted plants – I found the more even-tempered Smith & Son nearby, which has a great range of English titles. Attracted upstairs by the smell of baking, passing an exhibition of Penguin Modern Classics, I came to the cafe, and a truly amazing sight: pictures of the British royal family. The English waiter told me that the store was originally opened by Brits in 1870 as a retail space, as a lending library and tea room, and was previously a WHSmith. Despite the slight rebranding, it is still famous for its afternoon tea, and the scones were indeed melt-in-the-mouth delicious. I felt guilty that I wasn’t enjoying a croissant in a proper bakery in Paris, but there was time for that another day.
Walking back through the 6th arrondissement, I saw the works of Jules Verne in the window of the beautiful rare book shop Librarie Monte Cristo, but everything looked scary and, feeling a little intimidated, I walked on.
Paris was creeping up on me, and I was going to run out of time
That evening, I was almost back where I started, admiring the exhibits of the Institut du Monde Arabe. Marveling at the architecture at first – one facade has more than 100 photosensitive panels that open and close like a camera shutter to control the filtering of light into the interior – I then explored the exhibition on perfumes, Parfums d’Orient (until March 17), which looks at the importance of incense and fragrances from the High Atlas mountains to the Indian Ocean. Reem Al-Nasser had made a wedding dress made entirely of jasmine buds based on the traditional work of Yemeni artisans (and questioning the sustainability of the art and the sanctification of virginity). The café on the ground floor smelled musty, so I joined the queue and ordered a bowl of couscous. This being Paris, it was just a canteen experience. The delightfully fluffy couscous, paired with gently cooked vegetables scented with cumin and cinnamon, was served at the table with a ceramic sauce boat of broth. It was as good – maybe better than – any I ate in Morocco.
Related: Beyond the Tower: the attractions of another star in Gustave Eiffel’s Paris
Later, I stopped for a beer on Boulevard Saint-Marcel, at the low-key Au Petit Bar: it is popular with students playing board games and welcoming single drinkers. I started planning the next day: for tea and pastries at the adjacent cafe and a metro trip to see Asian art at the Musée Guimet. Paris was creeping up on me, and I was going to run out of time.
Returning to the magnetic Seine walking towards the Jardin Tino Rossi, I saw a couple sitting by the river bank, wrapped around each other against the cold, leaves falling about them as the sky turned sweet lavender . Schmaltzy maybe, but this scene in Paris, like a picture from a romantic movie, was too atmospheric to dismiss, and when I stopped to take a photo I felt a surge of admiration and wonder. I said out loud to no one: “Ah Paris, city of heartbreak!” Maybe I was being too honest in judging myself, but I am so happy that I am finally here.
