I was beyond ecstatic to reunite with Élodie in France after nearly six years apart. We celebrated our long-overdue reunion with a 4-day road trip in the Loire Valley, visiting a total of seven châteaux. We fangirled over the ladies of Chenonceau (who Élodie endearingly described as “bosses”), marvelled at the gardens of Villandry (“I’d like that in my future house please”) and distressed over Count Xavier Branicki’s prized hunting collection at Montrésor (“Why did he have to show them off in his dining room??”). We blasted the radio—the same five songs on repeat—and contemplated life ahead of us. Élodie taught me phrases like “Ça va? Je vous dérange pas!?”, which I memorised and recited diligently in case a cunning but aggressive thief tries to snatch my bag on the metro. It was as if no time has passed.
By the end of our brief venture into the Loire, Paris awaited. What better way to begin our ‘Eat, Play, Love’ journey in the city of love? All jokes aside, I returned to the city with much excitement but also slight trepidation as I was going to be properly alone from then on. How does one survive in this sprawling metropolis with nothing but a severely inadequate vocabulary that consisted only of ‘bonjour’, ‘merci’ and ‘au revoir’?
Bisous from Paris-no-longer,
Yolé
P.S. Scroll down for some cafes/restaurants/songs ;)
Spring.
In the words of Fran Lebowitz, Paris is a great beauty. It’s chic, sexy, grandiose, and with all these qualities combined, its arrogance suddenly becomes palatable and annoyingly justified. In the most non-cliché way possible, I’m in love with Paris.
But it wasn’t love at first sight. Paris in June 2018 was chaotic, artificial and felt like a complete tourist trap. The audacity for it to be flocked with wide-eyed tourists in summer dresses and berets! The metro was objectively shit, though the RER wasn’t as unbearable as Tiéphaine and Élodie had warned it to be, maybe I found less-than-pristine trains to be quite the experience. The city felt like a massive monument unsuitable for living, not to mention the disappointing lack of romance—I did not have a serendipitous rendezvous with a stranger, as one would rightfully expect on their first visit. On a more positive note, the sirens were good for keeping my senses alive, an unexpected museum strike was a good excuse to return, and I’m eternally grateful to have seen Notre Dame before the fire.
Paris in April 2024 turned out to be wonderful.
For a good seven days, I explored the city relentlessly, hopping from cafés to museums to random second-hand bookstores in the 5th. I spent a considerable amount of time wandering the streets. In this unfolding season of flâneurie, tulips danced with the breeze, cherry blossoms decorated the pavement, and wisteria adorned the Haussmannian buildings. Despite the downpours that month, I was there during a sufficiently sunny week, and evening rays often smeared the sky pink.
Paris is comfortable enough for hours of walking as urban pastime. It’s much smaller than London and not nearly as overwhelming as Hong Kong where agitating sounds of traffic and narrow spaces constantly gnaw away at your patience. It’s filled with visual delights, be it historical anchors like the Eiffel Tower, couples flirting by the Seine or fashionably dressed diners in terrasses. Paris Olympics was underway, and you will inevitably run into pre-wedding shoots. While some may opt for exhilarating, adrenaline-rushed city-hopping, I now seem to gravitate towards wasting time. Unlike more adventurous excursions, I experienced the city without frenzy and surrendered to the present. Well to be honest, catching a cold forced me to slow down.
I became invisible, dwarfed by the city’s greatness, blended into the crowd of faces. In a city rid of people-pleasing tendencies, solitude felt pretty good. My vitality as a giddy solo traveller was overshadowed by Parisians’ air of nonchalance.1 Parisians are not rude, they just don’t give a damn.2 When Monica and I returned to the city for her graduation in June and I ordered “un chocolatin” instead of “un pain au chocolat” at a bakery, the boulanger didn’t even bat an eye. “That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting!” I uttered in defeat and disbelief as we sat down with our breakfast. The severity of this linguistic crime had been drilled into my brain throughout uni and what better time to commit it than as a fully fledged adult unafraid of consequences? “I think he knows we’re messing with him,” Monica chuckled. “The lady behind us probably winced though.”
Alone and unafraid, relaxed yet engaged, I travelled from one arrondisement to another. Cognisant of the horrifying tales of robbery however, I did make an effort to clutch my bag (which, might I add for dramatic effect, did not have a zip) tightly under my arm, and was more than careful not to wave my ultra-smart gadget around while dillydallying. The prolonged daylight and 9pm sunsets served me well. Along the way, I enjoyed a vegan avocado toast in Saint Pearl, devoured a coffee éclair on the uphill climb to Belleville Park, strolled into a marathon on a casual Sunday, and popped by the Curie Museum where I came to the painful conclusion that my ability to comprehend science has stunted, even if my appreciation for it multiplied over the years.
I wish I had more gripping stories to tell when friends asked me whether I had met anyone, or if anyone tried to ‘hit me up’. Guys, I’m a scaredy cat and the last thing I’d wanna do is draw attention to myself. But perhaps I should’ve fired an electrifying gaze at that cute book seller. Instead, I avoided eye contact and pretended to be engrossed in the medieval Parisian history section just so I could secretly catch a glimpse of him stacking books onto the shelves.
On my last night in Paris, I decided to visit Brasserie Rosie, a decent bistro located on an undistinguishable street in Bastille. By 7pm, the restaurant was already filled with diners, with only a few empty bar-seats for singletons. I sat next to an American girl from Nashville who was on her solo birthday trip. She had just turned 20 and it seemed impossible to me that people born in 2004 are now in their twenties. We started off with polite small talk, which soon turned into gleeful exchanges of our favourite spots. A few moments later, the bartender came over with her drink and placed it on a napkin. I stole a glance at the napkin and gasped. On it scribbled chubby letters that read: You are cute / Call me ♡ / at 0749XXXXXX. “Omg did he just leave you his number?” My eyes shot back up and trailed the bartender. “Wait what?” Avery examined the napkin for three seconds, gave it a scratch and we let out rapturous cackles. That shit’s on every one of their napkins.
Some of you might think this sounds ridiculously romanticised, and of course we know that Paris is no more the City of Love than the City of Cigarettes. But that was what Paris felt like: flirtatious, enticing, manifique, and just a little bit cheeky.
Travel musings 💭
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Being in a foreign city alone, very often you’re left with nothing but your own thoughts—which leaves much room for self-reflection. As I begin to ponder the kind of life I want to lead, here are some travel musings on the road:
Written in Jardin de Tuileries. 11 April 2024.
Navigating public transport in a foreign city is chaotic but rewarding. Trying to make sense of the labyrinth that is the underground metro in a language you barely understand is daunting but stimulating. Thanks to Google Maps, we no longer need to actually read the spider web of stations, which makes things much easier. But sometimes I do wonder if technology has taken the joy out of having to squint and search for your station(s) on the physical map in a dimly lit tunnel—there’s no more anticipation nowadays! Once you master the art of public transport abroad, you feel invincible and just might begin to entertain the idea of living there. <Insert Bus 83 to Invalides, Bus 64 back to Tolbiac, Metro lines 1, 4, 7 and of course, the RER.>
You learn to let go of the need to take control while travelling solo. City folks are so accustomed to having a tight grip on time, schedule, and predetermined destinations. We want to feel in control of everything, no time is to be wasted, all missions must be accomplished. But it’s important to learn to listen to your body and just go with the flow at times. It’s ok to take a rest day without feeling the guilt of not optimising your travel plans (noo because you only have 4 more days here and whatnot). Allow yourself to become more sensitive and attuned to your physical and mental needs. Learn to be spontaneous and be ok with leaving some bullet points uncrossed for the day. Unplanned routes almost always lead to hidden gems so leave yourself some room for surprises.
Because of this, time becomes a weird construct too. There is no pressure to follow socially constructed routines. You can have lunch at 3, and/or dinner at 4:30. Your inner voice may tell you to be sensible (which is itself a product of socialisation) but you are free to resist it. You could spend the whole day doing laundry. You could walk a full hour from Invalides to the 13th Arrondissement just because you wanted to stroll around Paris at night (not advised), in which case you also expand *coughs* distorts *coughs* your understanding of distance.
You learn to appreciate the slow life, even if you might not practice it. You’re young, full of life, and fireworks should be bursting within you. But you also begin to open yourself up to the variety of lifestyle that this world has to offer, and hence feel less guilty about not being on the grind lately. I find myself often whispering:「原來還可以這樣生活！」. Being close to supermarkets and shopping malls doesn’t have to take precedence over having a more spacious home with pets and plants. Spending a full afternoon lazing in the park could do wonders too.
Book things in advance, especially for museums in Paris on the first Sunday of every month. Preferably one month in advance as soon as tickets are released, because it is likely that they will sell out and you might miss out on free stuff. This also applies to other sought-after institutions and activities. Note to self: do better next time.
Time difference can be wonderful when you need peace and quiet.
Being alone is great, with the exception of:
(a) when you must pay for everything yourself, which includes extortionate accommodation prices.
(b) when you cannot eat everything you want to. You rarely get to taste more than one dish at a time because you simply won't be able to finish everything, even if you try extremely hard.
(c) when you lack someone to gush about your new-found appreciation for Renoir and Sisley or complain about the sudden termination of buses to in real-time. You can only write them down but by the time those post cards reach their destinations, the feelings would’ve been long gone. Or by the time you feel obliged to call home, you’re already too exhausted since it’s the end of the day, or too excited for new adventures that you end up keeping conversations short.
(d) when you accidentally - or rather, idiotically - post postcards without stamps because there were no extra pair of eyes to help double check for you.
Other travel tips include: bring water if you are to see the whole shebang of Chateau de Versailles (including the Grand & Petite Trianon and the Queen’s Hamlet). Otherwise you’ll end up having to pay 3 euros for a 300mL bottle of water which you’ll devour in 3 seconds.
I also tried some lovely, laptop-friendly cafes and restaurants of various cuisines during my short stay in Paris. Here are a selected few:
Cafés
The Coffee: Sorbonne (Quartier Latin, Rue de la Sorbonne)
Courtesy of Monica’s recommendation 💗 I made my way here in an attempt to romanticise a ruthless work deadline on a sunny Saturday morning. I couldn’t wait to be productive after 10 days of frolicking in Italian rain (that was sarcasm by the way). The café is conveniently located in the Sorbonne University area, where presumably students would also come here to work. It is very Japanesque, and played my favourite Fuji Kaze songs. Indeed made me feel quite at home and helped me ease into this solo-travelling-in-Europe season.
Wild & The Moon: Saint-Honoré (1st Arrondissement near the museums)
A vegan café/restaurant that I stumbled upon after my morning visit to Musée de l'Orangerie. Spent a good hour here munching on a veggie bowl+rice (slightly pricey for what it’s worth) and working on my laptop. I also deliberately sat outdoors near two girlfriends who were filling each other in on their dates - all I could afford was free water so I needed the tea.
Café Rollin (9th Arrondissement, near Montmarte)
Also stumbled upon this because I desperately needed refreshments after two hours at Musée d’Orsay, as well as a place for me to write postcards. Had a sizeable blueberry muffin, wrote postcards to my two best friends (which I accidentally posted without stamps but luckily they still arrived!), and read a bit. A girl was on a work call so I think this place is also laptop-friendly, at least during non-peak hours.
Restaurants
Aléa 🇫🇷 (Montmarte, Rue Lamarck)
After some time at Café Rollin, I hiked to this small bistro in Montmarte, run by a couple called Léa Lestage (the chef) and William Atlan (waiter and veteran chef who offered impeccable service). Their butternut appetiser wraps your taste buds in a warm embrace, the “Rack of pork” main was surprisingly tender, and their chocolate tartlet was so rich (praline cream on top also very yummy) that I ended up having to take half of it home. You see what I mean in 7(b)?
Phô Tai 🇻🇳 (13th Arrondissement aka the Asian quarter)
A Vietnamese restaurant that’s been around for over two decades. The owners of the restaurant are 越南華僑 and they speak Cantonese! Generous beef portion and a big yes to noodle soup. The 13th has many good southeast asian restaurants.
El Cucho 🇨🇴 (13th Arrondissement)
With a whooping 4.9 stars on Google review, I felt compelled to try this place, given that it’s right below where I stayed. I think this might be the first time that I’ve ever tried Colombian cuisine and boi was it bomb. I tried their chicken empanada and subsequently, pork patacone. Both of which were very flavourful and just the right amount. It’s run by a family from Colombia, though the main guy serving the customers who speaks English is Serbian. The latest addition to the family is a wide-eyed, giggly 9-month old baby, and her name is Gabriella.
Brasserie Rosie 🇫🇷 (11th Arrondissement)
Courtesy of Élodie’s recommendation ;) Had a lovely time here and met an American girl from Nashville who was on her solo birthday trip (her name is Avery, in case I forget). She just turned 20 and it’s impossible to me that people born in 2004 are now in their twenties, just, non. It was both of our last nights in Paris - what are the chances! One of my favourite parts of travelling solo is talking to people who you’ll likely never cross paths again. You just happen to share a cherished moment in a fleeting juncture in time. Quite magical wouldn’t you agree?
Azure Café 🇫🇷 (16th Arrondissement)
A Mediterranean-inspired brunch place, spent a lovely hour here with Monica on the day before her Master’s graduation!
And there we have it, an attempt to capture memories in Paris. In a nutshell, I don’t want to leave and I will be back!
Soundtracks:
Pierre Garnier - Ceux qu'on était (2024)
VITAA - Je n’oublie pas (2023)
Madame Monsieur - Comme un voleur ft Jérémy Frérot (2020)
And this final one for sweet nostalgia:
Arcadian - Entre elle et moi (2017)
I tried to replicate this air of nonchalance once while trying to cross the road at a red light like a true Parisian (I had to catch a bus!), only to find myself stranded in the middle of the road because there were way too many cars and it was, in fact, quite dangerous. In moments like these you become very good at masking embarrassment because otherwise you’d be mistaken for a dumb & reckless tourist, now you’re just dumb & reckless and possibly local.
Do note that most shop owners would solemnly refuse to chirp “au revoir” back when you leave their stores without buying anything. Don’t feel bad.