Joy is the city that surprises you; That was my decision as I wrapped up a recent long weekend in Paris. It has been more than a decade since I first visited the French capital, and I can remember very little from that two-day visit; only scattered memories of frighteningly dressed women shopping in Saint-Germain-des-Prés and a trip to Notre. Dame Cathedral, which remained covered in scaffolding due to the devastating fire in 2019.
At that time, Europe’s legendary city of love escaped my notice. I had no friends there to help unpack it, and for fear of tourist traps, I was lazy to take the necessary steps to familiarize myself with its streets. I suspect my inactivity is also due to the fact that it’s so easy to get to Paris from the UK and I can afford to “bank” it.
Since then I have been busy elsewhere; I was concentrating on book research in places that were harder to reach: Central Asia, the Caucasus, Turkey, Ukraine, Russia. It’s a shame that your first tour of Paris was wasted because of me, and it’s entirely my fault.
One art exhibition drew me back: the blockbuster Mark Rothko exhibition (until April 2) at the Fondation Louis Vuitton in the Bois de Boulogne, a vast park in the west of the city. I have visited Rothko’s birthplace, the Mark Rothko Art Center in Daugavpils, Latvia, and stopped countless times in the Rothko room at the Tate Modern in London. I’m a fan. The show was vast and immersive (and very busy), and the Frank Gehry-designed building (white iceberg-like blocks surrounded by towering glass sails) might have been the only reason to visit. But by the end of my mini-break it turned out that this was just one of many important events.
As with any successful travel experience, the real gems are often the “unknown unknowns”—the unforeseen, serendipitous encounters. None of them were particularly secret or secret, but they were new to me.
The mosque sparkles with dazzling tiles with geometric motifs in green, peach and white colors.
I set my base for this stay in the 5th arrondissement, close to the Sorbonne, and had the weather on my side the first morning (the hotel receptionist told me how lucky I was, because “it had been raining for days”). , I went for a run. It was a crisp, clear winter’s day, and as I turned 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 in Moorish style and 33 meters high, it shines in the light, its tiles consisting of geometric motifs dazzling in green, peach and white.
As I crossed the road and ran towards the Jardin des Plantes, I stopped to photograph another completely unexpected, very different, unknown: a zoological enclosure where a group of incredibly cute, red-necked wallabies huddled together in a bit of sunshine. As more runners entered the park, I continued past large wrought-iron greenhouses, giant palm trees pushing against the glass. The Seine just beyond beckoned me and I ran along the river; I passed the Shakespeare and Company bookstore, a self-described “Left Bank literary institution”; A queue was already forming here, watched over by a bouncer. The power of Instagram (despite the ban on photos inside the famous store). I passed dozens of sidewalk cafes, each looking more attractive than the last.
Librairie Galignani is definitely a candidate to be the most stylish bookstore in the world
Returning to the park, I stopped for an espresso at La Fontaine Cuvier and slid into one of the classic woven French bistro chairs that called for an old novel and a cigarette instead of a Garmin running watch, but never mind.
After showering and having breakfast, I walked down Rue de Rivoli to look for bookstores to browse (the immortal habit of an old bookseller abroad). After a wander around the elegant Librairie Galignani – surely a candidate for the world’s chicest bookstore, with its high ceilings and potted plants – I found nearby Smith & Son, which seemed more egalitarian and had a wide selection of English-language books. Enticed by the smell of pastries upstairs, I arrived at the café while passing a Penguin Modern Classics exhibition and was greeted by a truly astonishing sight: paintings of the British royal family. The British waiter told me that the shop was first opened by the British in 1870 as a retail space, lending library and tea room, and had previously been used as WHSmith. Despite a slight rebrand, it remains famous for its afternoon tea and the scones were truly melt-in-your-mouth delicious. I felt guilty for not having a croissant at a proper Parisian bakery, but there was time for that another day.
As I drifted back through the 6th arrondissement, I glanced at the works of Jules Verne through the window of the stunningly beautiful rare bookstore Librarie Monte Cristo, but everything looked alarmingly expensive and I continued on my way with some trepidation.
Paris was closing in on me and I was going to run out of time.
That afternoon I was almost back where I started, admiring the exhibits of the Institut du Monde Arabe. I first admired the architecture (one façade has more than 100 photosensitive panels that open and close like a camera shutter to control the light filtered into the interior) then discovered the Parfums d’Orient perfume exhibition (until March 17). It looks at the importance of incense and scent from the High Atlas mountains to the Indian Ocean. Reem Al-Nasser’s installation of a wedding outfit made entirely from jasmine buds, based on the traditional work of Yemeni artisans (and questioning the sustainability of the art and the sanctification of virginity), was notable. The ground floor café smelled enticing, so I stood in line and ordered a bowl of couscous. This being Paris, this wasn’t just a canteen experience. Lovely soft couscous, scented with cumin and cinnamon, paired with delicately cooked vegetables, was served at the table along with a ceramic gravy boat. It was as good as what I had in Morocco, maybe even better.
Relating to: Beyond the Tower: other star attractions of Gustave Eiffel’s Paris
Later, on Boulevard Saint-Marcel, I stopped for a beer at the no-frills Au Petit Bar: it’s popular with students playing board games and welcomes solo drinkers. I started making plans for the next day: tea and pastries at the café next door and a subway trip to see Asian art at the Musée Guimet. Paris was closing in on me and I was going to run out of time.
As I returned to the stunning River Seine for a walk towards Jardin Tino Rossi, I spotted a couple sitting on the riverbank, hugging each other against the cold, leaves falling around them as the sky turned a light lavender. Schmaltzy it may be, but this Parisian scene, like a still from a romantic movie, was too atmospheric to ignore, and I felt a growing sense of awe and awe as I stopped to take photos. I whispered loudly to no one: “Oh Paris, the heartbreaking city!” I may be very slow to catch on, but I’m so glad I finally caught it.