A trip to anywhere in Europe for me is not complete without a couple of days in Paris. By far, it’s my favorite city in the world and particularly now when I’m lucky to go abroad every couple of years, it has to be part of the trip.

I arrived by train on an uncomfortable ride from Strosbourg, France’s northern border city with Germany. Part of that was my fault as I sat in first class by accident and the ticket person shrugged but in France they made me move. That meant I had to drag my suitcase through six cars of the high-speed train as it zipped along, afraid that I would topple over. I stopped at the first 2nd Class car where there was a seat, a four-person section with tables and a clearly defiant man who smelled so terribly of body odor it choked the air.

I had a mask on and although after a bit I became used to it – they say that happens with just about everything except perhaps the pervasive smell of cat urine – and my hour in there felt like a year.

The Heat Wave That Finally Quit

When I got outside it was a zillion percent humidity and 102 degrees, but rather than battle the metro which has no air conditioning on the platforms, I decided to walk as it was only a mile. Halfway there my sandals and the cobblestones got mad at each other and I fell, hard on the payment, my new knee (which sets off metal detectors even though they said it would not), hit the concrete hard but thankfully did not bruise. So, I jumped in a taxi with a driver who could not find my street, Rue Au Maire and did not seem to have a GPS that could help him, so we used mine and a lot of extra Euros later, found it.

Nicholas, my Airbnb host, was waiting in front of the centuries old building in the 3rd Arondissement, and on the border of the Marais, the oldest arrondissement in Paris. His building did not have air conditioning, which is common in that area of Paris, since many of the buildings are too old to support the wiring.

The Apartment

The Marais is ancient and lovely, you can close your eyes and imagine Paris centuries ago, commune with its ghosts. During the late Middle Ages, Paris was divided into many small parcels, with narrow houses tightly erected against one another. Le Marais, or The Swamp, now comprises the 3rd and 4th arrondissements, and once was a giant garden producing vegetables for the city. In the 16th century, when noblemen and the bourgeoisie were looking for plots large enough for their residences, this is where they went. They built hôtels particuliers - large one-family houses - many of which resembled genuine palaces. An old world architectural model. My ex-husband and I lived there for five weeks in the early 1990s before beginning a trek across Europe, before it became the chic, pricey and extremely popular area it is today.

My initial reaction to Nicholas’ apartment was not good. We climbed up four flights of stairs and my suitcase was again too heavy, (should have known better), but he had bought a Dyson fan which made it almost bearable even though the windows had to be closed. I mentioned that if the heat continued I might go to a hotel because of the heat. But when I got up in the morning the temperature had dropped at least 25 degrees, the humidity was lower, the one I had stayed in before called the Hotel Lenox, near the Jardin Luxembourg, was several hundred dollars per night.

Nicholas’s studio was completely renovated and looked brand, spanking new and once the heat wave broke in the morning, it grew on me. In Europe, unlike the Airbnb’s in the US, are often rented from owners who actually live in them, and go stay with a friend while they make extra money. The apartments reflect the taste and character of their owners rather than in America where depending on price you often get the ambiance of a cheap or relatively expensive hotel owned by a developer.

His flat was bigger than your average European hotel room, and beautifully appointed with a concept wall that included his sketches of people’s faces so finely detailed they felt like friends. An amateur etymologist, he had four framed butterflies so well preserved you could see fur on them. In the fridge was an undrinkable bottle of white wine, who drinks bad wine in France I wondered, some fake butter, tiny viles of balsamic vinaigrette and a bottle of water. The blessing of his place was the washing machine, which after 10 days of airing out already worn clothes on window sills was a blessing.

The Ghostly Charm of Le Marais

I walked over to the fourth arrondissement in the Marais for my first dinner, pausing at Les Halles where a dancing crowd had formed around street musicians playing The Village People’s YMCA. A far cry from where my children’s father and I had lived for six weeks in a charmingly seedy hotel called the Jean D’Arc after the warrior princess. The word Marais means swamp, and it was literally built on one. During the late Middle Ages Paris was divided into many small parcels, with narrow houses tightly erected against one another and the land was farmed. Now Le Marais, spans the third and fourth arrondissements (sections of the city), which residents will tell you rich with irony, when they explain why their apartment does not have air-conditioning and it’s 100 degrees outside the window.

Over several centuries, Le Marais became the site of the richest architectural ensembles in Paris. The transformation began in the 18th century and today designer shops, renowned museums, a gay district, and the old Jewish neighborhood take you back in time.

And Paris was Paris.The miles and blisters from that night were worth the trip. I was shoehorned into a table in a crowded outdoor restaurant that was pricey, near the hotel DeVille. But you know in France that when a restaurant is busy, really busy, that it is worth it and it was. Dinner was steak over couscous and a mixed green salad. Next to me were two women with their daughter and son, college students most likely, who ate quickly then were impatient to get to the own friends on the streets. Drinking in Paris in the night air is a vacation in and of itself.

That night was brutally hot and the two glasses of a rose I would never have ordered in another city, I felt as one with the Parisians. They won’t let me speak French, its too painful for them I think, but they were welcoming and remote enough that it seemed fine. At some point before my food came, I went downstairs to use the restroom and saw the cooks melting in the kitchen and thought of prisoners in a dungeon awaiting their fate.

Afterwards, I walked to the Seine and stared off of a bridge, took many pictures and reveled in the night. A bride in a short, unadorned white dress, groom in a well cut suit, and perhaps a maid of honor were taking photos of her against the darkening backdrop of the Paris sky. 10:00 at night and and the milky sky was still darkening. I walked back to the flat, checked to see that I’d gone about eight miles, flung into a cold shower, took an Ambien and was gone.

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