Red evening sky above the roofs of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, seen from our roof terrace. Photo: Corinna Gronau.
I have been going to Paris for many years. For the architecture, for the fashion, for the design, for the restaurants – and because every time I find something there that I did not know before. I was back at the beginning of October, for the two trade fairs Première Classe and Tranoï. Two long days on my feet, and then a few days for us.
If I am honest, it is not the city itself. It is the people we come back to. Some of them we have known for more than twenty years. They recognise us before we have said a word. That is what this post is about.
The door opens at the Hôtel de l’Université
We stay at the Hôtel de l’Université in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Thomas, Olivier and the housekeeper have known us for years. They welcome us warmly when we arrive, and with the housekeeper I speak French. She puts her arms around me, and she always asks when we are coming back. I have written about the house itself before, in the post about our day in Saint-Germain.
If you are coming for the first time, you stand in a quiet street in the evening in front of a black door, and you have no idea what is behind it: a red runner, a few armchairs, a planted courtyard. By now we know the way in the dark – and I still look forward to the moment when the door opens.
There was something new for us this October: parking. The hotel now has an arrangement with the Indigo Saint-Germain-des-Prés car park at 171 Boulevard Saint-Germain, about eight minutes on foot. The space can only be booked together with the room, from 1 pm on the day of arrival until 12 noon on the day of departure, and the entrance has a height limit of 1.90 metres. If you are coming by car, it is best to ask when you book the room. According to the hotel, we were the first guests to use it. Thomas had sent a message beforehand to ask how long we would need the space, and afterwards he checked that everything had worked. That is exactly what I mean when I talk about this house.
Lunchtime at Les Antiquaires
Les Antiquaires is our place in Saint-Germain. Last year we celebrated my 65th birthday there. I have already written about the restaurant itself at length, so this time I will only tell you what happened that lunchtime.
The place was full. People were standing and waiting for a table. Polo saw us, came over and put his arms around me. A moment later we had a table. The waiter knew us as well. As we left, he was already recommending desserts for our next visit.
That, for me, is the feeling of coming home.
Michel at the Au Petit Bar
I have known Michel for more than twenty years. His Au Petit Bar is in the Rue du Mont-Thabor, number 7, in the first arrondissement, a few steps from the Hotel Le Meurice. The place is small and plain, and it has been in the same family since 1966. At lunchtime the staff from the Meurice eat there too.
There is one plat du jour, a different one every day. When Michel gets good tomatoes, he makes a tomato salad with vinaigrette. The tarte aux fraises is homemade. He puts real care into it – and he has known for a long time what I want to drink, without my having to say so.
Real hospitality is not a question of size, prestige or price
I know the grand, glamorous houses in Paris, and I like going to them. The architecture, the views, the atmosphere, the food – all of that can be wonderful. What is often missing is the personal side. You are one guest among many, and that does not change.
One exception has stayed with me, and that story began on the water. On a night cruise with Ducasse sur Seine I noticed a building that was lit up right at the top. I made a note of it. On later trips to Paris I kept looking out for it from the car, until I found it on Google Maps: the SO/ Paris, and at the very top of it the restaurant Bonnie. I booked a table straight away and was sitting there the same evening.
That was in September, on an earlier trip. We ate very well indoors. Our waitress was warm and natural, and nothing about her felt routine. Before the dessert we went out onto the terrace. It was completely dark, the Eiffel Tower stood lit above the city, and music and voices came up from the left bank of the Seine. All that life down by the water, and we were up there in the middle of it.
I do not say this to diminish the grander establishments. I will keep going to them. It is only that this one thing cannot be ordered.
Real hospitality is not a question of size, prestige or price.
White china that comes home with me
In Paris I go back again and again to Astier de Villatte. The shop is dark and full: old wood, lace curtains, warm light – and everywhere this white china, plates on leaf-shaped platters, bowls in stacks, candlesticks with tendrils. I always stay longer in there than I mean to.
I have been collecting the china for many years. Some pieces are presents from friends I travelled to Paris with for years, a thank you for organising the trips. By now there are eight Alexandre breakfast plates, bowls in several sizes, two Paris Bowls, a serving platter and a vase in the shape of the Eiffel Tower.
I only bring the china out when special people are coming. Which pieces I put together depends on the occasion and the menu. Then Paris is on my table in Hamburg. Every piece reminds me of one of the trips to Paris we made together.
Afternoon: music from the street
The weather was wonderful this October. Our room was right at the top of the house, with a small roof terrace in front of it. One afternoon, while my husband was out taking the car to the garage, music came up from the street. A trumpet, in the middle of the day, between the zinc roofs. I filmed a few seconds of it, no more. To this day I do not know who was playing down there.
Evening on the roof terrace
One evening we bought a few good things at an épicerie and ate them on the terrace. No restaurant, no reservation, nothing planned. The street below us, and above us nothing but sky.
And then the sky took on colour. First pink, then fiery red above the roofs of Saint-Germain, with the tip of the Eiffel Tower in it. I have rarely seen a sky like that in Paris. We simply sat there and looked.
Why I come back
Paris is full of addresses you are supposed to have seen. What stays with me is something else. Who opens the door. Who comes over to you. Who knows what you want to drink. That cannot be booked. It only happens if you come back.
I am glad to name the addresses – they are all in this post. And I am fairly sure that next time I will find something I did not know before.
