Generally, I don't prioritize accommodations, but when you're heading to Paris with a bestie, there's reason to splurge. The studio where we stayed certainly wasn't cheap, but it was worth it so we could feel like we were living like artistes -- and could have slumber parties in the loft (top left). We discovered that our place had connections to an actual auteur; some film canisters prompted research that revealed our host was a cameraman for Wes Craven's
The Hills Have Eyes (top right). From our studio's full wall of windows, we could look down upon the pedestrian streets of
Le Marais, which felt like a movie set -- whether the sun was shining on the dome of the
Fountain of Innocents (bottom left) or the rain was falling on the façade of
Saint Merry Church (bottom right).
I know many people plan grand itineraries for Paris, but for us, we just wanted to co-opt the Bohemian life and wander through the city. But still, we wanted to learn something, so we followed a self-guided walking tour through the
Latin Quarter. On our way to the tour's starting point, we passed the
Hotel de Ville, a pretty spectacular city hall (left), and
Saint-Jacques Tower, the sole remaining tower from a Gothic cathedral (right).
Our walk started at
Pont Des Arts, which has been modified to discourage couples from putting locks on its railings -- although some have decided love will conquer even reconstruction (top left). The bridge leads to the
Institut de France, an apt gateway to the neighborhood, which concentrates a lot of the city's brain power. The main
Sorbonne campus is located there, not far from the
Pantheon, the mausoleum where France's greatest citizens are buried (top right). But the quarter is more known for its eclectic vibe, from the airy but imposing beams of
Saint-Germain Des Pres Church (bottom left) to some humorous but meaningful street art (bottom middle). The walk ended on the grounds of
Luxembourg Palace, now home to the Senate, where model sailing was the main activity in session (bottom right).
Later, we went for another wander, this time around
Montmartre, often considered the quintessential artistic hangout: In Kyiv, like in many cities, I have visited what is described as the "Montmartre" of the Ukrainian capital. The first stop on our walk was
Emile-Goudeau Plaza, named for a
famous French journalist, where writers and painters once gathered (left). As we continued uphill, we passed
Le Moulin de la Galette, home of one of the
neighborhood's two surviving windmills (right), not to be confused with
Moulin Rouge, the notorious cabaret in the
Pigalle.
We felt far from the raucous red-light district as we passed the vines of
Vignes du Clos Montmartre (top left). But our serenity was lost upon reaching
Place du Tertre, where dozens of portrait artists set up shop to serve the tourist throngs (top right). But by far, the largest swarm was found sitting in front of
Sacre Couer (bottom left). We bought some wine to go, then popped a squat on the steps with the rest of the commoners so we could hazily gaze down upon Paris (bottom right).
We were grateful we spent so much time outside because, the next day, the weather turned sour. The rain clouds were so low that you could barely see the
Eiffel Tower (top left). And the tourists became even more annoying with their myriad umbrellas as they walked through
Tuileries Garden toward the
Roue de Paris (top right). We had the brilliant idea to escape the cold wind with a visit to
Musee d'Orsay (bottom) instead of the
Louvre -- along with hundreds of other people.
When we saw the long lines at the art museum, we changed tack and opted to take a boat tour from
Vedettes du Pont Neuf. Along the route, we caught a clearer glimpse -- if you don't count the raindrops -- of the tower (left). During another indoor escape -- at
Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre Church, one of the oldest churches in Paris -- we had a pretty good view of the pianist, despite our stingy selection of the cheap seats (right).
But no matter what the skies threw at us, it didn't dampen the overall trip because, well, food. One of our first meals was not exactly classic French: falafel from
Mi-Va-Mi, along the Jewish drag of our studio's neighborhood (left). Everywhere, sidewalks were full of tempting Parisian treats, including boeuf bourguignon (right). A nearby stall was selling cheesy helpings of
raclette; instead, we shared -- and couldn't even finish -- a platter of
tartiflette. It was so delicious that I couldn't stop sucking it down to take a photo.
Occasionally, we stopped eating -- so we could drink instead. At
Les Caves du Polidor (top left), I sipped a red as I read my vacation read (top right). I cracked my book at
Café Delmas, a Hemingway haunt, but got distracted by the street scenery and a crisp white (middle). Sometimes, I ordered something other than wine, like the famous hot chocolate at
Café de Flore, Sartre's stomping ground (bottom left). And certainly, not every sitdown was cultured, like when I washed down popcorn with a cheesy (not the dairy kind) cocktail (bottom right).
And speaking of cheese, we often got crazy by eating and drinking at the same time. The scene was more faddy than classy at
, where you drink vino from a baby bottle to circumvent the wine-glass tax (top left) and where you climb over the table to your seat to accommodate more diners (top right). The fondue was flavorsome if filling, but we discovered an even more delectable cheese dish at
tableside (middle left). I ordered mine with truffles, filet, and marrow (middle right). But by far, our most delicious and decadent dinner was at
, where I ordered escargot as my starter (bottom left) from a menu board propped on the table (bottom right).
It's hard to see from the the small picture, but outside the window in front of our table, we could gaze upon
(left). As if the cathedral weren't beautiful enough when lit up at night, as we took our final stroll back to our studio, we passed the national police headquarters, which was showing its pride in full tricolour glory (right). At that moment, I inwardly apologized to Paris for ever imagining it pretentious.
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