Paris has always held a special place in my heart, not just for its beauty and charm, but for how much it has changed with each visit. My relationship with the city spans more than a decade, and it’s been marked by tight budgets, food poisoning, and finally, a return visit that felt like a full-circle moment.
The first time I went to Paris was in 2014. I was a study abroad student in Belfast with very little disposable income, so I hesitated when a classmate invited me to join her for a long weekend in Paris. But I said yes. Even though money was tight, the magic of that trip stuck with me, wandering the streets, sharing cheap meals, marvelling at the city’s grandeur.
Fast forward to 2017. Victor and I visited Paris to see my aunt and uncle, who were in town from NYC for my aunt’s birthday. It was a whirlwind weekend, just a couple of days, and unfortunately, it ended on a sour note when I came down with bad food poisoning. Ever since, I’ve longed to go back, just the two of us, with time (and a bit more money) to truly enjoy the city.
In 2022, I finally made it happen. My birthday falls right around Beaujolais Nouveau Day, which felt like the perfect excuse for a celebratory weekend in Paris.
Beaujolais Nouveau Day: The Spirit of the Season
If you’ve never heard of Beaujolais Nouveau Day, it’s one of France’s most beloved wine traditions. On the third Thursday of November each year, the very first bottles of that year’s Beaujolais Nouveau, a young red wine made from Gamay grapes in the Beaujolais region, are released with great fanfare.
Though the wine itself is often light, fruity, and best enjoyed fresh, the celebration is anything but subtle. All over Paris, wine bars, bistros, and caves à vin mark the day with signs announcing “Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé!” and pour generous glasses of the newest vintage. It’s joyful, informal, and deliciously French.
Having my birthday fall right alongside it made the whole weekend feel even more festive. The energy in the city was just a bit more electric. Wine shops were buzzing, and people gathered at sidewalk tables with glasses of the bright red pour, bundled up in coats but lingering late. There’s something magical about toasting a new year of life while the whole city is also toasting the new wine of the season.
Friday Night Arrival
We took the Eurostar after work and arrived in Paris around 10 PM. Our home for the weekend was the Hotel des Grandes Ecoles, nestled in the heart of the Latin Quarter. I’d chosen it after reading about its hidden-garden setting and old-world charm, and it turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip.
The rooms are simple, with classic French furnishings, floral wallpaper, and big shuttered windows that open out to garden views. There are no TVs, and Wi-Fi is spotty, but that’s part of the charm. It’s a place that invites you to unplug, open a book, or simply sit with a glass of wine and listen to the birds.
The hotel feels almost like a secret — a place that Paris regulars whisper to each other about. It has that slightly faded, nostalgic beauty that makes you feel like you’re staying in a friend’s family home. And its location is unbeatable: a short walk from the Panthéon, the Jardin des Plantes, and the Rue Mouffetard market street, with all its cheese shops and bakeries.
After checking in, we went for a moonlit walk through the neighbourhood. We shared a warm galette from a late-night crêperie and soaked in the charm of the Latin Quarter. Then it was time to head back, slip under the soft duvet, and get some rest. A wonderful weekend in Paris was just beginning.
Saturday: Art, Arcades, and a Seafood Feast
We woke to a partly sunny sky and made our way to La Maison d’Isabelle for breakfast, a spot I’d been excited to try for a very specific reason. In 2018, it won the award for the best butter croissant in Paris and the surrounding Île-de-France region. Their croissants au beurre are made with organic ingredients and described by many as flaky, deeply buttery, and perfectly balanced. The croissants were really good, but I also loved their kouign-amann. It was a perfect start to the day.
Then it was off to the Musée de l’Orangerie, one of my absolute favourite places in Paris. The highlight, of course, is the pair of oval rooms housing Claude Monet’s Nymphéas (Water Lilies), an immersive, panoramic installation of light, water, and sky. Monet conceived these works as a gift to the French people after World War I, envisioning them as a “haven of peaceful meditation.” He worked on them obsessively during the final years of his life, painting in his garden at Giverny and overseeing the installation plans himself.
The space was custom-designed to his specifications: soft natural light from above, curved walls to create a continuous, enveloping flow, and no visual distractions.
I first saw them in 2017, but this time, the experience felt even more profound. The light in the room was gentler, the silence deeper, and I found myself noticing new details: the flicker of light on the water, the way colours shift as you move. It felt like stepping inside a painting, or perhaps a dream.
From there, we walked through the Tuileries Garden, taking in the wide gravel paths, manicured trees, and the soft golden light that November casts over Paris. Even in late autumn, the garden has a quiet beauty, statues standing sentinel among the falling leaves, locals reading on benches, children chasing each other around fountains. It felt like the perfect transition from the intensity of Monet’s water lilies to the open air and slower pace of the city.
We continued into the elegant courtyard of the Palais-Royal, where symmetry and serenity reign. The black-and-white striped columns of Daniel Buren’s Les Deux Plateaux still draw playful visitors and quiet wanderers alike. It’s a great place to pause and take in the contrast of classical French architecture and contemporary art, all while tucked just steps away from the city’s bustle.
We wandered through Paris’s historic covered passages, beginning with Galerie Vivienne, a Belle Époque marvel filled with mosaic-tiled floors, soft lighting, and elegant boutiques. Walking through it feels like stepping into a more refined, slower-paced version of Paris, a world of quiet charm hidden just off the main streets.
From there, we continued on to Passage des Panoramas, Passage Jouffroy, and Passage Verdeau — a dreamy detour through some of the city’s lesser-known nooks. Each passage has its own personality, from vintage postcard shops to old bookstalls and tucked-away cafés. These arcades offer a glimpse into a different era, one where Parisians sought shelter from the rain and the rush, and where a sense of discovery still lingers with every turn.
For lunch, we treated ourselves to a seafood feast at Juste, where we had oysters, razor clams, and cockles, paired with chilled French white wine. I wanted to make sure we had relatively light lunch, given how many treats we were eating!
We then made our way to Galeries Lafayette to admire the patisserie hall. The selection was overwhelming, but we settled on Yann Couvreur’s tarte citron verte et noix de coco. We took it to a nearby park and savoured it. The bright lime, the soft coconut, the flaky crust. It was one of those perfect Paris moments.
Our next stop was the Musée de la Vie Romantique, a quiet gem nestled near Montmartre. Surrounded by rose bushes and ivy-clad walls, the museum exuded a tranquil charm. Housed in a 19th-century villa, it offered a glimpse into the intimate world of the Romantic era, with rooms filled with antique furnishings, delicate portraits, and mementoes of literary and artistic legends like George Sand and Ary Scheffer. It felt less like a museum and more like a secret, lovingly preserved sanctuary where time stood still.
From there, we made our way uphill, weaving through the lively streets that led past the iconic red windmill of the Moulin Rouge, then continuing toward the bustling Place du Tertre, where artists displayed their work in open-air studios. On the way, the scent of fresh bread guided us to Le Grenier à Pain Abbesses Bodian, where we paused to savour warm, flaky croissants.
Refuelled, we wandered deeper into the heart of Montmartre, strolling along winding cobblestone lanes lined with ivy-draped facades, quiet staircases, and shuttered windows glowing softly in the late afternoon light.
As golden hour approached, we climbed the final stretch to the Sacré-Cœur Basilica. The view from the top was breathtaking: the Paris skyline bathed in pink and amber hues, rooftops stretching endlessly toward the horizon, with the Eiffel Tower rising gracefully in the distance. It was a moment of quiet awe, the perfect culmination to our slow ascent through the soul of Montmartre.
After a full day of walking, art, and pastries, we returned to our hotel to rest before dinner. That evening, we made our way to Clamato, a buzzy seafood spot that doesn’t take reservations. We put our name down and passed the time with a short walk and a pre-dinner glass of wine at Septime La Cave, the cosy wine bar just across the street. It was also where we joined the city in celebrating Beaujolais Nouveau — with a glass of the young, fruity red that had just been released that week. It felt spontaneous and joyful, like a secret we’d wandered into, and made for a perfect prelude to dinner.
Back at Clamato, we sat at the bar and ordered nearly everything that caught our eye. We started with the cod roe tarama, creamy and deeply savoury. Then came cuttlefish from Oléron with fennel, pomegranate, and za’atar, followed by raw scallops with radish and a finger lime vinaigrette — bright, briny, and delicately acidic.
There was also roasted squash with miso and hazelnut vinaigrette, topped with a fine dusting of bottarga, and marinated leeks in oyster vinaigrette with a smoked sabayon, one of the most unexpected and delightful dishes of the night.
To finish, we shared the semifreddo with marinated citrus, and it was the perfect end to such a complex and layered meal. The semifreddo was silky and cold, offset by tart, vibrant slices of marinated citrus.
Sunday: Rain, Sunshine, and a Sweet Goodbye
On Sunday morning, we ventured to Boulangerie Utopie, where we found what we agreed were the best croissants of the trip — crisp, flaky, and perfect.
We wandered around Le Marais, the historic Jewish quarter and one of Paris’s oldest and most atmospheric neighbourhoods. Narrow medieval streets unfolded around us, lined with a blend of centuries-old architecture and trendy boutiques, falafel stands, and hidden courtyards draped in vines.
We passed by the elegant Place des Vosges, its arcades sheltering art galleries and cafés, and paused to admire the mix of cultures and histories woven into every stone. Orthodox bakeries sat beside hip concept stores, and synagogues quietly anchored the community’s long presence here.
Just as the sky darkened and rain began to fall in sudden sheets, we ducked into the nearby Pompidou Centre. Its inside-out architecture, with its pipes, ducts, and escalators boldly displayed in bright colours, was a striking contrast to the old-world charm we had just left behind.
The building itself felt like a living sculpture, and from the upper levels, the rain-specked windows offered a dramatic view over the Paris rooftops. The downpour had unexpectedly steered us into one of the city’s most dynamic cultural spaces, turning a grey afternoon into an adventure in colour and creativity.
We stood quietly before Henri Matisse’s La Blouse Roumaine, captivated by its rich reds and ornamental detail. Nearby, Joan Miró’s ethereal Triptyque Bleu I, Bleu II, Bleu III cast a dreamlike spell, the vast fields of blue drawing us into a meditative hush. Pablo Picasso’s Femme au Chapeau offered a bold, fractured portrait full of energy and colour, while Kandinsky’s Sky Blue felt almost musical in its floating, abstract form
By mid-afternoon, the skies cleared. We crossed to the Île de la Cité to see the Notre-Dame Cathedral (which was still under renovation after the fire), and browsed the shelves at the iconic Shakespeare & Company bookstore.
Our final hours in Paris were spent wandering through the tranquil paths of the Jardin du Luxembourg. The early afternoon light filtered through rows of chestnut trees, casting soft shadows over gravel walkways and green iron chairs. We strolled past the stately Luxembourg Palace and checked out the large octagonal fountain.
From there, we made our way toward the Panthéon, its neoclassical dome rising proudly above the Latin Quarter. As we approached, its grand columns and solemn façade commanded a quiet kind of reverence. Inside, we took a moment to reflect beneath the soaring rotunda and visited the crypts of France’s great minds, Voltaire, Marie Curie, and Rousseau, feeling both humbled and inspired by the weight of history that filled the air.
Hungry and a bit wistful about the journey coming to a close, we headed to Au Doux Raisin for a late lunch. Tucked on a quiet corner, the bistro welcomed us with its cosy charm and faded vintage posters lining the walls. We ordered a spread that felt indulgently French—tender escargots swimming in garlic butter, a selection of creamy and pungent cheeses, and a carafe of deep red wine. The conversation lingered, the pace slowed, and we savoured each bite as though trying to stretch time. It was the perfect note to end on—rich, comforting, and unmistakably Parisian.
Then it was time to catch our train back to London, full of good food, better memories, and the deep satisfaction of finally having my Paris trip, with Victor, with sunshine (mostly), and with plenty of croissants.
Are you inspired now to go on a romantic getaway to Paris?
No Comments