Blame it on a delayed quarter-life crisis, an escape from Sydney's real estate circus, or maybe just binge-watching too many "Emily in Paris" episodes for one lifetime, but here I am, pinching myself because I'm somehow lucky enough to be spending the summer in the magical city of light.
Disclaimer: For everyone braving the chill back home, I know that reading about a Euro summer while you're enduring a gloomy winter can feel a bit brutal. I might have even hit the block button on Instagram once or twice due to an overflow of photos from Capri in the past. But hang with me—hopefully, I can give you a small taste of your own Parisian summer.
Matin
After arriving on Monday, I'm still getting acquainted with my new neighbourhood, so let's start the morning with a stroll to explore. My apartment is a cozy studio with a balcony on the fourth floor of a stone building in the 16th Arrondissement—a charming slice of the city. Each arrondissement has its own distinct personality and architecture. The 16th is a bit off the main tourist track but is wonderfully family-friendly, known for its tree-lined streets and boulevards. It's exactly what you'd picture when imagining a classic Parisian street. It's also home to some famous residents, including Celine Dion, Lenny Kravitz, and Carla Bruni. (Also, do yourself a favour and check out Lenny's house in the 16th featured in Vogue here.)
For breakfast, it's a classic pâtisserie from the local boulangerie (obviously!) paired with a coffee. There are a few spots within walking distance, but my current favorite has to be Maison Bechu. The coffee's decent, but not mind-blowing, so I've swapped my usual flat white for an espresso. The transition's been a bit of a challenge, but the scent of fresh baguettes to wake me up makes it all worthwhile.
Midi
I'm hopping on the metro to Jardin Luxembourg. Situated on the border of Saint-Germain-des-Prés and the Latin Quarter in the 6th Arrondissement, it's a palatial garden adorned with statues, fountains, and a busker ironically serenading with "It's not about the money, money, money" from the song "Price Tag," albeit in a delightful French accent. The garden has inspired poets, musicians, and playwrights from Brecht to Chopin. As I watch a man sitting on one of the iconic metal chairs around the fountain, scribbling in a little leather notebook, I can't help but wonder if he is creating some new masterpiece inspired by summer in the city.
Outside of the Jardin is Saint-Germain-des-Prés. It's a beautiful, cobbled street district known for the famous Café De Flore and Les Deux Magots, where visitors from across the globe sit and watch the world go by. Today, there's also a quirky market featuring stalls dedicated to up-and-coming French poets—a bit nerdy, perhaps, but intriguing. However, the limits of my school-girl French are tested, so instead, I'm strolling across the Seine past the shopping high street Rue Du Rivoli and through to the Marais.
Après-Midi
The Marais is seriously cool—maybe cooler than I'll ever be. It's been home to workers, merchants, and craftsmen since the 17th century, with buildings that go all the way back to the 13th century. In the 1960s, it became a hotspot for artists and creatives. Right now, during Paris Fashion Week, the Marais is buzzing. Fashionistas are strutting their stuff for photographers, checking out skateboard art launches (for real), and exploring vintage stores all over the neighbourhood.
"Excusez-moi, madame," a very stylish man dressed in what looks like Maison Margiela from head to camel-toe interrupts me. "Where did you get your sunglasses?" Feeling both cool and embarrassed, I'm reluctant to admit I bought them from Zara the day before. But I take them off and show him the brand engraved on the inner earpiece. "Oh, Zara," he responds with a look that resembles an upside-down smile, then struts away into the crowd. I guess I didn't pass the test.
Walking through the uber-cool kids of the Marais is thirsty work, so I'm headed to Marché des Enfants Rouges (the literal translation is "Market of the Red Children"). It's the oldest food market in Paris and dates back to the 1600s. The market and its surroundings are filled with bistros that face the street. It's the perfect place for sipping a glass of wine while people-watching the fashion crowd, foodies, and a few tourists looking for directions (and for writing this story).
Soir
It doesn't get dark until 10:30 PM, so after spending a few hours marinating in the Marais, it's time to head back to the 16th. My Parisian apartment is a short walk from Trocadéro—known for art deco palaces, gardens, and a spectacular view across the Seine to the Eiffel Tower. It's touristy, but there's nothing wrong with being a tourist. Even so, I've swapped my sneakers for some ballet flats and smudged on some eyeliner. As I walk past an elderly lady smoking and drinking in a brasserie near my apartment, she remarks, "Très Jolie, Madame." There's an extra spring in my step.
Just before 11 PM, crowds start to form, buskers are playing Edith Piaf on the accordion, and the crowds start to sit on the marble steps. It's a party. A man offers to sell me a bottle of wine out of a bucket—although at this point, I've been surviving on nothing but pastry and wine, so I politely decline. Finally, just like New Year's Eve, the countdown is on. The tower starts to sparkle, and the crowds cheer, clink drinks, and take selfies. When the sparkling lights stop, the crowd moves on to make room for the next group—this happens every hour until 1 AM.
For me, it's time to walk home, rehydrate, and get ready to do it all again.
Au revoir - until next time.