the only place i like visiting alone
36 hours solo in Paris
One thing I have learned lately is that it’s less about the where and more about the who. Unlike many of my travel writing peers, I do not particularly enjoy traveling solo, mostly because it’s not very fun. My main issue is that I like to be around people, but I’m also too shy to talk to strangers.
There are certain places where I’m perfectly happy to go it alone, though there’s something about being alone in a city that always makes me feel a bit lonely.
But Paris is different. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much time here, but I feel perfectly comfortable solo. I’m never alone here, really, since the city is a map of memories from previous visits. Some places are crystal clear, while others have been erased and rewritten multiple times. Many of the locations that define Paris for me I would never be able to find again, even if they still exist: the weird “Mexican” restaurant that let us drink for cheap on my study abroad program; the random apartment we rented that was full of family albums; the restaurant where my aunt accidentally told the waiter she loved him. Sometimes the memories that pop up are totally expected, and other times you’re walking down a random street and you’re like “oh wait, this was the secret entrance to that underground bar that looked like a chapel.” Memories have a way of keeping you tethered to a place.
what i saw
The only good thing about solo travel in a city is getting to see museums at your own pace. (For me, that means very fast. I basically have a one-hour time limit.) I had one full day and decided to see three things that have been on my list for a while, starting with The Pinault Collection at Bourse de Commerce. I went to their location in Venice a few years ago during the biennale and saw this incredibly spooky and memorable show of Pierre Huyghe’s creepy aquariums where the artist designed shells in the shape of Brancusi masks and real crabs were living inside.
When I visited in Paris, there was supposed to be some kind of fog sculpture in the rotunda. I strolled through the rest of the place (loved the witchy paintings by Romanian artist Victor Man) but I think somebody pooped their pants on the third floor so I had to escape the galleries quickly without taking in much of the rest of the art except a great Rothkoesque photo by Wolfgang Tillmans. It turns out the fog sculpture was broken, which I only discovered after sitting there for 15 minutes waiting for something to happen. They gave everyone refunds.
Then I went to 59 Rivoli, a former artist squat that I read about in the Messy Nessy guide a few years ago. Maybe a little touristy now, it’s six floors of artists studios that are open to the public. I wanted to buy a lot of stuff, but my husband has sort of tried to ban me from coming home from trips with armloads of random things to frame. I have not adhered to the ban, but out of respect for him I am trying to be a bit more discerning. But I could think of like 45 people who would want these alpine landscapes by Katrin Hinterholzer in their house, and at least 3 people who would want this extension cord by Jeanne Gourlaouen. (I would have absolutely purchased it if it worked with American voltage.) I also fell in love with Occulta Dama’s freaky-deaky puppets.
I had also never been to the Grand Palais. I had seen lots of buzz online about the Matisse show, but then I saw a poster for a Hilma af Klimt show and went to that instead. (I missed the one at the Guggenheim in 2018.) She is totally unmedicated and kooky but I would join her cult. I think she was really onto something, but I’m too stupid to tell you exactly what. I will say, though, that the exhibition space was slapdash and depressing and had elementary school gym vibes. I felt like I was going to vote. I don’t know if I would go back there to see art, but I want to go back for dinner at Le Grand Café and a rave under the big glass dome.
what i wore
It was 100 degrees in Paris, so I sweated my way through my favorite silk maxi skirt, a pair of cotton twill palazzo pants I bought on the street in Rome that take up so much room in my suitcase that I have to wear them on the plane, and a couple of tissue-thin t-shirts. I wish I had worn a bathing suit so I could have jumped in the canal.
what i ate & drank
My husband’s uncles live in Paris, so on my first night there I invited myself over to drink icy cold mojitos during the heatwave. Once it had cooled down enough to go outside, around 9pm, we walked over Pont de la Tournelle from their place to a restaurant I have wanted to visit for a very long time:
