I will take it as a compliment that everyone at the European Writers Salon in Paris assumed I had been to the city before. I keep showing up to the salons they host all over the continent. In 2025, I have been to events in Berlin, Brussels, Madrid, and Paris. I almost went to their salons in Brighton and London. I’m already making plans for Amsterdam in June.
So yes, I can see how one would assume that I had been to Paris before. I do like my travels.
But this was my first visit, and I only had about 40 hours. So I made sure I walked everywhere I could. That, I assumed, would give me a good sense of the city.
And it did. But when people ask me what I thought about Paris, I tend to stutter and sputter. I find myself unable to articulate how I felt dazzled, dizzy, uneasy, and completely at home for the entire two days I was there. How to explain the slight sense of displacement that gets wrapped up in wonder? How to explain the cafés on every corner, the hole-in-the-wall bars with sticky floors, and the high fashion in shops and on the street? There’s something about Paris that cannot be defined or explained. It’s huge. But it’s easy to navigate. It’s intimidating, but intimate. Instead of saying “I could live here,” like I normally do in a new city, I found myself wondering “how could I possibly live here?”
Paris.
Here’s what my abbreviated itinerary included.
Day One
My daughter, who traveled with me for a good chunk of the autumn, and I arrived in Paris on a Thursday afternoon. We took the train from Saint Quentin, a small city in the Aisne department in the Hauts-de-France region. From the Gare du Nord, we made our way by metro to the hotel, which was in the 17th arrondissement, the Batignolles quartier. It’s not terribly close to the big sights of Paris, but I highly recommend this understated and unfussy neighborhood. We checked in and had some lunch. For me, it was the quiche du jour.
That evening, the salon met at Feuille Blanche, Café Noir, a cozy little arts and crafts space in the same neighborhood. A 10 minute walk from my hotel! As I headed there, I was distinctly aware that I was in Paris, that this was different from all the other European capital cities I have spent years prowling. It was November. There were yellow leaves and bright lights blinking on in the early evening and I was wearing my new trench coat and this…this is when I am my happiest. When I am walking to a literary event in a foreign city, and the air is electric and my body and mind and spirit are absorbing every detail, and all things feel possible.
As is always the case with these writing salons, I met some brilliant writers and listened to their work. I had the privilege of reading from my memoir-in-progress at the Madrid salon a month earlier, and it was a treat to simply sit with a glass of wine and listen to others. After the salon we went out for pizza and wine. And had a blast.
Day Two
It was an hour on foot from the hotel to the Musée de l’Orangerie, where we’d be gathering for a writing workshop in front of Monet’s Water Lilies. I had no time for sightseeing, but there was the Eiffel Tower in the distance. There was the peak of the Basilica of the Sacred Heart. There was the Seine. By the time I arrived at the museum, I was tired but energized. I drank an espresso and ate a madeleine, and I was ready to write.
Someone planning a trip to Paris asked me if the Musée de l’Orangerie was worth it. Only if you will be as transfixed by the Water Lilies as I was, I told him. I honestly did not see much else of the museum. And these paintings are incredible. The canvases are huge. The colors are dreamy. Do you know Monet spent the last 30 years of his life painting only water lilies? That he brought this beautiful work to life while World War I was raging in the background? He could hear artillery in the distance and he was aware that his sight was fading and his wife had recently died. What else do you do but sink into something ethereal and beckoning? He called this work an act of patriotism. He wanted the Water Lilies to be a war memorial. I came away with a new respect for Claude Monet.
And a lot of inspiration.
I managed to put an entire poem draft into my notebook. I’m still working on it, but it’s a poem I think I will be proud of. And there I was, surrounded by my writers and happy.
I walked back to the hotel and collected my daughter. We were going to the Gare du Nord train station to meet a friend who was traveling between Milan and London. She had a two-hour window and we agreed to get a coffee together. The last time I saw her, it was 2017, and we were in Italy. We picked right back up as if we’d been seeing each other every day for these last eight years. That’s how it goes with your real friends.
Day Three
We checked out of the hotel, caught the metro to Orly, and ate breakfast before checking bags, answering questions at security, and boarding our flight.
Two days is not enough time in Paris. Thank God. It means I’ll be going back.
xoxo – Cari
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