Attempting to enjoy all the delights Paris has to offer over one weekend is like trying to eat a dozen croissant for breakfast: it may be near impossible, but it's sure fun having a go. Whether you're swinging by to see Foucault’s pendulum at the Pantheon, paying your respects to the world-renowned residents of Père Lachaise Cemetery, or just exploring the quaint streets of Amélie Poulain's Montmartre, the City of Lights is never short of illuminating attractions.
They say that two wheels is better than four, so I decided to kickstart my trip to Paris by piloting the city’s groundbreaking Vélib pay as you go bike - the only way to get around, judging by how many locals are using them. Having gently circled the stunning surrounds of the Musée Rodin, the Jardin du Luxembourg and the Louvre, I happily dropped off my iron horse just a few steps from chic boutique Colette on the Rue St Honoré. If you're the sort of person who can find a use for post-it notes decked out to look like a Rubik's Cube, or a painted 'Pick Your Nose' cup (drink from one and temporarily adopt a surprising facial profile) you won't go far wrong in this eccentric emporium, with its bumper haul of oddities and ephemera.
Colette's cool white minimalism soon gave way to a more traditional brand of Parisian decadence, as I popped my head around the door of Picasso's favourite old haunt, Les Deux Magots, for a spot of lunch. Little seems to have changed since ol’ Pablo’s days at the bar, with its preponderance of starched aprons and a classic cream cake collection to send any self-respecting patissier into an envious funk. Neighbouring establishment Café de Flore offers a similarly impressive lineage, claiming to be the birthplace of surrealism and the preferred hangout of Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre and André Breton. For the sake of your wallet, just be aware that the olde worlde charm of both these eateries comes at a much more modern price...
Speaking of modernity, Parisian architecture doesn't get much more cutting edge than the exquisite Institut du Monde Arabe. With a stunning façade made up of light-sensitive metal apertures, the building itself is a fascinating testament to France’s historically close ties to the Middle East. Having finally had my fill of the metallic tapestries adorning its walls, I took a glass-walled escalator through the spine of the building before drinking in the view of Notre Dame’s more classical architecture from the institute’s spectacular terrace.
The Bastille may have seen its fair share of political strife over the years, but the only revolution going on there these days is a culinary one. Having worked up a mutinous little appetite of my own, I headed for decades-old favourite, Brasserie Bofinger, which has attracted luminaries as varied as Gene Kelly, Jacques Chirac, Madonna and Steven Spielberg over the years (not all at the same time). This classic restaurant continues to beguile its guests with a heady mixture of brass, glass and fine seafood - made all the more mouthwatering by waiter Richard's offer to buy me a beer while I dived headfirst into the biggest platter they could muster. Parfait.
Having chowed down on enough crustaceans to fill an aquarium, I turned my attentions to the neighbouring rue de Lappe for a nightcap. With its array of characterful independent bars dotted along a cobbled street, this dinky thoroughfare is the perfect place to round off any evening. Bar à Nenette in particular offered well-priced beer, good company and the soulful lighting of a Krzysztof Kieslowski movie. Minus Juliette Binoche, unfortunately.
After a refreshing night's sleep, I woke to the sound of clinking cappuccino cups emanating from the streets of the 4th Arondissement below. I briefly gave in to the call of the caffeine myself, before heading for the other end of the Metro line, where the marvellous Marché aux Puces de St Ouen - Europe's largest flea market - awaited me in all its glory. Having waded through the bog-standard stalls on its outskirts, I soon find myself in a veritable wonderland of art deco furniture, obscure bric-a-brac and buried treasures. It took all my will power, but I managed to avoid being seduced by the antique skis, tin baths and life size bear models, preferring instead to buy little more than a deliciously restorative Boeuf Bourguignon at the market's legendary Café le Paul Bert.
No stay in Paris would be complete without experiencing the panoramic view from the summit of Sacré Coeur. Luckily this blessed gem was ideally placed for a fleeting stop on my way back to Gard du Nord. While most tourists mill around the entrance, only a handful make the climb to the spectacular summit where eagles (well, pigeons) fly, and generations of sweethearts have carved their names in the stone. As the clouds rolled silently across the skyline, it seemed the perfect place to sign off from my love affair with France’s eternally captivating capital.
