Aimlessly Wandering Paris
I’ve been in Paris for work a lot lately, pitching to win the advertising assignment for an iconic French brand (cross your fingers for me!).
And the experience – of seeing Paris through the lens of a corporate card rather than an ISIC card – has been both thrilling and strange. This trip, mediated by concierge services and enabled by car service, stands in such stark contrast to the way I got to know this city.
My first trip here was nearly 10 years ago – Paris was the first stop of my first trip to Europe. I stayed at the St. Christopher’s Inn, where I tossed and turned on a bottom bunk, burned out my hair straightener in an unfamiliar European outlet, and got lost on the metro more times than I could count. Like every 20-something in that outer-arrondissement hostel, I fell in love with the city on sight. I came back three times that summer.
When we came in February, my experience stood in stark contrast to those early visits. We stayed at the Hotel Verneuil, a tiny spot in St. Germain that’s been around since the 1600s and has the beamed ceilings and thick stone walls to prove it. Last week, we upgraded to Le Saint, where the brass room keys are so heavy you have to leave them with the front desk, and the shampoo smells of sandalwood. We worked during the day, browsed Buly and Deyrolle on break, and ate dinners across the Seine at Loulou in the evenings. Lovely, but a far cry from that bottom bunk of 2009.
But no matter where I slide up or down Paris’ socio-economic spectrum, I find some things never change. The same things test my love for this city; the same things replenish it. Like the ugly (North) American I am, I grow tired of French food, bemoan the city’s scarcity of bathrooms, and complain about how early shops close at night. But then I go for a long meandering walk – along the city’s cobbled streets, its wide avenues, and its riverbanks – and renew my vow to love Paris forever.
This trip, I managed just one such walk. Starting in St. Germain, I headed east past the Pantheon, wandered north to the Seine, and then slowly followed the river back west towards my hotel. But one walk was all I needed – to see shop-keepers opening for the day, to smell flowers as the sun dried their dew, to chew the end off a steaming baguette mid-stroll. I also saw an incredible number of bookstores along the way. Big ones, small ones, distinguished ones, discount ones, even ones named for cities in California. See below for photos of some of my favorites, and stay tuned for my next post about my favorite Parisian bookshop!
