That photo was taken long after Hugo lived here. He was just 30 years old when he moved to the vast apartment upstairs, a workaholic with a wife and four small children, already a literary luminary of the Romantic age, an established poet, playwright, essayist and novelist.

What could be more exemplary of that Romantic era in France and of Hugo’s brilliance as a storyteller than the bestselling novel that he published a year before the move: Notre-Dame de Paris. The French title immediately signaled that the main character in this page-turner would be the battered cathedral in the historic heart of the capital. But the English publisher didn’t think that Gothic enough for a foreign audience, so it made poor, maligned Quasimodo the titular protagonist: The Hunchback of Notre-Dame.

Who can forget that high-drama scene-for-the-ages in which the beautiful, seductive Esmeralda finds the heart and the courage to give the thirsty, pilloried hunchbacked bellringer a drink of water, as Notre-Dame Cathedral looms in the background!

Certainly not I as I sit by the fountain in the courtyard café sipping a flat white. Yes, they’ve got flat white on the menu. Café au lait be damned! Flat white—now there’s a bestselling term in the literature of new cafés in Paris. Still, Paris it is. A lovely courtyard in the Marais. Dress the lovely parisiennes at the next table in bangles, scarve and flowing diaphanous skirts and any of them could play Esmeralda. Cue the goat.

Such a beautiful morning to experience Papapa. Seriously. Not the best place to contemplate medieval misery today, but maybe I’ll go upstairs to visit the Hugo’s apartment once I’ve finished my flat white, to imagine him looking down into the courtyard. Maybe to watch a mistress walk by. Or maybe, just maybe, in literary mode, to look down to this very fountain as he undertook a new project: exploring the more contemporary misery and revolt to which he was personally witness. That was toward the end of his stay, though the 5-volume work wouldn’t reach shelves until 1862: Les Misérables, a title that immediately draws attention to the miserable and the wretched of the world. Might as well just call it that in English.

Hugo explored numerous subjects in his work, often with great emotion, drama and sentimentality, yet his reputation soared as a republican activist, sympathetic to the downtrodden, un écrivain engagé, as we say in French, a socially committed writer. Unlike the present one. For how can I—how can anyone—do anything but ♥ Paris in this lovely courtyard café. Papapa is a much mellower name for a café serving a flat white in the Marais than Les Misérables, don’t you think? (There’s already café named Le Quasimodo Notre-Dame by the cathedral.)

Here, on this beautiful September morning, all seems right in the world. Every glance, every exchange, every sip, every bite (it’s the press opening and I’m trying everything on the menu) reminds me that I ♥ Paris, where City Hall’s fights for social justice by promoting the freedom for cyclists and scootists (pedestrians be damned!) and takes seriously its management of heritage sites by thoughtfully doling out concessions for cafés in the courtyards of city-operated museums. Call it a flat white social conscience.

Hence the 6-year concession for this café to Les Editions Délicieuses, a company operated by Damien and Caroline Nobile. Lovely people with good business acumen. I chatted with Damien. He used to work in finance, Caroline in fashion, in New York, before returning to Paris twenty years ago and transitioning into the event-catering and, more recently, courtyard café business.

Damien and Caroline aren’t only good at operating cafés serving pleasing fare and flat whites, they’re also good at naming their establishments. They started out with Fika, the sweet little café at the Swedish Institute in another Marais courtyard. Fika is a Swedish term for a coffee break. Now there’s Papapa. This fall they’ll take over the greenhouse café and tea room at the Musée de la Vie Romantique in the 9th arrondissement, the house-museum that speaks of music, life and literature during the Romantic area. It will be called Cornelia, the name of both the mother and daughter of the house’s first occupant. Then next spring they’ll take over the café concession at Balzac’s House in the 16th arrondissement, rebranding it Honoré. That was Balzac’s first name. Endearing names for endearing places. Altogether, they offer literary travelers pleasing fikas. Or think of it as a wonderful opportunity to learn about 19th-century literature, music and art during your flat white tour of Paris. Café au lait be damned!

Place des Vosges / Place Royale

Sorry, I got distracted by my conversation with Damien. Where was I? Oh yes, the Place des Vosges. Can you think of an adjective to describe it?

Technically, Hugo didn’t live on the Place des Vosges. He lived on the Place Royale. That was the square’s name before the Revolution of 1789. In 1800, after the blood had dried and Napoleon became top dog, it was renamed the Place des Vosges to honor the department or subregion in eastern France for being an early adopter of the Revolution. But once a king returned to the throne after the fall of Emperor Napoleon, the square again became the Place Royale (Hugo lived here in the time of King Louis-Philippe), then eventually Place des Vosges again with the affirmation of France’s Third Republic.

Though royal during Hugo’s residence, the neighborhood’s aristocratic glory days were long gone by the time he arrived. By then, the former noble mansion of the early 17th century where he lived, one of 36 such mansions on the square, had been divided into fourteen rental apartments. The Marais was no longer so fashionable, and its decline would continue for another 130 years. Nevertheless, the square remained a rather decent place to live in the 1830s and 1840s, when Hugo’s celebrity and engagement were on the rise. And always that (add your adjective) view.

Whether Victor Hugo thought of this as the Place Royale or followed his republican conscience in thinking of it as the Place des Vosges, I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know that much about the man. But from what I’ve read—Wikipedia, Notre-Dame de Paris, Les Misérables, and his poem Demain, dès l’aube (Tomorrow, at dawn) about living with the grief of the death by drowning of his 19-year-old daughter Léopoldine—from what I’ve read, he had an extraordinary life, imagination and strength of character, to which you can add love life if you’d care to look further into that.

Maison Victor Hugo, the Museum

His large apartment on the third floor (2e étage) of what become a city-owned building opened as a museum dedicated to him in 1903. I haven’t been there in a while so I might just take a peek after I’ve finished the flat white and this article. As I recall, the apartment is not as he lived in it for 16 years. Instead, the Maison Victor Hugo, as it’s called, presents a mix of artwork by and about the writer and his works, along with wallpaper, curtains and furnishings that evoke or come from other places and other periods in his long life.

One of those places was the Anglo-Norman or Channel Island of Guernsey, where he, a literary warrior for democracy and social justice, lived in exile from France’s Second Empire from 1855 to 1870. Doesn’t quite have the same ring as becoming a Florida resident to escape taxes in New York and New Jersey, but to each his Guernsey. That era is represented here by the drawing room of Chinese inspiration and the dining room of medieval inspiration, both of which he created for his mistress’s house at Guernsey. Naturally, she joined him in exile. Apparently, one can have a social conscience, enjoy one’s comforts and be a talented decorator. Maybe even play pickleball for all I now.

The museum’s final room presents a reconstitution, more or less, of his bedroom in the 16th arrondissement where he died at the age of 83 in 1885. Remember that scene from Les Misérables when Cosette reaches Jean Valjean at his deathbed and he manages to breath “Dying is nothing; it’s terrible not to live,” proof that social and political engagement requires a heavy dose of melodrama? Among Hugo’s own last words were these, written three days before he took his last breath: Aimer, c’est agir, To love is to act. When I try to contemplate what that might mean while sitting alone with a flat white in this lovely setting of the café courtyard, all that comes to mind is that it sounds like the name of a cocktail, to be listed alongside Sex on the Beach, Salty Dog and Penicillin. Perhaps I’m being cynical because I now recall learning somehow that one week after Hugo’s death, a tremendous funeral procession attended by perhaps two million people led his remains to the Pantheon. They weren’t just there to mourn a writer but a man who had become an activist for social justice and the values of a secular republic. That is what we should all contemplate at Papapa.

Just kidding! How can anyone think of social justice while ♥ing Paris with a flat white? Honestly, has anyone ever sat down with a flat white in Paris with a social conscience that goes beyond “I deserve this” or “Wait, let me take a picture first”? Come to think of it, flat white may itself be a form of international social conscience, especially when everyone, irrespective of race, color, creed or other variances, gets a ♥ or a🌿on top. Café au lait be damned!

In addition to his 15 years of exile on the Anglo-Norman island of Guernsey, off the coast of Normandy, Hugo had other visits and residences in the region, not to mention that Léopoldine drowned in the Seine in Normandy. Hugo’s Normandy connections drew Damien and Caroline Nobiles to honor that region in creating their menu for a light lunch, a savory snack and pleasing pastries, cookies and biscuits. On the savory side, baked camembert, a Guernsey bean jar, crab-and-apple on buttered brioche and, on weekends, oysters from the Chausey Islands. On the sweet side, pear douillon, mirliton, a caramel-topped cookie and a seasonal fig tart. Butter is branded Isigny Sainte-Mère. Then there’s the wink-wink of the flat white on the coffee menu, reminding us that none of this actually has anything to do with Victor Hugo. All to be enjoyed within gurgling distance of the charming little fountain or inside by the looming photo of Papapa himself.

You can enjoy the lovely flat whiteness of the café without entering the museum. Just say “Bonjour” to the guard as you pass under the arcade into the courtyard. But maybe your conscience will bother you if you’ve come this far without at least going up for the view. As encouragement, entrance to the Victor Hugo House is normally free. As discouragement, there’s currently an admission fee of 11€ (9€ for students 18-26, free for under 18) until Nov. 22, though that gives access to both the permanent collection on the third floor and the temporary exhibition “Hugo and Architecture” on the second—yes, another interest of the great man.

On its own, a Guernsey bean jar doesn’t help me understand what made Hugo a fabulous storyteller, a multi-talented creator, a social committed writer and a hero in the fight for freedom and democracy. So I’ve decided that the time has now come to leave this loveliest of lovely courtyards to go upstairs to contemplate the fellow and ponder what it means to have a social conscience, even if only out of flat white guilt.

© 2026, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Paris Café Culture: Victor Hugo and My Flat White Social Conscience appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

France Revisited asked Jenny Eagle, a British journalist living in Montpellier, to introduce our readers to her adopted city and its surroundings and to suggest several luxury hotels and gastronomic restaurants in that Mediterranean city and region where Provence gives way to Languedoc. Jenny writes:

Tell your American friends that you’re going to the south of France and they’ll likely think you’re headed to Provence and the Côte d’Azur. Immediately, they’ll start telling you about their own experiences in sunny squares, lavender fields, hilltop villages, Aix-en-Provence, Cannes, Nice, Saint-Tropez, Marseille, and all of southern France that lies east of the Rhone River.

Yet southern France isn’t limited to its eastern Mediterranean coast as it edges toward Italy and the Alps. It also follows a western and southwestern arc toward Spain and the Pyrenees. Curve right as you approach the Mediterranean from the north, as the train does, and you’ll soon reach Montpellier, perhaps the least known (to Americans, at least) of France’s ten largest cities. Montpellier weighs in at number seven, with a population of about 320,000, or over 800,000 including the metropolitan area.

Here, just eight miles inland from the Mediterranean, where Provence has given way to Languedoc, lies a dynamic southern city where medieval streets and grand private mansions meet contemporary architecture, a vibrant university scene, noteworthy gastronomy and a robust if lesser-known wine region right on its doorstep. It has many of the ingredients that make destinations to cities in Provence and along the Riviera attractive—history, culture, food, wine, sunshine and the Mediterranean—but it’s a city that feels less defined by tourism.

Nevertheless, tourism is on the upswing, and while Americans naturally lag in numbers behind European and Mediterranean travelers, it may not be too long before one of those friends to whom you mention the south of France tells about his or her first trip here.

Before suggesting several luxury hotels where you might set down your bags to explore Montpellier and its surroundings and offering several suggestions for a gastronomic meal, here’s a brief introduction to the city itself.

The Écusson and other highlights

The historic center of Montpellier is known as the Écusson, meaning heraldic shield, for its shape. It’s the obvious place to begin. Its medieval streets open onto elegant squares and reveal a remarkable collection of private mansions built when Montpellier was a prosperous center of commerce, scholarship and medicine.

The Place de la Comédie, dominated by the 19th-century Opéra Comédie and the fountain of the Three Graces, is the city’s popular meeting place. From there, the streets lead towards the late-17th-century strollway called Promenade du Peyrou, the Arc de Triomphe (1691), and the late-Gothic Saint-Pierre Cathedral.

The Jardin des Plantes, founded in 1593, provides a living reminder of Montpellier’s intellectual heritage. Created for teaching at the city’s medical school, it is one of Europe’s oldest botanical gardens. The medical school itself, which can also be visited and continues to flourish, was founded in 1220!

Yet Montpellier is not a city preserved in amber. Its newer districts have become showcases for contemporary architecture, from Ricardo Bofill’s monumental Antigone to more recent buildings around Port Marianne and the Lez River. This mixture of old and new is one of the city’s defining characteristics.

Montpellier is also distinctly youthful. Its universities and prestigious institutions of higher learning called grandes écoles attract the city a student population of 80,000, which partially explains the proliferation of cafés, wine bars, cultural venues and restaurants. The result is a southern French city with an especially energetic atmosphere.

The Mediterranean is close enough to shape the atmosphere without dominating it. Beaches can be reached within a short distance, while the Étang de Thau, Sète and the vineyards north of the city offer easy excursions. Montpellier, capital of the department or subregion of Hérault, is also a natural base for exploring the Languedoc wine country. (See Beyond Montpellier at the bottom of this article.)

The city’s cultural and sporting calendar is anything but provincial. FISE Montpellier, created in 1997, has grown into one of Europe’s largest urban-sports events. Held in May on the banks of the Lez, the event brings together 2700 amateur and professional athletes and hundreds of thousands of spectators for competitions in BMX, skateboarding, roller, freestyle scooter, parkour, breaking and other disciplines.

In September, the Arabesques Festival provides a completely different expression of Montpellier’s Mediterranean identity. The two-week festival celebrates contemporary creations and heritage of the Arab world through concerts, dance, cinema, literature, visual arts and discussion.

Whatever time of year you might visit, be sure to check out the schedules of Montpellier’s premier stages, the Domaine d’O for theater, dance and more, and the Opéra Comédie for concerts and opera. Also look into the permanent and temporary exhibitions at Musée Fabre, the city’s major art museum. Information of upcoming and seasonal events in the city and its surroundings can also be found on the official site of the Montpellier Tourist Office.

Overall, Montpellier is a dynamic historic Mediterranean city with a contemporary, international cultural identity… and some fine hotels and restaurants.

Choice luxury hotels

Hôtel Richer de Belleval brings together history, art and gastronomy at a single address. It’s difficult to overlook in the hotel- and restaurant-scape of the city.

This Relais & Châteaux member property occupies a restored 17th-century mansion on Place de la Canourgue, one of the prettiest squares in the Écusson. Its restoration combines historic decoration and contemporary art.

The hotel is home to Jardin des Sens, the restaurant of Montpellier’s celebrated Pourcel brothers, Jacques and Laurent. Their original restaurant helped establish the city as a serious gastronomic destination, and the current address continues that connection. Its menu proposes a modern take on Mediterranean cuisine, drawing on the ingredients and flavors of the wider Languedoc. Olive oil, Lucques olives, Pélardon goat cheese, oysters from the Thau lagoon and local wines sit alongside regional specialities such as tielle (a savory octopus tourte), rouille de seiche (a cuttlefish stew) and macaronade (a pasta and tender meat dish).

Domaine de Verchant, another Relais & Châteaux member, provides an alternate interpretation of Montpellier luxury from just beyond the city’s edge. Set among 42 acres of vineyards in Castelnau-le-Lez, this five-star combines a historic estate with contemporary design, restaurants, wine touring and a spa.

For travelers who want the atmosphere of a wine estate without sacrificing access to the city, it is an especially appealing option. The vineyards begin almost at the city gates, so Montpellier’s center is a short ride away.

Domaine de Biar offers a more intimate alternative in Lavérune, also just beyond the city limit but in the opposite direction. This four-star property, where modern comfort meets nature on a historic estate, has just 13 rooms and suites. Its rooms deliberately retain traces of the building’s history, with stone, exposed beams and period details, while introducing contemporary interiors.

Since disconnection is increasingly part of the luxury-travel equation, there are no televisions in the rooms, and the property encourages guests to reconnect with the surrounding landscape. The restaurant, La Table de Biar, provides a gastronomic reason to both disconnect and reconnect over a slow, relaxed, delicious meal.

Back in central Montpellier, four-star Maison Soleil presents yet a different take on contemporary southern hospitality. This 10-room boutique hotel occupies a Mediterranean house near Saint-Roch, with individually designed rooms that retain the character of the original building while introducing a more modern sensibility. There is no conventional reception; the hotel operates through a fully digital, self-service system, although guests have access to 24-hour assistance. It is an interesting example of a new generation of Montpellier hotel, intimate and rooted in the city’s architecture, but decidedly modern in the way it operates.

Further afield, Château & Village Castigno offers perhaps the most unusual stay in the wider Languedoc. In the tiny wine village of Assignan, about an hour west of Montpellier, this “sustainable wine resort,” as it calls itself, is spread across the village itself rather than contained in a single building, with rooms occupying restored houses painted in vivid colors that have made Castigno famous. Created by Belgian couple Marc and Tine Verstraete, the project grew from their passion for the local vineyards into a village-wide hospitality concept encompassing accommodation, restaurants, wine touring and a spa. It’s an eccentric but compelling example of what can happen when a hotel becomes inseparable from its landscape and community.

Select gastronomic restaurants

The Pourcel brothers remain central to Montpellier’s culinary story, but they are far from the only reason to come hungry.

The city has an impressive concentration of Michelin-starred restaurants, including Jardin des Sens, La Réserve Rimbaud, Leclère, Pastis, Reflet d’Obione and Ébullition, each of which carries one star at this writing.

At Reflet d’Obione, chef Laurent Cherchi’s cooking draws strongly on the region, connecting produce from the Cévennes to the Mediterranean.

La Réserve Rimbaud, set beside the Lez River beneath mature plane trees, has become a Montpellier institution. Chef Charles Fontès has retained its Michelin star since 2010 and describes his return to the restaurant as a retour aux sources, a return to his roots. He first came here as a child with his father.

Leclère offers something more unusual. Hidden behind an understated doorway on Rue André-Michel, the restaurant is reached through a narrow, stainless-steel-lined passage before opening into a striking space of stone, granite, tile and vaulted ceilings. The former medical-supply depot was transformed by chef Guillaume Leclère himself, who designed the room around the open kitchen, where he undertakes a deliberately pared-back approach to cooking. His single fixed-price menu changes with the day’s arrivals, with diners given only a list of ingredients rather than a preview of the dishes, part of the element of surprise that has become central to the dining experience here.

Montpellier as destination and base

One of the city’s greatest advantages for travelers is that Montpellier works equally well as a destination and as a base.

Sète, with its canals, fishing traditions and artistic heritage, is an obvious excursion. The Étang de Thau provides a landscape of oyster farms and lagoons that feels very different from the nearby beaches.

North of Montpellier, the vineyards of Pic Saint-Loup offer wine tasting against a backdrop of limestone hills. Further west lie the villages and landscapes of the Terrasses du Larzac. Nîmes, with its extraordinary Roman heritage, is close enough for a day trip by train or car. By car, Montpellier can be the point of departure for or return the lesser-known zone of western Hérault covered in this article on France Revisited or the rugged region of the Cévennes to the north.

As previously mentioned, the region also has a strong connection between wine and tourism—this despite lacking well-known appellations or designations of origin. Montpellier’s metropolitan area has developed its own Vignobles & Découvertes (Vineyards & Discovery) network, with estates near the city offering cellar visits, tastings and other activities.

This combination makes Montpellier particularly well suited to travelers who want more than urban exploration. A visit of several days or more will lead to contrasting experiences: medieval architecture one day, vineyards the next, followed by oysters beside the lagoon, a gastronomic meal, an evening performance, and more.

This is a city with enough history to satisfy the traditional Francophile, enough contemporary architecture and culture to interest the curious traveler, enough gastronomy and wine to justify a serious culinary trip, and enough proximity to the Mediterranean and the Languedoc countryside to make it an effective base for exploring the wider region. Visiting Montpellier offers the chance to discover a corner of southern France that feels established rather than staged, cosmopolitan without losing its regional identity, and increasingly confident about what it has to offer.

The fact that your friends think that you’re referring to Provence and the Riviera when you mention “south of France” could even be part of its appeal.

© 2026 by Jenny Eagle

The post Montpellier: The Mediterranean City Where Provence Gives Way to Languedoc appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Here, I take in the tremendous view over the Seine Valley, at the border between the Paris region and Normandy, border of France its, from above a castle that embodies major events in French, even European, history over the past 1000 years. Since not all who enter the castle are willing to make the climb, the few visitors entering down below are fewer still to share this view.

Each time I’ve made the climb I’ve thought, “That was certainly worth the detour and the effort. Too bad the castle down below is so empty. And too bad no one bothers to inform visitors about the history of this carcass.”

But that isn’t what I thought when I reached the top this summer.

The rewarding view earned after an athletic climb is the same, but La Roche-Guyon, just six miles from Giverny, has now upped its game. An artistic and cultural project that came into fruition this summer marks a turning point for the chateau as several rooms have been graced with historic furnishings and complemented by new works by artists-in-residence. La Roche-Guyon feels less the carcass passageway to the summit and more a place to linger. A site that I used to think as a detour is now en route to becoming a destination.

With 90,000 visitors last year, the Château de La Roche-Guyon is the most visited heritage site in the department (or subregion) Val d’Oise of the Greater Paris region, yet it’s generally off the radar for international travelers. That’s undoubtedly due to the difficulty of access without a car and the absence of organized tours from Paris.

Compare that with the international reputation of Monet’s House and Gardens at Giverny, a wide bend in the river downstream along the Seine and just six miles away by road. Giverny (pronounced shjee-ver-nee) draws over 750,000 visitors per year. Already, in 2014, I suggested to readers planning a visit to Giverny to consider combining it with a stop at La Roche-Guyon. (See that article.) La Roche-Guyon now inspires more than a stop. Indeed, Giverny could now be the “stop” after visiting La Roche-Guyon. More on that toward the end of this article.

From hollowed carcass…

The La Rochefoucauld family has owned the Château de la Roche-Guyon nearly continuously since 1659. Call the current head of the household Duke de La Roche-Guyon if you wish. Though titles that formerly conferred a superior legal status, rights and privileges no longer have judicial significance, they may still used honorifically.

For generations, centuries even, the chateau’s interior maintained the allure of a noble household. Prized paintings, tapestries and furniture decorated the major reception rooms. The vast library held a large, valuable collection of books. Curiosities filed shelves in an adjacent room. The death of a proprietor duke in 1964 then of his duchess in 1984 put an end to that. Rather, the inability of heirs to agree to a less dramatic way to pay the inheritance tax than selling most of the furnishings did. The historic rooms were emptied. Their contents were taken to Sothby’s auction block in 1987, leaving a tremendous void to increasingly decrepit spaces. La Roche-Guyon became a decaying carcass of a castle.

… to public funding and restoration

A branch of the La Rochefoucauld family still owns the chateau. The family has private apartments on the upper floors, which can’t be visited. Much of the rest, however, is open to the public since  the chateau has been managed and enriched by over 30 years by a public entity working under the auspices of Val d’Oise and other local administrations. Throughout France, such multilayered arrangement allows certain privately owned heritage sites to be maintained and open to the public so as to continue to be a part of the cultural landscape for more than a simple drive-by view,

Restoration of the château was the main objective in the 1990s. I made my first visit in the mid-90s, soon after it had opened to the public. The pervasive feel was of a hollow carcass, but at least it was now receiving funding for repair and could be visited. The 2000s saw the replanting and recreation of the chateau’s kitchen garden and orchard in its 18th-century configuration. Situated across the street from the chateau, that 9.4-acre enclosed garden/orchard is the second largest of its kind in the Paris region, after the Potager du Roi, the royal kitchen garden at Versailles. It earned the national label Jardin remarquable (Remarkable Garden) in 2011. By then, attention was slowly turning to refurnishing the succession of 18th-century rooms that had been emptied in 1987.

… to refurnished rooms

Within the site’s thousand-year history of construction, the 18th century marks La Roche-Guyon’s intellectual, artistic and architectural heyday. Alexandre de La Rochefoucauld (1690-1762), Duke of La Roche-Guyon, then his daughter (1716-1797), known through her marriage as the Duchess of Enville, led the way.

The duchess built what is now the main portion of the castle complex. She, especially, gave La Roche-Guyon and the La Rochefoucauld mansion in Paris their status as gathering places for writers, philosophers, political thinkers and scientist. At her home in Paris, she hosted Benjamin Franklin and John Adams, among other Americans seeking to draw France into the fight for independence.

In 2000, funding provided by the department of Val d’Oise and the state secured the purchased at auction of a series of four tapestries from 1769 presenting the Biblical story of Esther that had originally been ordered by the Duchess d’Enville for one of the chateau’s drawing rooms. The four were being auctioned off by the designer Karl Langerfield, who was then parting ways with an 18th-century collection that he’d constituted in part from the La Rochefoucauld sale of 1987. Other objects have returned under similar circumstances. A precious 18th-century inlaid desk that had graced that same room until 1987 was purchase in 2017 by a private citizen who then donated it to the state on the condition that it return to La Roche-Guyon. Others made similar gestures, as gift or loan.

Compare my photo above, taken in June 2026, with the black-and-white photos from the early 20th-century on this page showing the desk and the tapestries, among other furnishings in the grand salon.

Contemporary artists add a breath of fresh air

These small, significant and expensive steps gave a hint of the life and elegance of the chateau as a noble center for enlightened discussion, yet those furnishings were also a reminder of how much more was needed to enliven the place.

This summer marks a turning point for the chateau as the void now further recedes thanks to the addition of additional precious period furnishings and especially of works created by artists-in-residence. Going forward, a contract recently signed with the Mobilier National, the public entity that stores, maintains and lends out historic furnishings, will bear fruit next year with additional furnishings on display, ensuring that additional spaces within the chateau feel less forlorn.

In an artists-in-residence program now reaching fruition, eight artists or teams of artists were selected to help breathe fresh air into La Roche-Guyon. The program is carried out by artistic and cultural director Emmanual Morin. Three of the artists were tasked with updating visuals, maps, brochures and the chateau gift shop/ticket desk. The others were invited to create works that reveal, enrich and dialogue with the décor, the furnishings, the architecture and the prior use of certain rooms and spaces. The result is a series of accessible and often playful works anchored in specific locations. They lead visitors to linger longer both in appreciation of the works themselves and to consider the ways in which they revive and revisit the spirit of their location.

Here are some of the artists who have taken part in this enrichment campaign.

Castle map and descriptive brochure

For years, visitors purchasing their entrance ticket were handed a photocopied information sheet intended guide them through the then empty-castle. It was better than nothing, but not truly helpful in understanding the site.

Now, visitors are given an upbeat map of the castle along with an attractive information booklet providing an important primary understanding of the rooms to be visited. These are the work of graphic artist and illustrator Mathilde Arnaud. The map and the booklet, which appeal to children and adults alike, are as much souvenirs as on-site guides.

Entrance and grand staircase

Designers and plastic artists Baptiste Sévin and Jaïna Ennequin, who form Atelier Baptiste & Jaïna, have enriched the entrance and Classical grand staircase with Mineral Cuttings, as they’ve titled their work here, of ceramic and blown glass. The staircase, though lit by windows featuring the arms of La Rochefoucauld family, felt severe and incomplete prior to the introduction of their work. As with all of the artists participating in the current project, their works are not intended to transform their assigned space but rather to dialogue with the architecture and elements in which they’re integrated. Rather than draw attention to themselves, Baptiste & Jaïna’s “cuttings” soften the severity of the space while resonating with the rounded stone of the stairs, walls and banister, the window that lights the landing, and the fruit from the castle’s orchard. Their work will remain in place until 2030.

The dining room and 18th-century drawing rooms

Camille Chastang’s flamboyant, entertaining and floral creations in ceramics and textile present a trail of pleasures in the dining room and the main 18th-century drawing rooms. She has given the title Menus Plaisirs to the collection of objects that she has fashioned. That term refers to the service and budget of an aristocrat, notably a king, dedicated to small or minor (menus) pleasures (plaisirs) such as festivities, entertainment and courtly events. The artist’s Menus Plaisirs will enliven those rooms only until Nov. 1, 2026. For another room, she has designed a floral, watercolor-like wallpaper called Femmage! in honor of the women who have reigned here, in particular the Duchess of Enville. That will remain in place until 2028.

Echoes, a subtle soundtrack

Physical objects—tapestries, paintings, armchairs, tables, desks, and Camille Chastang’s trail of pleasures—help fill the void that once permeated these rooms. Add to that a subtle soundtrack created by sound designers Simon Cacheux and Julia Griner, who collectively form Atelier Blip Bloop.

Their elusive acoustics allow us to overhear the spirit of the succession of 18th-century reception and drawing rooms. It gives voice and breath to the stone architecture, the wood floors, beams and doors, the metal hinges and locks, and the nearby stables and great kitchen garden and orchard. Their soundtrack will play until 2028.

The library, the cabinet of curiosities and the orangery

From that succession of rooms, we enter the large library. Formerly home to a vast and prestigious collection of knowledge, reflections and stories, it now tells of nothing but absence. White faux book covers don’t so much fill the shelves as turn them into wordless ghosts. I would hope that an artist-in-residence will be invited before long to reconsider these shelves. Meanwhile, looking down on visitors from the upper level of the ghostly library, a mysterious creature hints at the curious menagerie in the next room.

While the library of an aristocratic family reflected a desire for knowledge and understanding as books become increasingly available, a cabinet of curiosities, adjacent here, was a more intimate, more personal space.

Cabinets of curiosities developed in Renaissance Europe as places to store, catalogue, present and examine precious objects of study, from a dinosaur fossil to a taxidermy parrot, and much in between. Numerous aristocrats designated a room for their “curiosities” in the 17th and 18th centuries, and beyond. Here, as in his enlightened library, the curator-aristocrat, whether noble savant or wannabe, could demonstrate to himself and to visitors his curiosity about the widening world as explorers, botanists and archeologist traveled the globe.

Now, sculptor Yoshikazu Goulven Le Maître has revived that spirit of curiosity with a menagerie of his own creations, titled Mirabilis and curated by Jean-Marc Dimanche.

Yoshikazu’s was the longest residency of the artists described here, leading to the most prolific creation. After viewing his works, visiting artists, crafters, scrappers and tinkerers of every age will want to pick up string, metal, fabric, buttons and minutia of any kind to start creating when they get home. Mirabilis will remain in place until 2028.

In addition to that wondrous menagerie, the artist has created larger works that can be seen in the former dog yard, situated shortly beyond the cabinet of curiosities, and a monumental bestiary in the dimly lit former orangery or greenhouse dug into the cliff, seen at the end of a visit. That bestiary, titled Fauna Fabulosa, will remain in place only until Nov. 1, 2026.

The theater

The Duchess of Enville created a precious little theater at La Roche-Guyon that is need of much restoration before being open to the public anytime. Photos of that space can be seen after the cabinet of curiosities.

As a reminder of its existence, Héllène Gaulier and Gwenolé Gasiner, of Agence GG, have designed theatrical games using pre-Industrial mechanics. One is shown by the theater and the other is shown within the medieval keep atop the cliff. Their works will remain here until 2030.

The truncated castle tower

Eventually, following an athletic climb, visitors are rewarded by the view that leads off this article, over the Seine Valley from the top of the tower of a castle keep. The tower, dating from about 1190, was at least one third taller before being beheaded, so to speak, in 1793, during the French Revolution. It was truncated to cut the notion of nobility down to size (hereditary nobility was first abolished in 1790) and to prevent such a prominent position from falling into the hand of counter-Revolutionaries. This had been a strategic location for nearly 900 years by then.

In 911, the Treaty of Epte set the border of a territory to be controlled by the Norsemen who’d conquered the territory and their descendants—the territory of Normandy. The Epte River, which flows into the Seine, runs about half a mile from here as the crow flies. On and off for centuries, that was the border between Normandy and France proper. It still represents the border between Normandy and Ile-de-France, as the Paris region is officially called. (Giverny is on the opposite side of the border.)

See this France Revisited video of the view.

Rommel at La Roche-Guyon

The Château de La Roche-Guyon’s strategic location at the border between Normandy and the Paris region explains why it served as German Marshall Edwin Rommel’s headquarters after his appointment by Hitler to oversee a large swath of the Atlantic Wall during the Second World War. The territory that he oversaw included the section of Normandy that would become the D-Day Landing Beaches.

During the Occupation, the Germans built casemates into the limestone cliff so as to protect their artillery as much as possible from Allied aerial bombing. Meanwhile, resistance activities took place in the village itself. An audiovisual installation called The Voice of the Casemates, 1944, by the French-Polish artist Tomasz Namerla will remain within the gloom of cliffside casemates until 2030.

For its WWI history alone, I’ve often suggested that those driving to the Normandy Landing Zone from Paris for several days stop here for a visit, just a 15-minute detour off the highway. Also, it makes for a nice break in the drive. Thanks to the recent cultural and art program, La Roche-Guyon now makes for an even richer break.

Visiting La Roche-Guyon with respect to Giverny

All told, the Chateau de La Roche-Guyon deserves a place on the traveler’s radar, perhaps not (yet) as a significant detour, but at the very least a stop for an hour or two or three for those driving to/from Normandy, or those planning on visiting Giverny, or those interested in also visiting the nearby natural and preserved zone called the Vexin Français.

Château de La Roche-Guyon is open daily 10am to 18am from April 1 to November 1, which more or less coincides with the opening season of Monet’s House and Gardens at Giverny. Additionally, and for the first time, the chateau will open from Dec. 5, 2026 to Jan. 4, 2027, with seasonal decorations and the creation by children’s book author Elisa Martin of a graphic novel whose action takes place at the Château de La Roche-Guyon.

Many touring companies based in Paris propose a Giverny + Versailles day trip from April 1 to Nov. 1. A Giverny + La Roche-Guyon combo, though less blockbuster, is a more natural and unhurried combo.

DIYers without a car can reach Giverny by taking the train to Vernon from Paris’s Saint Lazare Station then a shuttle or taxi or bike from Vernon. With no offense to Giverny, that’s a lot of travel and timing for relatively low touring ROI, unless you’re a hardcore Monet fan. An interesting cycling day could be made by taking the train to Vernon from Paris, renting a manual or e-bike near the Vernon train station, then visiting Giverny and La Roche-Guyon before cycling back to Vernon. That’s about 20 miles in all, mostly on narrow roads rather than designated cycling paths. (I haven’t yet done that and would like to hear from anyone who has.)

There’s a full-men restaurant by the river in the village of La Roche-Guyon, but keep it simpler, I say, by opting for lunch or a snack at the bakery near the foot of the castle or at the friendly café-bistro next to that. If La Roche-Guyon maintains its upward trajectory en route to becoming a destination, other worthy options will undoubtedly open.

© 2026 by Gary Lee Kraut

The post Château de La Roche-Guyon: A Detour en Route to Becoming a Destination appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

* * *

I am a France travel and tour expert, not a wine specialist. Nevertheless, it’s important for me to have a good handle on the wines of the wine regions that I write or lecture or advise travelers about—not to mention that when I dine with visitors, they often hand me the wine list. If French wine were a language, I’d say that I was conversant but not fluent. Over the years I’ve learned how to conjugate the wines of Champagne, Burgundy, the Loire Valley, Burgundy, Beaujolais and the Rhone, and I’ve had the honor of being invited to sit as an “experienced amateur” on wine juries for Châteauneuf-du-Pape and Beaujolais. Yet, as many travelers say with respect to their grasp of a foreign language, I understand it better than I can speak. I am not a wine connoisseur, and that’s fine with me.

Still, it’s come to disturb me that my handle on the Bordeaux winegrowing region has lagged. I could explain my Bordeaux deficiency by saying that when I was first getting interested in French wines (in wines of any kind, actually) in the 1990s, the variety within the Bordeaux region confused me. Their love-‘em-hate-‘em, inaccessible-unreliable reputation that I heard about convinced me to look elsewhere and closer to home (Paris) for my wine education. Furthermore, as a novice travel writer then with a contract to write a guidebook to France, a tour of the sooty city of Bordeaux gave me little reason to return on what was then a relatively long train ride from Paris.

As the years went by, I spent more time visiting (then writing and lecturing and advising about) the Loire Valley, Champagne, Normandy, Burgundy, the Rhone Valley and Provence and thus encountering the wines (or in the case of Normandy the ciders and Calvados) produced there. Bordeaux got left by the wayside. I rarely even considered the Bordeaux options on a wine list. I didn’t feel that I needed Bordeaux.

But the more I was able to talk the talk when meeting wine professionals in those other regions and the more I was called upon to advise travelers about visiting wine regions in France, the more I realized that I’d been avoiding Bordeaux. As conversant as I’d become in the language of French wine regions, I’d failed to acquire one of the major tenses. Bordeaux had become my subjunctive. I couldn’t properly speak French wine or even non-wine touring in the Bordeaux region without having a better grasp of it.

Bordeaux, the city

Bordeaux, the city itself, wasn’t completely absent from my travel grammar. I’d visited several times since I first wrote about the city in the early 1990s. It would be another 15 years from that initial visit before enough of the dark veil of soot that covered La Belle Endormie (The Sleeping Beauty), as the city is known, had been lifted—enough to enjoy the stroll along the dignified golden-stone architecture of the orderly streets of the vast historic center, to admire the stunning crescent sweep of the Port of the Moon, to take note of the life in the wine bars, cafés and restaurants … and to want to return.

Thanks to the devotion to urban renewal by the powers that be, Bordeaux earned UNESCO recognition as a World Heritage Site in 2007 for constituting “an exceptional testimony to the exchange of human values over more than two thousand years” and representing “an outstanding urban and architectural ensemble.” With each visit, I found the city center more revitalized. Maintaining its momentum, the city opened the Cité du Vin, the center for wine and wine culture, which I visited soon after it opened in 2016. Meanwhile, the trains heading southwest from Paris have sped up; Bordeaux is now just over two hours away on the quickest route, putting it in nearly day-trip reach of the capital.

Bordeaux, the wines

Bordeaux wasn’t completely absent from my wine grammar either. I once took (and wrote about) a joyful walk in the vineyards of Rauzan in Bordeaux’s Entre-Deux-Mers winegrowing zone. I’ve also checked out the charms of Saint-Emilion, with a few tastings while there. And I’ve kept abreast of the growth of wine touring in the region (biking, cruise excursions, luxury hotels). But getting a handle on travel and wine in the Bordeaux winegrowing region as a whole in order to “speak” it the way I do so many other regions requires much more. Especially, it requires some focus.

Initial steps

Earlier this year I began paying more attention. I’ve seized several occasions to swirl, sip or otherwise talk wine with regional professionals in Paris. I met some friendly Blaye producers at the release party for the 2026 Pudlowski bistro guide; I chatted with Bordeaux region tourist officials at press events; I attended the prestigious Medoc and Sauternes tasting at the 1855 Classification in Paris; I spoke with several Saint Emilion producers at Wine Paris; I’ve stayed on the Bordeaux page of a wine list long enough to order a white Graves one evening and a red Graves another—how daring! And I took a long look at the map of the Bordeaux winegrowing region, where I saw how a traveler—how I—might to radiate from the city of Bordeaux to the five major subregions of the greater Bordeaux winegrowing region, seeking different kinds of wine and non-wine experiences in each direction.

With these notable if haphazard steps, I came to the conclusion that gaining an education about Bordeaux—the city, the region and the wines—would be an enjoyable personal project and a worthy professional one.

It isn’t that I’m going all in and devoting myself to Bordeaux full-time. I’m too much of a France generalist for that. But over the coming year or so, I’ll be publishing a series of articles about different ways and places to get a Bordeaux education—the city, the region, the wines. Snippets already appear on France Revisited’s Facebook page, and on my personal Linkedin and Instagram pages.

In a recent article in The New York Times, the paper’s chief wine critic Eric Asimov wrote “nobody in Bordeaux is drinking Bordeaux.” He’s the wine expert, and already speaks Bordeaux fluently, so I trust him on talking about wine. But as a travel expert, I know that travelers from other regions and countries (and from Paris) do drink the wines of Bordeaux when in Bordeaux. I suspect that you will as well. Because however conversant you may now be in French wine, the city and the region are the best places get a Bordeaux wine education.

That’s where I’m headed. Please join me in this upcoming series as I go about obtaining a Bordeaux education.

© 2026, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Introduction to a Bordeaux Education appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

The term bistro—or bistrot, as it is more commonly written in French—has evolved over the past 150 years. And it’s meaning in French is not identical to its meaning in English. For that reason, when English-speaking visitors to Paris ask me (or their concierge or their phone) to recommend “a good neighborhood bistro,” what they’re looking for does not necessarily correspond to what Parisians think of as “a good neighborhood bistro.”

That’s because English-speaking travelers are typically looking for a restaurant serving fresh traditional French cuisine—period. Nothing wrong with that. However, the Parisian bistro can also be more than just a restaurant.

For bistro purists with a sense of bistro history, the bistro is better defined as an unpretentious neighborhood gathering place with an active bar counter and serving fresh traditional cuisine that’s relatively inexpensive for the neighborhood, along with inexpensive wines (even if more expensive wines may also be available), a place that remains open beyond meal hours, with an ever-watchful owner or manager on the premises.

To call such a place a “neighborhood bistro” would be redundant since a bistro in that more-than-a-restaurant sense necessarily implies that neighbors and regulars stop by through the day for coffee, a drink, to escape the heat or the cold, or simply to say hello, and to enjoy a nice, inexpensive meal if they like. Such a bistro—a more-than-a-restaurant bistro—is defined not by food alone, however enjoyable its bistro cuisine may be, but by its role as a vector of sociability and an example of art-de-vivre à la française.

Paris Bistro Life, the Lecture

Over the past two years I’ve been giving a lecture on that very subject, in which I examine the history of the Parisian bistro and speak about an array of more-than-a-restaurant bistros. Titled The History of the Parisian Bistro and Paris Bistro Life Today, I recently made this presentation to the Federation of Alliances Françaises USA, via Zoom, a recording of which you can watch below.

In the lecture, after considering the origins of the word bistro/bistrot, I present an exemplary selection of eight more-than-a-restaurant bistros that I recommend for those wishing to take part in Paris bistro life. They’re located in various neighborhoods in Paris—and that I recommend for those wishing to take part in Paris bistro life—include Christophe Hanz’s Le Vaudésir, 41 Rue Dareau, 14th arr.; Jean-Louis Bras’s Au Bon Coin, 49 Rue Des Cloys, 18th arr.; Fanny and Bruno Louvrier’s Au Bougnat – Chantier de Notre-Dame, 26th rue Chanoinesse, 4th arr.; Claude and Henrika Derrien’s Le Verre à Pied, 118 B rue Mouffetard, 5th arr.; Robyn Greiner’s L’Ami Pierre, 5 rue de la Main d’Or, 11th arr.; Chez Walzak – Aux Sportifs Réunis with Chef Boby, 75 rue Brancion, 15th arr.; Nicolas Gounse’s Le Guersant, 30 Bd Gouvion Saint-Cyr and Eric Mauboussin’s Le P’tit Zinc, 2 rue des Plantes, 14th arr.

I also speak in this presentation about various organizations and individuals that defend and promote traditional bistros and cafés as essential vectors of sociability and art-de-vivre à la française, spearheaded by Alain Fontaine, owner-chef of Le Mesturet.

Have a watch, whether for the full presentation or simply to hear about some of the specific bistros and bistro-keepers mentioned above.

Welcome to Paris Bistro Life.

© 2026, Gary Lee Kraut

The post The History of the Parisian Bistro and Paris Bistro Life Today (Video) appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Far less crowded than Versailles, far easier to organize than Champagne, far less tiresome than the D-Day Landing Zone, far less known of course, but an excellent choice of a day trip for the curious Paris revisitor—and with little to no planning required.

I’m talking about Rouen, a small city in Normandy that makes for an alluring, well-rounded walk-about, just 75-90-minutes by frequent, inexpensive train from Paris’ Saint Lazare Station.

By well-rounded I mean that Rouen offers the possibility to follow your nose, your interests and your appetite, all within a compact, walkable city center. Keep it leisurely, lilting and light, or go deep where you will. Will it be the Gothic cathedral whose façade inspired Monet? Will it be the history and the significance of Joan of Arc? Will it be the admirable fine arts museum or the handyman’s delight that is the wrought iron museum? Will it be the pastries, the ceramics shop, the half-timbered buildings, the 16th-century funerary complex, the 12th-century Jewish monument?

I wouldn’t dismiss Rouen for an overnight, or longer, but I had day trip in my mind when I chose Rouen for a city break on a mild midwinter weekday. You won’t—or shouldn’t try to—see it all in a single day, but there’s enough intriguing variety in the heart of this city of 116,000 to keep visitors of all ages, including solo travelers, engaged on a leisurely 10-12-hour excursion.

I did lots of backtracking through the day as I followed my nose and interests and appetite. And since I’d been to Rouen many times before, I didn’t look to (re)visit every sight and museum. So, while the footsteps of my day recounted below needn’t be yours, the variety of possibilities described here may well inspire your own well-rounded day trip Rouen.

Departing Paris

If you’re sure of your plans, go ahead and purchase your train ticket a few days in advance, otherwise you can likely decide the night before or even on a morning whim. Tickets are typically easy to come by since trains leave Paris’s Saint Lazare Station about every 30 minutes on weekday mornings, less frequently on weekends and holiday. Intent on making a full day of it, I took the 8:40am train, arriving in Rouen at 9:55am.

Rouen train station

On the right bank of the Seine River 85 miles from Paris, Rouen’s Rive-Droite train station is the first notable sight encountered on this day trip. Take a moment to admire it from within its great hall and from outside. Though inaugurated in 1928 during what is otherwise considered Art Deco period, the station’s pre-WWI design brought curves and arches associated with the late Art Nouveau period. Its architect, Adolphe Dervaux, designed the 1924 single-lamp streetlight that signals the entrance to many metro stations in Paris.

The Dungeon of Rouen Castle

It’s a straight 15-minute walk from the station to the historic heart of the city, down Rue Jeanne d’Arc, but I zigzagged my way there, beginning with a zig onto Rue du Donjon for a glimpse of the early-13th-century dungeon tower. The tower is the last remaining vestige of Rouen Castle. Joan of Arc was held prisoner in the castle for five months until her death sentence for heresy was carried out on May 30, 1431. As this day proceeds, you’ll be hearing more about la Pucelle, the Little Virgin, as Joan/Jeanne was called.

The Rouen Tourist Office

The Rouen Tourist Office currently occupies a niche at the corner of the Musée des Beaux Arts, the fine arts museum. Pick up a city map here and ask any planning questions to start you on your way. The museum had just opened for the day when I passed by, so that could have been my first stop, but I had breakfast in mind along with a desire to be out and about before taking in a museum on this day trip.

Maison Vatelier for morning pastries

Maison Vatelier won the title of Best Brioche in France in 1997 but isn’t resting on its laurels. The fluffy brick-size brioches certainly looked tempting, but too big for me on this solo excursion. I opted instead for a crescent shape to my buttery breakfast pastry, i.e. a croissant – an excellent one at that. Well, two actually since the kind saleswoman offered me the choice between one perfectly shaped crescent and, for the same price, two less shapely offerings. I chose the latter and saved the second for later. Given its imperfect shape, the croissant wasn’t Instagrammable, but as for taste, it was clear that Maison Vatelier knows how to work marvels with buttery morning fare! And the afternoon pastries certainly looked appetizing.

Aître St Maclou, unique funerary enclosure

It was common in the Middles Ages in France for a city to have an enclosure consisting of a common graveyard surrounded by funerary buildings and with an adjacent church. Just beyond the flamboyant radiating porch of Saint Maclou Church, Rouen’s aître or enclosed cemetery, was formerly a small parish cemetery, before being developed in the late Middle Ages into the large enclosure that can be visited today. The Black Plague, periodic famine and the Hundred Years’ War all contributed to the need for the expanded burial complex. Once the buried bodies of the defunct in one section had decomposed, the bones would be dug up and placed in the surrounding buildings called charnel houses. Though no longer used for burials or skeletal storage, Aître St Maclou is one of the few remaining former funerary enclosures of its kind in France.

The centuries-old spirit of the setting can be seen in the skulls, ditchdigger tools and dance macabre that decorate the wood beams and columns. The dance macabre, in which skeletons dance hand in hand with citizens of all walks of life, was a common decoration of such complexes, a reminder that our earthly party will one day end. But while we’re here… party on, especially during the Macabre Festival that’s held here for two weeks in late October/early November—that’s Halloween season for us. Goths take note.

Audio-guided and group tours of the site are available, but you can also visit on your own. Entrance to the courtyard is free. By the entrance, there’s an attractive café and restaurant named Hamlet https://www.cafe-hamlet.fr/ (“Alas, poor York…”).

One wing of the complex is occupied by the non-profit pottery workshop and ceramics shop, La Galerie des Arts du Feu www.galeriedesartsdufeu.fr. Looking for original gifts or decorative items for your own home? The shop presents attractive work from Norman artists. Some works in glass and metal are also presented here.

Musée des Beaux Arts de Rouen

Many cities throughout France have worthy fine arts museums, notable not only for their collections but for the beaux-art building themselves and the lack of crowds most days—certainly off-season. No Louvre lines here, particularly on weekdays. Entrance to Rouen’s Musée des Beaux-Arts is free, except for temporary exhibitions. (The museum is closed on Tuesday.)

Artists, students of art history and casual visitors alike will appreciate the elbow room with which to examine works, whether taking to the museum’s stately halls and rooms for 45 minutes or two hours. The casual visitor—me, for example—can take in a sweeping view of European art from the 15th century on, rushing by eras that speak less to you and slowing down in those that speak more, with the occasional eye-stopping, pondering pause along the way. For example, at the spooky-eyed scene called The Virgin among the Virgins by Gerard David (c. 1509); Diego Valasquez’s Democritus showing the viewer the boozy, ironic smile of a vagabond philosopher (c. 1630), or a wonderful self-portrait by Eugène Delacroix at about 18 (c. 1816).

Then there’s the museum’s impressive Impressionist and post-Impressionist collection thanks to the Seine Valley’s prominent place in the development of the art movement and to the donation of dozens of works by Francois Depeaux, a local industrialist and art collector of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The museum holds only one of Monet’s extraordinarily vibrant series of paintings of Rouen Cathedral. The one here, painted on a grey day, isn’t very pulsating on its own, yet it remains a centerpiece of the museum’s collection. More on that series when we get to the cathedral. Monet’s General View of Rouen is also in the permanent collection.

The current temporary exhibition at the museum, In the Rain: Painting, Living and Dreaming, focuses on the painting of rain and rainy scenes. Showing until September 20, 2026, entrance to the exhibition costs 12€, free for those under 18.

I was visiting the museum on an exceptionally calm day when it was possible to sit quietly in the museum’s atrium café and take part in the endearing scene of the image below. A fellow in the painting leaned out from the left to look wearily back—weary from drink, sun and a brother’s speech.

Lunch at In Situ

A leisurely day trip—along with the painting above—invites a leisurely lunch, even if a working lunch, as mine was when I met here with an official from the tourist office.

Across the street from the Beaux-Arts Museum, the brasserie In Situ looked rather ordinary from the outside, since no tables were out there during my January day trip. The spacious interior exuded no Old-World charm either, but we’d come to the right place for a tasty, congenial, inexpensive lunch. Owner-chef Laurent Blanchard is a passionate culinary raconteur of traditional bistro fare made personal. We tasted it on the plate and later heard it in his childhood memories of our main courses, a cassoulet and a shredded duck parmentier. And just look at his contagious smile here. We sensed that in each dish as well. Several doors down the wide alley, his wife Patricia prooses the simpler lunchtime and take-out dishes at In Fine. Both are closed on Sunday.

As noted earlier, I’m not asking you to follow in my precise footsteps on your day in Rouen. There are numerous appetizing and inviting lunch options in the city center. As to well-known restaurants, La Couronne, which dates itself to 1345 and claims to be the oldest existing inn in France, often appears on the list of American gastronomes. It was here that Julia Child experienced her culinary awakening regarding the pleasures of traditional, hearty French cuisine. L’Odas, by the cathedral, sports a Michelin star for those looking for a more prolonged and refined meal. Not to discourage anyone from a meal at either, but as much as I enjoy a leisurely lunch on a day trip, I’d rather not spend the afternoon over a meal—unless, of course, the meal is the purpose of the day trip. Numerous other pleasing options can be found in the city center without advance planning.

Musée Le Secq des Tournelles, the wrought iron museum

Wrought—the very word appeals to me for the way it fuses together notions of ornamentation, hammering, manufacturing and stirred emotions. Add iron to that and you get a wide array of decorative and practical objects at once heavy, intricate and refined. Gather together a collection of them (as a certain Le Secq and his son did in the 19th century) and place them in a Gothic former church, and you get the makings of one of my favorite sites in Rouen, a handyman’s delight, its wrought iron museum. Entrance is free. Open 2-6pm, closed Tuesday.

The Sublime House

“May this house be sublime…” That’s one of many Biblical, along with non-Biblical, inscriptions and graffiti in Hebrew on this exceptional and unique site, dated to around the year 1100.

After centuries of burial, it was rediscovered in 1976 during the final phase of restauration of the Palais de Justice (courthouse complex), when the complex’s courtyard was being prepared for repaving. A track shovel hit on something hard that turned out to be a mysterious building from the time that the level of the city in this area was about eight feet below today’s courtyard.

The area is known to have been the Jewish quarter prior to the expulsion of Jews from France in 1306, when Jewish property was confiscated. And the name of the street running alongside the courtyard is Rue aux Juifs or Jewish Street/Street of the Jews. Those were already indications that the discovered building had been Jewish-owned, but confirmation came only with the discovery during the excavation of the inscriptions in Hebrew.

Nearly all Jewish-owned buildings from the Middle Ages were destroyed in Europe as Jews were expelled from one kingdom and region after another, making this a unique archeological find. This is the oldest known building belonging to Jews in France and among the oldest in Western Europe. Jews were expelled from France by order of King Philippe le Bel in 1306. In 1307 the city purchased confiscated property from the king. The upper floors of the structure were then torn down in 15th or 16th centuries, at the latest in 1550, when the neighboring building of what was then Parliament of Normandy was extended, forming what is now the courthouse complex.

Evidence of a fire on one side of the Sublime House likely dates to 1116 when a fire tore through the Jewish neighborhood. That helped hone in on the date of construction to about 1100, a particularly rich period for Normandy, including for Norman Jews, following the conquest of England in 1066 by William, Duke of Normandy. The building was presumably in use for two centuries, until the expulsion of Jews from Rouen.

Hebrew inscriptions on its walls clearly indicate that this was a Jewish-owned building, but of what sort? A mystery remains as to the actual purpose of the Sublime House. One hypothesis is that it served as a yeshiva or Jewish institute of learning. Another, that it was a synagogue. And it may have been the home of a wealthy merchant, perhaps one who had made his fortune during the Norman Conquest, before bequeathing it to become a synagogue and/or a yeshiva.

Subsequent to the excavation of the Sublime House, other remnants of the neighborhood from the same era have been discovered nearby. A more detailed summary of the Sublime House can be read here.

I’d visited the Sublime House on a previous visit to Rouen, so I didn’t include it in my day trip this time. I’d had the honor of visiting with Jacques Tanguy, a historian specialized in Rouen who was present during the original excavation. Descending into the ruin requires advance planning since the site is generally only opened on Saturday for a up to 18 visitors for 1-hour guided tours at 10:30am and 2:30pm. Additional tours are possible on Tuesday and Thursdays at 2:30pm during French school vacations. The tour is in French only, though group visits in English may be possible upon request. For those who are interested in the site, it’s worthwhile descending beneath the courtyard and going inside the building even without understanding the full tour in French. See here for details about making a reservation.

Viewing the courthouse complex by walking around its perimeter is itself worthwhile. Evidence of the impacts of bombs from WWII can be seen as permanent scars on the building, particularly on the northwestern corner that faces Place Foch.

Notre-Dame Cathedral

Rouen’s Notre-Dame is not the country’s most beautiful, impressive or photogenic, yet Monet found it worth transcribing numerous times onto canvas in 1892 and 1893, and that is part of its claim to fame today.

See the website of the diocese of Rouen for a glimpse of 28 paintings Monet made of the façade, arranged by the time of day that each represents, along with much other information about the cathedral.

Monet, who spent most of his life in Normandy and whose brother lived in Rouen, would visit the town from his home in Giverny, 37 miles away. Here, he would set up his easel at several spots on the second floor of the buildings across the square. He would then finish his Rouen Cathedral paintings in his studio back home.

Viewing several of these paintings together, as at the Orsay Museum in Paris, is the best way to understand the connection between Monet’s eye, hand and palate. As noted earlier, only one of the series, painted on a grey day, is in Rouen’s Beaux-Arts Museum.

Yet today’s façade is not exactly as Monet saw it. Construction of the Gothic cathedral that more or less exists today was begun after a fire in 1200 destroyed an earlier edifice of the 10th and 11th century. The cathedral was subsequently scarred or ravaged at various times over the centuries, by civil unrest, lightning and war. The main damage that has intervened since Monet’s time is that of Allied bombing in the spring of 1944. Those bombing raids took place in preparation for the D-Day Landings. Looking to the right when facing the cathedral’s façade, you’ll notice post-war buildings. They reflect reconstruction of the section of the city along and near the river (just a few blocks away in that direction) that was irreparably damaged during those bombings, whose primary intent was to destroy docks and infrastructure in the area. The colorful array of half-timbered buildings in other parts of center city, particularly when walking behind the cathedral, attest to the fact the bombing was relatively focused along the river.

Joan of Arc – Historial Jeanne d’Arc

Born in northeastern France in 1412, Jeanne d’Arc / Joan of Arc accomplished and accompanied much during her brief time of living fame. Barely one year into her task of restoring France and its king to rightful power, she was captured, sold to the English, tried by the Church for heresy and burned at the stake in Rouen on May 30, 1431. Rehabilitated by the Church in 1456 (many of the players of her original trial were still alive), beatified in 1909, canonized in 1920, the Catholic Church places Joan, along the Teresa of Lisieux, just one rung below Mary in national patron sainthood.

Joan—la Pucelle or Little Virgin—is a major historical figure associated with Rouen and France as a whole. While admired by Catholics, her place in French history extends beyond her halo.

I’m a bit disturbed by this Joan of Arc business. The city that watched her burn, with toothless glee or awe or fascination, I imagine, now proudly uses her for promotional purposes. A visitor can dedicate a day to Joan alone. We can see where she was held prisoner, where she was judged, where she was burned, where her ashes were thrown into the river to prevent a cult from forming around them. Businesses and a candy bear her name.

Yet, it is a great story! I can understand spending a day learning it. Much about the gal is verifiable fact. And once you start learning about “the little virgin” and her brief appearance on the stage of France during the Hundred Years’ War with the English, you’re forced to wonder about how the stories—symbolic, actual, political, religious—of a single life persist in time when the stars align.

The Historial Jeanne d’Arc is an excellent place to start. It’s located just behind the cathedral in the episcopal palace that was the site of the trial that condemned her to be death as a heretic and the site of portions of the trial that rehabilitated her good name. Visitors walk through rooms viewing videos and holograms of various participants in the trials as they tell her story. The audio in your headset can be set to play in English. The Historial lays the foundation for understanding why Joan has gone down in French and Catholic history as the woman who victoriously led French troops against English invaders, gave courage to a diminished king, and was instrumental in turning the tide of the Hundred Years’ War—and, equally importantly, how her story has been used and reinterpreted for political purposes over the past two hundred years.

Time slots at the Historial can fill, particularly on weekends and in heavier tourist seasons, so you may wish to reserve in a day or two in advance. Or come by the morning of your day trip to reserve a slot for later in the day. Open 10am-7pm, closed Monday. A virtual visit of the site can be viewed here.

Rue du Gros Horloge – Big Clock Street

The commercial street leading from the cathedral to Place du Vieux Marché, site of Jean’s public execution, passes beneath the Grosse Horloge, the Big Clock. (The clock tower can be visited, with a panoramic view at the top.) Beyond it, chocolate specialist Auzou presents its sweet and crunchy creation of 1992 called the Larmes de Jeanne d’Arc, Jeanne of Arc’s tears. Auzou’s tears are grilled and caramelized almonds that have been given a thin ganache coating and finished with powdered chocolate. I bought some as a gift while saving my own appetite for afternoon sweetness for a pastry shop on the square.

Place du Vieux Marché – The Old Market Square

The charm of this market square was squandered in the 1970s with the construction of Saint Joan of Arc Church at its center. Then again, if you imagine it as a sea dragon lurking by the smoking site of Jeanne’s martyrdom, it can be thought-provoking.

I don’t know if the 16th-century church that stood on the square prior to the bombing of May 1944 was more appealing, but you may want to enter Saint Joan of Arc Church to see some of the stained glass of that former church that was presciently removed at the start of the war. Another highlight on the square, particularly for foodie Americans, is La Couronne, which calls itself the oldest inn in France (1345). It’s there that Julia Child claimed to have had the culinary epiphany that led her to becoming the high priestess of French cuisine in the United States.

As I say, I’d been to Rouen many times before and knew what to expect, so neither the church nor La Couronne held my interest. What did was a mirliton, a traditional pastry from Rouen that’s been around for centuries. It was especially for a mirliton that I’d come to the square. Specifically, to Christrophe Cressent’s Ma Boulangerie. (Closed Monday.)

A mirliton is made of egg, butter, sugar, almond powder and vanilla in a thin puff pastry, so what’s not to like? Christophe Cressent also makes an apple version. I bought the plain version with the intent of enjoying it in a nearby café, but by the time I checked out the nearby food market by the church I’d finished my mirliton. Good thing I got this beauty shot before going too far.

Though the pastry was gone, it was coffee, tea, perhaps wine time. When on an excursion, finding the right sat in the right setting is more important to me than the drink itself. I lucked upon the window seat at the cozy brasserie Mamie on the square. It was a fine seat from which to while away an hour and write up my excursion notes.

Final steps

The midwinter sun had long set by the time I returned to the cobblestones. I could see calling it a Rouen day at that point then making my way back to the station for the 6pm or 7pm train and returning to Paris at a reasonable time for dinner. But even in winter I don’t like to rush at the end of a city excursion. There’s always another café, bar, bistro or brasserie to stop into, or, weather permitting, a garden or park or riverside to visit.

I pursued my leisurely zigzagging in the town center. I looked in as some of the wine and cocktails bars in the Antique Dealers’ Quarter. Eventually, I made my way to the station area 45 minutes in advance of the 8:02pm train. It was inadvertently perfect timing for a pre-train glass of Normandy hard cider at Le Metropole (111 rue Jeanne d’Arc), a 1930 café-bar 100 yards from the station. Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir would meet here in the 1930s, early in their couplehood. She was teaching at a high school in Rouen, he at a high school in Le Havre.

Return to Paris: So I took the 8:02, arriving in Paris at 9:20pm. I’d picked up an apple from a small grocer passed on the way to the station. I still had my misshapen gift croissant from the morning. They would suffice for dinner. Or might have had I not also opened the bag of Joan’s tears that I’d intended as a gift. And they were gift—as gift, as had been the entire day, to myself.

Thus ends a day trip to Rouen—mine, not necessarily yours. I leave it to you to create your own well-rounded, informative, tasty Rouen city-center walk-about. Or to join me on another one.

© 2026, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Rouen, Normandy: An Alluring, Well-Rounded Day Trip from Paris appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Paris has an extensive and vibrant theater scene. On any given evening, dozens of plays take to the stage, from productions of classics or contemporary works in national public theaters to comedies and one-man/woman shows in small private theaters, with much drama and many laughs in between.

Among them, there will likely be a play directed by, written by and/or starring Jean-Philippe Daguerre, one of the most recognizable names in Paris theater life, whom I’ve interviewed in the video further below.

Yet theater is the one major aspect of cultural life in Paris that foreign visitors rarely experience. Why’s that? Language, of course, but is that necessarily a barrier?

Theater with English surtitles

Some theaters have made efforts to attract foreign visitors, particularly English-speakers. Surtitling glasses are available at the Comédie Française; the Odéon-Théâtre de l’Europe presents English surtitles (and some plays are performed in English); productions at the Théâtre Edouard VII and the Théâtre Le Ranelagh may also have English surtitles; there are several stand-up acts in English, and then there’s theater, enjoyable whether in English or in French.

Anyway, the emotions of the theater don’t come from words alone. The acting, directing and phrasing can be appreciated, felt, even apprehended without comprehending individual words. Think of Shakespeare in our own language, sort of; we sense Hamlet’s internal drama as he questions to be or not to be when speaking of “The insolence of office, and the spurns/That patient merit of th’unworthy takes/When he himself might his Quietus make/With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear…” while understanding nary a word. How different can it be with Molière?

But give a try in French

Even without understanding French, spending 60 to 90 minutes in a small theater—and there are many—makes for an inexpensive cultural treat for the sheer pleasure of being seated within spitting distance of the actors on stage. Tickets can be had for under 30 euros. And if you do know some French, attending a comedy in a small theater is a terrific way of challenging yourself to grasp a story line without understanding every word. Servers in restaurants and staff in hotels will switch to English at your first “bonjour,” but actors won’t. Besides, the inevitably joyfully silly set-up will be clear within five minutes. Tickets aren’t too difficult to come by, including half-price same-day tickets.

Interview with Jean-Philippe Daguerre

As further encouragement to consider going to the theater in Paris, watch my interview below with Jean-Philippe Daguerre. Daguerre is a prominent figure in French theater life, winner of multiple Molière Awards for acting, directing and writing. The Molières are Paris’s equivalent of the Tony Awards in New York or the Olivier Awards in London. Daguerre and his work have also appeared on stages in the United States, Canada and the United Kingdom. Two of the plays that he’s penned are currently showing in Paris: Du Charbon dans les Veines (at Théâtre du Palais Royal until June 28 then reopening at Théâtre Saint-Georges on Sept. 15) and La Femme qui n’aimait pas Rabbi Jacob (at Théâtre Montparnasse).

Give a listen as Daguerre discusses the differences between acting in Paris, London and New York, France’s developing musical comedy culture, the interest of Paris theater for English-speaking visitors, and The Woman Who Ddn’t Like Rabbi Jacob, his latest work as a playwright.

This interview took place during the Salon de Spectacle Vivant, a fair for the performing arts of which Jean-Philippe Daguerre was the guest of honor, on February 2, 2026. The biannual fair is organized by Charlotte Calmel (ChaComDif) and Laurence Trinquet (CultureLLes).

(c) 2026, Gary Lee Kraut. All rights reserved.

Watch more France Revisited interviews along with other videos on the France Revisited Youtube channel.

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Quaismodo would be impressed were he to return now to the cathedral that he inhabited as Victor Hugo’s beloved and maligned hunchback. He would immediately feel at home within the stone walls and wooden frames of the towers of Notre-Dame. Yet the cathedral has also changed and brightened since he knew it as Hugo’s fictional bellringer in the 15th century. There are new elements and much has been restored over the centuries, including its most recent restoration from the fire of April 15, 2019. But I imagine that Quasimodo would be enthralled as we were as we climbed the southern tower, examined gargoyles and chimeras, took in the extraordinary view, stood before the great bells, and descended through the northern tower.

As you would expect, the 360-degree view of Paris is well worth the effort of climbing 424 steps, despite the chicken-wire enclosure from which we take it all in: the city’s rooftops and monuments, church towers and spires, river and bridges, and the spire of Notre-Dame itself rising right before us.

The view over the city isn’t all that makes this visit worthwhile. There’s more to the new climbing route than the grand view. Quasimodo would be in awe to stand face to face, as we did, with the cathedral’s two great bells or bourdons, though these aren’t the ones that he so loved to ring: the 6-ton bourdon Marie, cast in 2012, which sounds a do, and the 13-ton bourdon Emmanuel, cast in 1686, which sounds a fa. The latter is France’s second largest bourdon after the 18-tonner known as La Savoyarde at Sacré Coeur Basilica, the church that we see on the hill to the north.

In bringing the hunchback to life on the page in 1831, Hugo also called for new life to be breathed into the then-dilapidated cathedral. Over the ensuing decades, appointed architect Eugène Viollet-le-Duc honored that call by leading a massive restoration while also reimagining missing or degraded elements, taking liberties here and there. The tower route gives a close-up view of several of the 54 animal and demon chimeras that he and an assistant designed. Those that were heavily damaged during the fire of 2019 have recently been replaced with copies, as has Viollet-le-Duc’s spire of 1859. Even if none of these were known to Quasimodo, we are tempted to do as he did and “spend whole hours crouched before one of the statues in solitary conversation with it.” But visitors today don’t have such luxury of such time when visiting the towers.

My own climbing group, comprised of journalists specialized in cultural heritage, had the enlightening pleasure of touring the towers in the company of Viollet-le-Duc’s current successor, Philippe Villeneuve, chief architect in charge of the restoration and reconstruction of Notre-Dame de Paris since the fire.

As we rose, he steered our eyes to various eras and elements of construction and major restoration. The current restoration work in response to the fire will likely continue through 2028, he said.

Even without Villeneuve’s insightful company, you’ll see along the way two major markers of his conceptual work. First, the massive oak spiral staircase, partially in double revolution, that Villeneuve designed for the passage from the second landing to the medieval stone staircase in the tower. Villeneuve’s staircase was shaped and puzzled together by an exceptional band of carpenters in Normandy. Throughout our visit, he sang praises to the dedicated, high-level artisans he’s worked with over the course of the restoration. As he points up to his work, a glimpse of the peak of the spire tatooed on his arm peeks out from beneath his sleeve.

Second, from the top of the south tower, you’ll look out to the real spire rising from the roof. It’s crowned by the flaming golden rooster—symbol of France and of the resurrected monument—that Villeneuve himself designed to replace the fallen, damaged rooster that has now been placed in one of the chapels inside the cathedral. On this national monument belong to the State, not the Church, the rooster crows above the Cross. View the full spire, accompanied by bells, on the 15-second video below.

On the way down, we glimpsed through windows “the forest” of oak beams, cut from throughout France, that form the roof beams. They replaced the medieval forest where the fire originated before consuming it into the night before the eyes of the world.

No more than 26 visitors are allowed to start the climb per 15-minute time slot. Contrast that with the lengthy queue down below leading to a shoulder-to-shoulder shuffle along the cathedral floor. Comparatively, a visit to the towers, culminating with the grand view (even if limited to 5 minutes), feels semi-private, nearly exclusive.

All that’s required is a timed ticket, to be reserved in advance, at a cost 16€ or free for under 18s and adults with the Paris Museum Paris or the Passion Monument pass. While you needn’t be a high-level athlete to climb the 424 steps to the top, do be aware of your own limitations before undertaking the endeavor. The winding staircases include some narrow passages less than 18-inches wide as well as low sections where someone over 5’10” or so is well advised to watch their head.

Along the way, there are levels to pause on, where one can learn a few historical tidbits on information panels about the towers and the bells. There is no elevator. There is no WC. Families are discouraged from bringing children under 6.

Timed ticket to the towers of Notre-Dame should be reserved only through the official site managed by France’s Center for Historical Monuments. Even free tickets require reservations.

From great heights in architectural history to great heights in culinary history

Epilogue: From great heights in architectural history we crossed over the Seine to great heights in culinary history as we pursued our conversation with Philippe Villeneuve at one of Paris’s other celebrated tours, La Tour d’Argent (The Silver Tower). That’s the famous gastronomic institution with the stunning view of the Notre-Dame’s chevet, the portion of the cathedral that radiates in an eastern flourish. Even with the crane and scaffolding that remain on that side of the cathedral, the view from the upper-floor restaurant is a sight for well-heeled, well-fed eyes. We, however, settled into the bar on the ground floor, where we were entertained and informed by Villeneuve’s insightful, cutting, wit-laden accounts of these past seven years of restoration—the wonder, the toil and the beauty of the work on the one hand and the egos, the politics and the back-stabbing on the other. Listening to his vision of architectural and decorative triumphs and failures and to his expression of emotional zeniths and nadirs, the current guardian of the temple seemed to embody both Viollet-le-Duc and Quasimodo. His thirst was quenched with water brought not by Esmeralda, however, but by a polished server from the Tour d’Argent.

As a further treat, André Terrail, owner of the Tour d’Argent made a gracious appearance. While the restaurant is heir to a history that begins with the creation of an elegant inn on this site in 1582, Terrail is heir to the celebrated restaurant that his grandfather, also named André Terrail, purchased in 1911. It was then a ground-floor restaurant, raised to the top in 1936. The Tour d’Argent has now developed into something of a “village,” to use the current Terrail’s term, with its restaurant, its rooftop and ground-floor bars, its grocer next door, its bakery across the street, and beside that its rotisserie. There’s even an apartment with the fab view that can be rented for the night (1800€).

Despite the Tour d’Argent’s visual affinity for Notre-Dame, I’m not promoting it here as the natural extension of a visit to the towers, however many Michelin stars its restaurant may or may not receive in a given year (in 2026 it has 1). Nevertheless, one’s got to go somewhere after the extraordinary experience of climbing to the top of the cathedral, and it might as well be somewhere that’s also earned its place in Paris history and lore, someplace accessible, if not to Quasimode, then perhaps to the likes of Victor Hugo, Viollet-le-Duc, Philippe Villeneuve, and yourself.

© 2026 by Gary Lee Kraut

Also read Notre-Dame: An Interview with Witnesses to a Dazzling Restoration

The post The Quasimodo Climb: Visiting the Towers of Notre-Dame de Paris appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

What an incredible place! And what an endearing owner!

There are only three 2-top tables at this dinner-only bistro run by big-hearted Mamie, which is French for Granny or Nan. Six seats in all—maybe seven or eight if Mamie feels like rearranging something, but don’t count on it.

Mamie (Susanna/ZouZou) grew up in the business. Her parents had run a café. So had her grandparents. At 16, she went to work at Bouillon Chartier (rue du Fbg Montmartre) and stayed there for nine years before moving on, eventually operating her own bistro. A shady landlord, she says, led her to quit her previous address. She and her husband, Christian, a fireman-cum-chef, then stumbled upon this place, formerly held by a certain Germaine for 50 years. They took over in 1990 and named it for the sand/desert roses (roses des sables) that Christian collects, some of which can be seen in the window. Christian is now unable to work due to ill health, so Mamie runs the place herself, as a one-woman show, preparing dishes in a miniscule alcove kitchen, taking orders on a slip of paper, bringing drinks, serving dishes, cleaning up, and adding up the bill on the paper placemats. She chats as she works with those capable of chatting in French. I was the only one in that category on a recent evening.

Since few Parisians would be willing to stand by a restaurant door at 6:30pm in the hopes of getting a seat when the owner first slowly opens the curtain and the door at 7, and since few would wait around without knowing when the second or possibly third seating will begin, La Petite Rose des Sables attracts foreign diners. Come alone and you’ll be seated with another solo diner from who knows where. Groups in odd numbers may be split up. Anyway, the place is so small that you may be talking with everyone else before long. Chinese, Korean and English turn out to be the main languages of her guests, though Mamie doesn’t speak any of those. No matter. Good old-fashion patience and gestures will suffice.

Upon arrival, Mamie pours guests a small glass of sangria as a welcome aperitif and tears open a small packet of potato chips as the appetizer. Don’t care for sangria? Mamie (she often speaks of herself in the third person) will bring something else. The three or four dishes of the menu are simple enough to understand. That evening there was a chicken dish, two pork dishes, and beef bourguignon, served with rice, fries, or coquillette elbow pasta (kids’ favorite in France), and/or salad. It’s simple, long-stewed in big pots, hearty and filling. Dessert (whatever Mamie feels like serving—meringue, a slice of pie), mint tea and a shot of alcoholic punch are included for 12€-16€80.

The food isn’t rave-worthy, yet when combined with the surprisingly limited seating, the personalized bistro decor (photographs, gifts from clients, and plaques with heart-warming sayings, along with the checkered tablecloths and curtains), and especially Mamie herself, La Petite Rose des Sables deserves kudos for existing at all.

When we entered, Mamie warmly announced that we could only stay for an hour or an hour and a half so that she could turn the table, but she wasn’t actually watching the clock. If you’re happy, it appears, she’s happy. She even gives out gifts (I got a pair of Paris socks) and willingly poses for photographs. We stayed for two hours despite my efforts to pay so that others could come in. “There’s no rush,” she said. “I have plenty to do before they come in anyway. Have some more punch.”

It would be easy to dismiss all this as Tik-Tok touristy since the bistro primarily attracts non-French visitors. Mamie doesn’t seem to mind that her clients of today are not her clients of 20 or 30 years ago. She nevertheless treats everyone like a local—a local who’s a bit slow on the up-take.

It would also be easy to dismiss the place as not being a bistro in the strict sense of my purist friends because it has neither an active bar counter nor opening hours beyond meal time. But no other term fits for such a personally decorated setting where one enjoys inexpensive, long-stewed dishes, and the grandmotherly kindness of Mamie.

A surprising bistro find that’s been here all along! And when it’ll be gone, it’ll be gone.

La Petite Rose des Sables – Chez Mamie. 6 rue de Lancry, 10th arr. Metro République or Jacques Bonsergent. No reservations.

Cash and credit cards are accepted but not mobile and contactless payments. She places tips in a piggy bank resembling a camera, saying it’s “for the grandchildren.”

© 2026, Gary Lee Kraut

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We first met in the Luxembourg Garden where I was sitting by the small Statue of Liberty after my morning class at the Alliance Française of Paris. It was the fall after graduating from Ohio State and I was now ready to make something of myself though I didn’t yet know what. My parents were pleased that I was continuing my education. I was studying French at the Alliance and pastry-making at the Ferrandi Paris cooking school.

I’d bought myself an exquisite chocolate éclair on the way to the park. After creating an Instagram post of a selfie in which I’m holding up the éclair like the statue her torch (Statue of Delicious #paris #thelife #frenchpastry), I sat down nearby to enjoy the pastry with the intent of then studying the passé composé of irregular verbs.

“Bonjour Mademoiselle,” he said. I looked up. He had lovely little brown eyes and smoothed-down brown hair, greying at the temples.

“Bonjour Monsieur,” I answered.

He lifted his palm toward the chair beside me and asked if it was occupied. Understanding his request more from his gesture than from his words, I removed my notebook and purse from the seat so that he could take the chair. Instead of moving it further away, he sat down beside me. He excused himself for remarking but said that he detected un petit accent.

“Je suis américaine,” I said.

“Amay-we-can,” he echoed with a scrunched smile without parting his thin pink lips, then, immediately switching to English, he added, “your accent is very char-ming. Do you know why we have a Statue of Liberty here?” he asked.

I did not.

He said, “But you should because you are Amay-we-can, so I will explain to you.” And so he did, as he would teach me much else, with intense, informative, endearing condescension, before concluding, “You have so much to learn.”

On our first date, the following evening, he took me to a wonderful little bistro, where a surly waiter served us a nice house red. When he told me again that I was charming, I felt myself blush. He called me his Mona Lisa because my name is Liz. I called him Bruno because that is his so adorably French name. When I told him that I would like to try the French onion soup, he said that was for tourists and he recommended instead the bone marrow, telling me that there was a sincerity to the presentation and sensuality to the texture. I marveled at the way used adjectives to describe food and accepted his suggestion. He ordered the pâté for himself, which he ate with thick chunks of sourdough bread. Then chicken supreme for me and andouillette for himself. We shared profiteroles for dessert. He wiped the chocolate from my lips with his napkin.

Afterwards, we walked along the Seine, where he lit a cigarette, and when it was finished, he flicked the butt into the river then turned and kissed me as the Eiffel Tower sparkled as though on cue. His breath tasted of a mix of cigarettes, coffee, wine, intestinal sausage, and a breath mint. It was a beautiful spring evening in Paris. I remembered the old song. He took my hand and we walked on, eventually reaching my chambre de bonne in the Latin Quarter.

I had only had sex with boys my age before, so this was different. He was 20 years older than me and knew not only what he wanted, as did the boys, but how to please. I was glad that I’d shaved that morning. After making passionate love, he opened the French window to smoke as I lay naked and mostly satisfied beneath the sheet. Leaning against the wrought iron railing, he blew rings out toward the zinc rooftop across the courtyard.

If you crane your neck to the right, I said, you can see the top of Sacré Coeur.

“Socray Core,” he repeated, mocking the way I pronounced it, then he stepped toward me and brushed his hand against my cheek and said that his Mona Lisa had a charming accent. He said that he would help me with my French, when it improved, but for now it was best to continue in English. He told me that since I was new in Paris it was natural to admire “Socray Core” from the window but that a real Parisian looks discreetly into the windows across the courtyard to watch people undress, and he pointed to a woman across the courtyard and one floor below who was removing her blouse.

He then told me that his wife and children were returning from vacation the following day, but he would be available on Wednesday afternoon.

“You’re married?” I ask, redundantly.

He waved away both the smoke and my question. He said that he and his wife were now old friends and stayed together only for the three children, so I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head about it. I ignored my mother’s voice in my head and thought, When in Paris…

Every Wednesday afternoon at about 5 o’clock (known here as 17 hour), he came up the stairs to my 7th-floor garret bearing gifts, either a pastry to die for or chocolates from what he said was the best chocolatier in Paris or a bottle of wine that he knew all about. Occasionally he would show up late, saying that he was stuck in court, and tell me that though he’d had a long, tiring day he couldn’t let a week go by without seeing his Mona Lisa. His Dior cologne arrived even more exhausted than he did, so several weeks into our relationship I asked him to shower on arrival. He said that despite man’s intelligence and ability to build great cities such as Paris, we are animals and should not fear our natural odors. I handed him a towel and reminded him that I was not born in the same den as he. He laughed and said that he would do anything to please this pretty lady.

He taught me many things. He taught me how to wear my hair and how to tilt my beret just so. He told me which exhibitions to see and how to appreciate movies without happy endings. He always left by 7:30—I should say 19:30. He called that a “reasonable hour for a lawyer.”

We rarely went out to dinner after that first time. He said that we had all we needed right here. The pastries and chocolates weren’t good for my diet but they were great for my Instagram.

We had plans to go to Deauville one weekend while his wife and children were visiting his mother-in-law in La Baule, but he texted me to say that his daughter was sick so we would do it another weekend. When I texted back to tell him that I was already waiting for him at the Gare Saint Lazare, adding an angry emoji, he texted back a reminder that he’d told me about his family responsibilities from the day we met and that he was the one with sick child, so I shouldn’t be a selfish about it.

The following Wednesday he brought me a gift as an apology. In a box bearing the name of a fancy shop on the rue Bonaparte in the Saint Germain Quarter there was a beautiful lavender scarf with a Galeries Lafayette label. He showed me different ways of wearing it, before lightly tying my wrists together with it while we made passionate love. He continued to teach me things, such as how to read the label of a bottle of wine and where I must go one day in Provence and when cherries are in season and why the Americans did not like the General de Gaulle.

In July, he told me that his wife and daughters had gone to Bormes les Mimosas for the summer and that he wouldn’t be joining them there until the end of the month, so we would have more time together over the next few weeks. “More time” ended up being two Mondays as well as the usual Wednesday. I suggested a weekend in Deauville but he said that there were too many lawyers in Deauville in summer. Instead, he said, it would be his pleasure to take me someplace nice for dinner on Wednesday. I’d been living in Paris for nine months by then so I knew right away that the bistro he’d selected in the Latin Quarter was unexceptional; it had only a 4.3 rating on Tripadvisor. But I was intent on enjoying myself. I’d checked out the menu online and asked AI what wine would go best with foie gras and pike quenelles, which I intended to order, and with whatever offal he might, and was told Pouilly Fuissé. So I proudly suggested that as we ordered. Instead, he asked the cute and efficient waiter for a bottle of a Sancerre red, telling me that I would understand the subtleties better with time. The young waiter nodded as he said, “Oui monsieur.” It took little time to discover that the Sancerre fell flat with my order. When I asked if he wanted to split an order of profiteroles for dessert, he said that I should profit from them (that was his profiterole joke) myself while he went outside for a smoke and to call his children. In his absence I chatted with the cute, young, efficient waiter, whose chestnut brown hair that fell adorably over his espresso eyes. He complimented me on my French and agreed that Pouilly Fuissé would have been the better choice. When he delivered the profiteroles, I asked him to take my picture with them. He sensed that Bruno and I were not married. He said that a man should not leave a charming young lady like me alone at the table. I agreed, and when he efficiently asked for my Instagram, I agreed to that and asked for his as well. His name is Pascal.

Pascal tells me that he adores me, and I feel the same. We’ve been together for three months now. He’s got me listening to rock from Brittany and using French slang, like kiffe for like and ouf for great, though we mostly speak in English. I’ve got him listening to Taylor Swift and wearing deodorant. We’re looking for a two-room flat to move into together. He supports my ambition of giving pastry tours to tourists while writing a book about how a girl from Ohio became a true Parisienne, illustrated with some of my Instagram photos, which he never fails to kiffe. When I tell him my dream of opening a donut, cupcake, cruffin and cake coffee shop that I would call Morning Liza, he says that would be ouf. I haven’t told him that my father runs the largest car dealership in Ohio, nor that I’ve been seeing my old lover on Wednesdays.

But I don’t have to think about the latter anymore because I told Bruno yesterday, after we made unimaginative love and while he was smoking by the window, that I wouldn’t be able to see him anymore because I was moving in with someone.

“A boy?” he asked, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth.

“A man,” I said.

He stubbed his cigarette in the flower box. He said that this—the two of us—hadn’t been working out for a while anyway because I was too much of a child and that I shouldn’t call him anymore, and anyway, he’d met someone more beautiful and mature, a real Parisienne. He then turned to look out the window, first to the right for brief glimpse at the top of Sacré Coeur then to the windows down below. It crossed my mind that I could push him over the railing then tell the police in perfect French, using the passé composé, that he jumped out when I told him it was over. But he’s taught me so much over the past year that I’m actually grateful to him. Anyway, I’d rather have the pleasure of watching him leave my apartment angry and forlorn, the way he likes movies to end. For myself, I still prefer a happy ending.

© 2026.

Cliché, a Paris Love Story by Lainey Harper. Lainey Harper is the pen name of a writer who’s leaving the dream.

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