Paris, France (2025)
In September 2025 I spent three nights in Paris. (I = Harriet).
I love travelling with my partner Mal and our children, but it often involves compromises such as eating at 5pm, hopping in an uber when tired legs can’t continue, or cutting short a gallery visit in favour of a playground.
So this self indulgent solo trip was an opportunity to prioritise my preferences and I was determined to make the most of it. My colleagues asked “What will you be doing in Paris?”. Three things”, I replied, “food, walking and art”.
Getting there
I travelled via an EMR train from Sheffield to St Pancras (£85 return) and then the Eurostar to Paris (£88 return), reaching Paris in the afternoon. A quick metro journey (€2.50) from Gare du Nord to Bastille brought me within 10 minutes walk of my hotel.
The outward journey went to plan, with smooth connections and no delays, despite arriving on a day of protests and blockades in France.
Accommodation
I’ve visited Paris a number of times before, and taking recommendations from Tripadvisor forum users, I opted to stay in the 11th Arrondisement this time, east of Bastille.
The area was great! It had a mix of high end boutiques, high street stores, and down to earth independent shops. It was walking distance from Le Marais and Canal Saint Martin, two areas I intended to explore on foot during this trip. While there were still tourists around, there were also plenty of French residents enjoying the plentiful bars and cafes.
I booked a classic room at Hotel L’Antoine (€255 / £222 per night).
The hotel had a trendy and sophisticated feel. I wouldn’t have stayed here with kids, but for a solo stay it was lovely. My room was small, typical by Parisian standards. It was well designed with a very comfortable double bed, shower room, desk, air con, safe, hairdryer, mini fridge, toiletries and lots of storage.
The room was on the 4th floor overlooking a courtyard and was generally quiet, which I appreciated.
Breakfasts at the hotel were included in my room rate. They were light and continental in style, with a nice choice of breads and pastries, fruits, jams, and cheese.
Day One
11th Arrondissement
On my arrival day, after a short nap at the hotel, I took an evening stroll around the immediate neighbourhood near the hotel, window shopping and taking note of potential places to eat.
I particularly enjoyed the homeware stores and children’s toy shops. I adopted a habit of saying bonjour to staff on entering shops and merci au revoir, in the hope of passing as a resident. On occasion I received a flurry of French in return (which of course I failed to understand), and this made me feel like I’d somehow achieved something.
I walked to Square Francis Lemarque, with its little playground and garden. A young boy in a striking red coat caught my attention as I was photographing flowers. He was in floods of tears because he didn’t want to leave. His exasperated but patient mama was gently coaxing him home from the park gate.
Brasserie Rosie
Sticking true to my aim of eating well on this trip, I reserved a table at Brasserie Rosie for dinner on my first night.
The waiting staff were excellent and made me feel welcome on arrival, and not at all uncomfortable despite eating alone and in spite of my terrible French. I was very content with my window seat, where I first faced the street to people watch, before deciding to switch seats to soak up the atmosphere of the restaurant.
Continuing with the theme of treating myself, I ordered a ‘citron therapy’ non alcoholic cocktail which was tasty and refreshing. But it arrived with a dilemma. A message on the accompanying napkin read: “you are cute ❤️ call me 0749…”. Looking around, shocked and embarrassed, my paranoid mind went into overdrive.
I couldn’t fathom which one of the too-young-for-me and much-more-gorgeous-than-me waiters could be the author. Surely a mistake. Never in my 41 years have I ever been ‘chatted up’ by anyone. Perhaps a ploy for a tip? What is the protocol for dealing with unwanted attention? How to handle this without making anyone feel bad? Should I confront it head on and just tell them directly that I’m married with kids?
No, far better to keep quiet and turn the napkin over and pretend this isn’t happening. Curiosity got the better of me. My logical brain switched back on. A quick google search thankfully revealed that, of course, everyone gets one. Phew, no awkward conversation needed. I can proceed to the main job of eating without fluster.
So, onto the starter which (thankfully) arrived sans humiliating napkins. I had been craving onion soup and this one didn’t disappoint. For me it was the highlight of the meal. Fresh crusty bread to dip in a rich warming soup topped with oozing melty cheese. Difficult to eat without getting a messy chin, but delicious.
For my main course I opted for the special of moule frites (mussels and french fries). The (huge bowl of) mussels were decent, but I could have done with more of the white wine and parsley stock. With only a small amount of liquid at the bottom of the bowl I found the dish a little dry. I was offered and accepted mayo for the chips which did improve the experience. Stuffed full from the soup I couldn’t finish the main, and sadly skipped dessert.
Once I got over napkin-gate I appreciated the atmosphere and friendly service at Brasserie Rosie and thought the bill of €32 / £27 for starter, main and cocktail was reasonable for good food.
Day Two
Place d’Aligre
Setting out after breakfast at around 8.30am on Thursday morning, I made first for Square Trousseau. It was closed when I got there but I could see this would be a nice place to eat lunch away from the bustle.
I continued to the Place d’Aligre where there is a food and flea market (every day except Mondays).
Born in London, I have always loved markets. Plants and bagels at Columbia Road, bric-a-brac at Petticoat Lane, antiques at Portbello Road, artisan food at Borough. My favourite as a child was Chapel Market at Angel Islington. I loved the sellers’ harsh cries and cheap toys. But mostly I loved the hot apple fritter stall and big family meals at the all you can eat Indian Veg buffet. Also of course, Camden Lock market, my favourite as a teenager where I spent all my pocket money on records and wide corduroy flares, but now gentrified beyond recognition.
As an adult in Sheffield I love our indoor Moor market. It is a melting pot of cultures and classes and offers a wide variety of both food, and household products, from the super practical to the surreal. At the back are underrated gems - hot food stalls serving affordable and nutritious meals like the Hungry Buddha’s Nepalese thali trays.
But, I seriously digress, and have to admit that the UK does not have a monopoly on good markets.
So back to Paris. The food market runs the length of Rue d’Aligre and the flea market occupies the Place (square). Everything was just getting set up but there were already a few bargain hunters sifting through the costume jewellery and bric-a-brac.
Coulee Verte
I then headed for the Coulee Verte Rene-Dumont. The Vincennes railway line was decommissioned in 1969 and in 1988 work began to convert it to a landscaped pedestrian walkway. It was inaugurated in 1993. Like the High Line in New York (but pre dating it), the route provides an elevated perspective on the city’s neighbourhoods.
I walked to Hector Malot Garden, where one of the entrances to the Coulee Vert is located, and walked the route eastwards as far as the Jardin de Reuilly. It was a pleasant and easy walk, with beautiful planting and interesting art and graffiti. I enjoyed the little snapshots of surrounding buildings and streets below.
I then walked along the route back towards the Bastille, heading west. By now it was 10am and the route users had shifted from joggers and dog walkers to tourists with maps in hand. I exited at Rue de Lyon and walked on to the Bastille.
Bastille Market
The marché alimentaire Bastille is open Thursdays and Sundays. It was much bigger but also more touristy than the market at Place d’Aligre.
Wary of pickpockets, I made my way up and down the stalls selling fresh food, homeware and clothing.
I bought a couple of souvenirs for the kids and then headed to Le Marais.
Le Marais
From the market at Bastille I walked to Place de Vosges where I rested my now tired feet. Paris was getting busy now. The park here was crowded with tourists, in tour groups gathered around the guides, and doing classes like yoga. I sat in the sun on a bench and people watched for a while.
Next, I walked to Rue des Rosiers. I think if I hadn’t had read that this was the Jewish quarter, I wouldn’t have known. There were some tell tale signs such as a menorah hanging outside a shop on Rue Ferdinand Duval and a pastry shop claiming to sell Jewish foods (yes including bagels and challah, but they also had pork hot dogs?!).
The area was packed full with tourists and tour groups, and I heard lots of English in American accents. There was strong representation from chain stores including Krispy Kreme, Uniqlo and H&M. I could see the appeal for some, but I didn’t love this area.
Picasso National Museum
From Rue des Rosiers I visited the Picasso National Museum in Le Marais ($16 / £14). Housed in what used to be a private mansion, this wasn’t the largest art collection but had an interesting range of Picasso’s works spanning his career.
Truthfully, I’ve never been a big fan of Picasso’s distorted grotesque figures, but the gallery did a good job of explaining his thought process and artistic approach and I left with more admiration for his skill and work.
The ground floor temporary exhibition space was hosting works by Anna Maria Maiolino which I really enjoyed. I liked her use of clay and natural materials, and strange lines and maps creeping across the walls and floors.
Breizh Cafe, Le Marais
After the Picasso museum I ate at Breizh Café in Le Marais, one of a chain of creperies.
I’ll put it down to them having a bad day but the service here was iffy. My experience was smooth enough but the patrons around me were having a rough time of it.
The couple outside had been seated before me but had no menus and were trying desperately to signal a waiter. They still hadn’t ordered by the time my food arrived.
The Australian girl to my left had ordered a crepe with scrambled eggs but was presented with a crepe with salmon. When she questioned it they took the dish away but then brought it back again. She reluctantly accepted the second time, clearly not wanting to make a fuss. She then asked for water 3 times unsuccessfully.
The Indian couple with their toddler to my right were told (in no uncertain terms) that they needed to order 3 dishes, and that sharing 1 between them was unacceptable, and that they’d need to buy drinks as well. In the end they haggled the waiter down to 2 dishes.
I understand that busy restaurants don’t want to sell themselves short, but insisting a two year old eats a main by themselves is unrealistic in my view. I felt sorry for them, and annoyed on their behalf that the waiter was rude in his manner and tone towards them. It did make me giggle slightly though when the dad later asked for ketchup and received a firm and abrupt “no” in reply.
I was grateful that the waiters took no issue with me. I chose a smaller ‘les amuse galettes’ with blue cheese, walnut and fir honey. It was wonderfully crispy and tasty - the salty cheese balanced well with the sweet honey. I ordered, ate, and paid without a hitch. I wouldn’t return again though, it feels too high a risk in the waiter gambling stakes.
Canal-Saint-Martin
As I walked from Le Marais towards the canal, the vibe noticeably shifted. The tourists became younger, trendier and European. The shops were less commercial and high end, and more hipster. And, perhaps it was because it was now the afternoon and the sun was out, there were more people sat outside at cafes.
I reached the canal at Square des Récollets where I stopped to rest. My feet were definitely protesting now. I took some photographs and headed south along the canal path in the direction of Oberkampf. I liked the canal, and it was nice seeing people chilling in the sun at the water’s edge.
Conscious of my aching feet I decided to hop on the metro at Republique, which via the number 8 line to Ledru Rollin, delivered me back to my hotel for a well deserved rest. Back at the hotel, I set about updating this blog, and calculated that I’d walked just shy of 10km.
Crêperie Hermine
This creperie was around the corner from my hotel. I ventured out in later that evening in search of something sweet and was very happy with my choice. The waitress was kind and friendly and the crepe with apples, caramel sauce, pecan and ice cream was sensational.
Two crepes (well, one crepe and one galette) in one day, what a treat.
Day 3
L’Orangerie
The next day, I thought my body would ache more than it did from the previous day’s walking. I rose early and ate a small breakfast before catching the metro to Place de la Concord (€2.50). I had booked a time ticket for L’Orangerie for the earliest slot (€12.50 / £10).
I had not visited this gallery before and didn’t really know what to expect. I spent a long time sat in front of the waterlillies. The paintings were beautiful of course. But looking at them took no time at all really.
What did hold my attention and keep me there for longer was the behaviour of other people. I found it fascinating.
Some people would peer very close at the paintings, to inspect the texture or brushstrokes. Others would pose for their friend to take a photo swapping over. Sometimes they would take many photos in different poses. Some people were making videos and would slowly walk the full length of the canvas, presumably for online content.
And, of course I observed many instances of the phenomenon - spoken about before on this blog - nicknamed by our family as a “look at me in front of [insert famous landmark or artwork here]” selfie; a totally futile act, with their faces blocking all of the art itself.
I was also confused by those who would take a (blurry and often skew-if) photo of the artwork on the wall. To give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe this is so they can use it as a reference later, as inspiration for creating their own art when back home. But I suspect it’s simply so they can show off to friends and family and say: Look, Monet’s Waterlillies… I went all the way to Paris and all I got was this lousy photograph.
Having observed these behaviours for a while I decided to take photos of the people rather than the art, practicing my portrait photography. I am quite proud of some of these but haven’t shared them here on this blog because apparently it is illegal in France to distribute images of people without their permission (seems sensible).
Downstairs at l’Orangerie is a small collection of other artwork. Overall it didn’t take long to view everything in the gallery.
Square d’Ajaccio
After exiting L’Orangerie (which at 10am was getting busy) I crossed over the Seine at Pont de la Concorde and walked towards the Rodin Museum.
The sun came out en route and I stopped for a while at Square d’Ajaccio, a very pretty garden where the Eiffel Tower was just peeking through the trees. I rested and read a little of my book.
Musee Rodin
I thought the Rodin Museum (€14 / £12) was fabulous and had much more to see than l’Orangerie.
The outdoor sculptures were wonderfully placed and glinted away in the sunlight. Inside I liked the clever use of mirrors to show off the sculptures from all angles.
The building itself was beautiful. I adored the house and grounds of the Rodin Museum in Philadelphia, and now having visited the original in Paris I can appreciate the resemblance.
Musee d’Orsay
My final gallery of the day was Musee d’Orsay. I’d booked a timed ticket for 12.30pm, in the hope many people would be eating at that time. Many people were indeed eating - all the museum cafes were full, with queues. But alas, plenty more people were in the galleries still.
It simply is not possible to be a tourist in Paris, see the sights, and avoid other tourists. Yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy.
I took the escalators to the 5th floor where it was easy to find the famous art works, for they had the biggest crowds of people in front of them. I found myself avoiding the Van Goghs, Cezannes, Monets and Seurats and seeking out quiet spots.
I ended up retreating away from the impressionists to a chair in the corner of room 40. Here I discovered I rather liked the pictures by Signac, a neo-impressionist painter who, in my ignorance, I’d not come across before.
After taking respite with Signac for a while I made my way down the stairs to the 4th and 3rd floors which were really just walkways (the 4th had a great display of museum posters, the 3rd was empty) and then to the 2nd were I sat on a bench and read a while next to a polar bear sculpture by Pompon.
I can’t say I greatly enjoyed the whole experience at the Musee d’Orsay. It was far too busy a place to take everything in properly. I did like the pictures I’d managed to see and dwell on, however. And the building itself, a converted railway station was magnificent.
I had planned to spend the rest of the day at the Musee d’Orsay but having left earlier than planned, I found I had free afternoon.
Montmarte
I decided to go to Montmarte. Maybe it was because I’d just seen the Sacre Ceour on the hill in the distance from the Musee d’Orsay terrace, or maybe I was just missing the steep hills of Sheffield. I walked to the Assemblee Nationale metro station, took the number 12 metro (€2.50) to Lamarck, and walked up to the basilica.
Gosh, I don’t remember Montmarte being like this. The area was absolutely heaving with tourists. Tourists stopping to take selfies, blocking all the views and almost pushing each other out of the way. Tourists standing in the middle of the street and irritating the motorcyclists. Tourists crowding in doorways and refusing to budge.
As I reached the top of the hill, I realised it had been 10 years since our last visit, and that time had been in winter, when it was wet, grey and cold.
Here is a photo from that visit in February 2015, with a much younger William, and far fewer people around.
Having battled crowds all morning at the galleries, I decided I couldn’t face them here too so I took a quick (and rather blurry) snap of the view and then descended in search of lunch.
I rejected quite a few places because I wanted something cheap and cheerful, and so many of the eateries here had high prices with staff outside hustling for tourist dollars which is always off putting.
Eventually I gave in to hunger, and opted for (another) onion soup at L'Été en Pente Douce which looked like a colourful place and didn’t strike me as super scammy. A quick check on google maps showed a decent enough rating. The soup was very good, and the homemade bread was excellent. I insisted on tap water, and was pleased when the bill totalled only €8.50 (about £7).
I attempted my best French when arriving and ordering, and was pleased that I seemed to be making myself understood. At one point I failed to understand a reply and when I asked if we could switch to English the waiteress told me in perfect English “sorry, I do not speak English” which made me laugh. I went back to my stuttering French.
My confidence with the basic French I learnt at school has improved over the trip. But I found myself floundering over basic things like how to put nouns and verbs together in a sentence. I must have sounded staccato and idiotic most of the time “Soup. Onion. Please. Thank you. Madam”.
After my late lunch I took the metro (€2.50) (number 4 from Chateau Rouge and then number 8 from Saint Denis) back to my hotel for a rest.
Day 4
Rue Cremieux
On Saturday I rose early to make the most of my last morning in Paris. I walked to the Jardin des Plantes (botanical gardens), pausing en route to take photos of the pretty Rue Cremieux.
I crossed the river at Pont d’Austerlitz. To the west I could see Notre Dame, to the east a more industrious view with barges and cranes.
Jardin des Plantes
As I arrived at Jardin des Plantes the sun rose in the sky and bathed the flowers in a warm early autumn glow. I was surprised by how many plants were still in flower, though some were now going to seed.
I sat on a bench and read a while. Throughout this trip I’ve been reading A Secret History by Donna Tartt. I’m about halfway through. I’ve enjoyed having a book with me, to pause in pretty places such as the garden, or to occupy myself when eating solo surrounded by couples and groups of friends.
After sitting for a while the sun went behind a cloud and it got cold. I pulled on my jacket and walked through the gardens towards the greenhouses, sadly closed. I exited the garden next to Hotel de Magny, a beautiful historic building in need of restoration.
Grande Mosque
From the Jardin des Plantes I walked to the Grand Mosque, where visitors are welcome to enter, for a small fee (€3). The building has beautiful Arabic motifs and pretty gardens with fountains and ribbons. I spent about half an hour here, wandering the hallways and taking photos in the gardens.
Homeward
From the mosque, I walked to Gare D’Austerlitz and made my way to the Gare du Nord via metro.
I felt conflicted between wanting to explore more, and feeling anxious of unexpected delays and not wanting to mis my train.
I arrived at Gare Du Nord very early indeed, and so treated myself to a late breakfast of scrambled eggs and a hot chocolate at Terminus Nord which I consumed slowly, conscious I had hours spare.
Inside, the station was busy. I bought some snacks (planning ahead for lunchtime) from the monoprix, refilled my water bottle using one of the many free water fountains found all over Paris, and took a seat next to the escalator to Hall 3.
Ahead of me was a Eurostar journey to St Pancras, followed by a 2 hour EMR train to Sheffield, which would bring me home.
While waiting for my train, I called the kids and then set about updating this blog, and reflecting on my time in Paris.
Final Thoughts
One thing I have really enjoyed on this trip is simply strolling around, and people watching. I’ve often found myself observing and listening to people, impolitely earwigging if you like.
I heard one visitor at the Musee d’Orsay say “call me a snob, but I couldn’t care less for Pissaro” before she stormed out of the gallery room. It was such a dismissive, and frankly rather a strange, way to discount an entire artist’s work, that even her friend was taken aback and struck silent. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
At lunch one day, a woman next to me was really struggling with the menu as she evidently couldn’t eat cheese and the waiting staff were insisting that everything, even the freshly prepared salads, and the homemade bread, came with cheese. It felt like a sketch show and I wasn’t sure if the waiter was intentionally taking the piss.
When I overheard something funny or outrageous, I really missed my family. Because normally in these moments I’d turn to Mal to see if he’d clocked it too and we’d laugh together conspiratorially, before having to try and explain the joke to the kids.
I also really missed my family when I saw something beautiful and wanted to share it with others. Which in Paris, a city so beautiful, and so full of gorgeous sights, is basically all of the time.
And I missed them whenever I went anywhere we’d been together to previously, wanting to check their recollection and discuss with them how much something had changed, or how different it looked in the sunlight compared to rain or frost.
On reflection, this has been a brilliant holiday; an indulgent, soul-nourishing escape. I’ve relished wandering Paris alone, eating when and what I pleased, and lingering in places the kids would never have the patience for.
But the moments that struck me most - the funny ones, the beautiful ones, the nostalgic ones - were the ones I instinctively wanted to share. And that’s the thing: Paris is stunning, yes, but it’s even more alive when experienced together. Next time, I’ll bring my family, and share the experience with them.