Parisians often talk about their desire to leave Paris. Not forever, per say, but for the weekend or for their holidays. The “Parisian stress” is a phrase I’ve frequently heard from many as a catch-all term to try and explain certain unpleasant issues or perplexing problems (like my cardiologist did at one point regarding my high blood pressure. I just shrugged.).
So after two months of le confinement, once restrictions were loosened in May, many Parisians did what they had been aching so to do for so long: leave.
When the imposed travel limit of a 1km radius maximum from one’s home expanded to 100km many Parisians took their chance and fled the city for the first weekend after the lockdown was lifted. This led to a brief, fleeting window of time when the exceptional circumstances of a global pandemic and an international travel ban overlapped with the lifting of restrictions throughout much of France. The result was a Paris with fewer Parisians and NO tourists. So, a Paris even quieter than it is in August during les vacances when locals flee and tourists descend.
My family didn’t leave the city because, well, we don’t have a car and we didn’t know where we could go safely without one. (We weren’t too comfortable with taking a train anywhere at that point.) But throughout that first weekend there was a tranquility here that I’ve never experienced, nor could have imagined ever really having the chance to experience. After all, when would this ever happen again? Considering the circumstances that made it so, never, I hope. (And little did I know at the time that August would feel similar, only with EU tourists around.) Still, I did manage to take great advantage of the beauty that surrounds me, the beauty that I told my previously confined self to take more time to recognize and appreciate.
That weekend, as my husband hunkered down to do work at home on Saturday, I took our son out for the day, picnic packed, ball and bubble wand in tow. Let me just say that walking more than 1km from our tiny apartment never felt so good!
We headed through Les Halles and toward The Louvre which, still closed and hemmed in by an iron fence to prevent visitors from approaching, was still rather shocking to see it with no one else around.
Our initial destination was the Tuilleries garden where, after a picnic, I’d hoped I could spend some time reading my novel in the shade while my son took his nap. The Tuilleries is one of my favorite places in Paris and while others had the same idea to enjoy it that day, it was unusually tranquil. The usual throngs of tourists were gone and the souvenir peddlers absent.
After eating, we circled around the park a couple times. From the western entrance, on the Place de la Concorde, I could see straight down the Champs-Elysées to the Arc de Triumph with nearly zero traffic to obscure the view.
My plans to enjoy my book during nap time were thwarted because I needed to find a toilet instead. The public bathrooms at the Tuilleries were still closed and all cafes, bars and restaurants were still shuttered.
So we walked.
Along the Seine, past the boquinists who were comfortingly open again, we headed east to the Hotel de Ville so I could sneak into BHV Marais, the department store just across the street.
After that first weekend had passed and our denizens returned, we contrinued to enjoy the city will all of the Parisians but, remarkably, still without any tourists.
The following weekend my family and I spent Sunday in the heart of Montmartre, at the top of le butte, an area I desperately try to avoid during normal times as it’s constantly mobbed that it’s difficult to just walk in the streets. This time, there were literally 10 other people wandering around and practically no one in the artists’ market. We strolled around the winding streets that I love (because, yes, I truly love Montmartre). We marveled at the tranquility of it all. At one point, my three-year-old sat himself down in the cobblestone street to finish his baguette. While I kept a close eye out for the odd car, I didn’t try to stop him.
Another weekend while we were watching one of my nieces, we planned a picnic at Champs des Mars, just under the Eiffel Tower. On a whim, we decided to take a trip up to the second level. The wait to buy tickets was roughly 15 minutes and the next thing we knew we were riding the elevator up to enjoy the view.
Another weekend, we did Pere Lachaise, which felt like a quiet little city all its own. My husband and I also finally visited the Pompidou (after 3.5 years of living 15 minutes away from it) in peace where we enjoyed a drink at the nearly empty rooftop restaurant.
We also finally went to Les Invallides. It had been on my list forever and I hadn’t been there since my first trip there when I was 15. We need another full day (or two) to really explore it, but we still got to see the place when it was practically empty.
Then there are the cafes that are quieter. There were the runs I’d take in the morning where I’d barely see anyone else. I’ve been able to walk down some charming streets that would seem to beckon me out of nowhere, a stroll on which I’d sometimes never see another soul. We can even still hear the birds.
When the city calms, I find I am able to see it more clearly. I imagine this must be a common feeling. But I’m happy to feel it, however brief.
