Solo, sceptical, and still nursing a grudge against blue steak, Nathalie Bonney gives Paris one more chance — and finds that a table for one, a Kir royale and the freedom to wander at her own pace might just be the most romantic booking she’s ever made…
Name me a more romantic city than Paris, I dare you. But my visits to the city have been altogether less love-filled. I’ve been rained on, had my phone pickpocketed and got violently sick from eating blue steak. Paris, je ne t’aime pas.
Why I then thought it was a good idea to visit the city solo, je ne sais pas. But there’s something incredibly easy — and therefore tempting — about booking a last-minute Eurostar train and knowing that 2.5 hours after leaving St Pancras International’s glass-domed roof I will be arriving in Paris’s Gare du Nord.
It’s as easy to walk as it is to take a bus to my hotel in the 9th arrondissement. A little bit indulgent (but still affordable) for a solo break, my small art-deco double room at Hotel Panache is perfect for a solo traveller. A mini fridge I can stock with small supermarket wine to sip on my balcony, diptyque toiletries in the bathroom and even a wardrobe — impressive for this 19th-century building that squeezes onto the corner of Rue du Faubourg Montmartre and Rue Geoffroy-Marie.
Opting for the hotel’s generous breakfast in bed each morning, my mornings get off to a slow and decadent start with cappuccino, juice, yoghurt, fruit, bread, pastries and sticks of glorious French butter wrapped up like candies — I find my cold-hearted view of Paris melting just a little.
The joy of travelling solo in a city is that you’re never actually alone. I wander the Musée d’Orsay on a Thursday evening for 12 euros and find watching the groups of artists sketching and painting the halls’ sculptures as intriguing as the sculptures themselves.
I make my way to the Bastille Market and pick up fresh figs, bread, creamy taramasalata and gorgonzola to eat across the Seine at Quai Saint-Bernard, where a group of locals convene every Saturday and Sunday, weather permitting, to dance in the sunken amphitheatres. From ballroom to Latin, I spy a distinguished-looking older woman delicately flicking her feet and wide skirt to the Argentine tango.
People-watching is tiring work and it would be tempting to return to my hotel each eve with packets of Lay’s crisps and watch TV, but I’m determined to date myself this holiday, so I walk on towards Les Deux Magots. The evening air smells of wood smoke and the perfume of a French woman who has just walked by me. A woman ahead of me walks her dog and plays her podcast out loud: “Nobody is watching you.” It’s quite delicious to be anonymous.
I make my way to my table for one and immediately order a Kir royale and consume the whole basket of French bread to myself while the jazz trio plays in the corner to the restaurant’s mixed crowd of young, old, tourist and Parisian. The saxophonist takes large glugs from his wineglass while the double bass and drummer enter into a more percussive section of the performance. Hardly an undiscovered gem, Les Deux Magots has been a popular hub for artists since it opened in 1884.
The appeal of sitting on a red banquette seat that Hemingway or Picasso perhaps sat on has kept the tourists coming, alongside the great service, Thursday jazz nights, literary evenings and the delicious hot chocolate (I dislike overly sweet hot drinks and can vouch for Les Deux Magots’ rich and rounded cocoa flavour). A lot easier to snag a table for one, then.
The same happens when I walk into Harry’s Bar the following evening. Only one seat at the bar is free and it’s all mine. The barmen wear long white jackets that look like lab coats; one of the mixologists even wears black latex gloves to make drinks. The pharmacist aesthetic is somewhat incongruous with the American varsity-style decor and polished wood that overwhelms the space, but it’s cosy and has a good atmosphere. I can’t pretend it wouldn’t be nice to have someone with me at the bar, but the rest of the trip I allow myself to wander, stopping at bars and cafés that take my fancy.
In Le Marais, I sip orange wine in Sevenly Heart cafe, its white concrete interior softened with antique furniture and vases of flowers. I eat pastries from Mamiche (the fleur d’oranger brioche and ham and cheese savoury swirl particular favourites) in La Place des Vosges and a curry-filled beignet from Japanese-French bakery Aki Boulangerie at the Palais Royal.
When the rain comes I retreat to the Galerie Vivienne, surely one of the most beautiful of Paris’s 20 or so passages couverts (shopping centres of the Belle Époque, if you will), with its mosaiced floors and assortment of boutiques, wine cellars and a gorgeous bookshop, Librairie Jousseaume, which first opened in 1826.
The nearby Salle Ovale, part of the Richelieu library, is another ideal rainy-day stop. Open to non-members, it’s possible to enter the grand library room for free and without booking, though be prepared to wait a while for a seat. The room closed for restoration works in 2016 and opened in 2022. Housing 20,000 works, plus a collection of 9,000 comics, it’s a gorgeous space to sit in and stare up at the central glass roof, surrounded by interlacing golden acanthus leaves and mosaics.
Salle Ovale, Richelieu Library (Photo © Guillaume Murat / BnF)
I even have my own Emily in Paris moment when a Frenchman stops me in the Jardins du Luxembourg to say how beautiful I was. It’s a cheesy pickup line, but it’s a pleasant change to talk to someone about something other than ordering food or drink. As we walk through the tree-lined promenades, I tell him I am en route to Chocolat Chapon, a chocolate shop that sells chocolate mousse to takeaway or, even better, scooped onto paper cones gelato-style, to be eaten immediately.
I go for the classic hazelnut flavour but am also tempted by the white chocolate special. He walks me over the Seine, street lamps coming alight in the dusky sky, their impressionistic smudge reflected back on the river’s surface. He asks me out for a drink the following day. It sounds like the start of a rom-com, but I’m meant to be falling in love with the city, not a Parisian — and the freedom to explore, and stop at my own pace, has allowed me to do just that.
Paris, je t’aime encore plus.
A single room at Hotel Panache starts at the daily rate of 180 Euros. A double Classic room starts at 200 Euros per night. For more information about Hotel Panache, please visit www.hotelpanache.com.
Nathalie travelled by Eurostar from St Pancras to Gard du Nord, with seats available from £39 off-peak. For more information, including details of its onboard service, please visit www.eurostar.com.
