Paris

🇫🇷 Paris: Fog, Dreams & the First Glimpse of the Eiffel Tower

After months of planning, a handful of flight changes, and one very long red-eye, our family finally touched down in Paris one gray November evening. My husband, our youngest daughter, and I had flown in from Los Angeles to meet our oldest, who was studying abroad in Florence that semester. She was flying in to meet us for the weekend before we’d all spend the following week with her in Florence and finish our trip with a weekend in Rome.

It should have been a moment of pure excitement – Paris! – but instead, it was a three-person portrait of jet-lagged crankiness. I’ll blame the economy-class seats. Somewhere along the way, I’d grown a little too accustomed to the flat beds and champagne of business travel at my prior company, and this upright, knee-to-the-tray-table situation was a rude reminder of what real people endure crossing the Atlantic.

We checked into Hotel de La Bourdonnais by Inwood Hotels, a stylish boutique spot just a short stroll from the Eiffel Tower. It was cozy and elegant – the kind of place that whispers “Paris” in subtle tones of navy and cream – and although the bed looked dangerously inviting (as one of us quickly proved by collapsing onto it, fully dressed), the pull of the city outside was too strong to resist.

Bundled up and bleary-eyed, after our oldest arrived, we stepped out into the cool November air, following the rhythmic echo of our footsteps on cobblestones until the streets opened up and there it was – La Dame de Fer, the Iron Lady herself, shimmering gold against a blanket of low fog.

For me, this moment was decades in the making. Back in high school, my French club offered a trip to Paris, but our family couldn’t afford it. It never felt like a missed opportunity until I stood there that night – my husband and daughters beside me – the tower glowing as if it had been waiting for us all along.

We took our photos, laughed about how surreal it felt, and let the fog swallow the upper half of the tower – a soft, cinematic reminder that dreams sometimes take their time to come into view. Then, though fighting exhaustion, we went back to the hotel for hot showers before our Seine River dinner cruise.

Dinner on the Seine: Paris Illuminated

Our first full night in Paris was something special – a Seine River dinner cruise, gliding past the city’s most iconic landmarks bathed in golden light. By the time we boarded, the sky had melted into inky darkness, and the glow from the boat’s glass enclosure shimmered across the water like a moving chandelier. Inside, tables were elegantly set, wine glasses waiting, and soft jazz drifted in the background.

The cruise began gently, the boat gliding away from the dock as the Eiffel Tower shimmered behind us – the kind of view that makes even the most travel-weary instantly alert again. Outside, Paris unfolded like a dream. Streetlamps traced the edges of centuries-old bridges, reflections rippling beneath them, while people strolled along the embankments, wrapped in scarves and conversation.

As we dined, the illuminated city rolled by: the Trocadéro, where Napoleon once reviewed his troops; the Musée d’Orsay, once a Beaux-Arts train station turned art haven; and the Louvre, its glass pyramid gleaming like a jewel against the night sky. We drifted past the Place de la Concorde, with its ancient Luxor obelisk glowing amber, and then on to the Grand Palais, its glass dome catching the city lights.

Midway through, I remember thinking how perfectly French the whole evening felt — part history lesson, part love story, and part indulgence. My husband was content (thanks in part to a delicious dessert), our daughters laughed over dessert, and for a while, it felt like time had slowed to match the rhythm of the Seine itself.

The last stretch took us past Notre-Dame, majestic and timeless, its façade glowing softly in the autumn night. Seeing it from the water was humbling – a floating postcard from centuries past. By the time we returned to the dock, the city had grown quiet, and even the tower’s sparkle had dimmed to a steady glow.

It was the perfect ending to our first day in Paris – the kind of evening that reminds you why this city has inspired poets, painters, and dreamers for centuries.

A Day in Paris: Fog, Faith & Art in Motion

Our full day in Paris began just after sunrise, the sky still a soft, pewter gray. A thin fog wrapped the city, blurring edges and softening the sounds of traffic and conversation. It was the kind of Paris morning you read about – moody, romantic, a little mysterious.

The Eiffel Tower: Iron Dreams and Mist

We began at the Eiffel Tower, that 1,083-foot masterpiece of iron and imagination that has come to define Paris itself. Designed by Gustave Eiffel and completed in 1889 for the Exposition Universelle, the tower was once considered an eyesore. Parisians protested its construction, calling it “the metal asparagus.” More than a century later, it’s hard to imagine the skyline without it.

As we ascended, the fog thickened, wrapping around the latticework like silk. From the top, the city was nearly invisible – a gray sea with only faint outlines of bridges and rooftops breaking through. It was eerie and beautiful at once. I took in the moment, cold air stinging my cheeks, and thought about how Eiffel himself had once stood here, looking over a city that wasn’t sure it wanted his creation. Now, millions of visitors climb it each year to see the very soul of Paris.

The view from the top of the Eiffel Tower – a sea of silver mist where rooftops float like islands.

Notre Dame: Stone, Faith & Firelight

From there, we made our way to Notre Dame Cathedral, that Gothic masterpiece rising from the heart of the Seine. Begun in 1163 and completed over 180 years later, it is a story in stone – pointed arches reaching for heaven, flying buttresses supporting walls of glass, and gargoyles peering eternally over the city below.

Standing inside, I felt the centuries pressing in – the cold stone beneath my hand, the faint scent of incense, the way light poured through the rose windows, scattering rubies, sapphires, and emeralds across the floor. Our guide, Jacques, explained how kings and emperors once walked these aisles, and how the cathedral survived revolutions, wars, and near destruction before being restored in the 19th century.

Just outside the entrance, he showed us the small bronze star embedded in the pavement – Point Zéro des Routes de France, the point from which all distances in France are measured. Legend says that if you stand on it and make a wish, you’ll one day return to Paris. Naturally, we each took turns stepping on it, spinning slowly for good luck.

Outside, I couldn’t help but glance up at the gargoyles again. Something about them brought to mind The Hunchback of Notre Dame, that tragic story of love and loneliness set right here. I found myself half-expecting to see Quasimodo perched among them, watching as the Seine drifted below.

Notre Dame’s façade and gargoyles – sentinels of centuries, carved from faith and legend.

Lunch at Le Musset: First Escargot and Family Commentary

After a morning of stone steps and solemn beauty, we were ready for warmth and comfort. Le Musset, the corner brasserie at 169 Rue Saint-Honoré, offered both. The hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the smell of butter and garlic made it instantly welcoming.

I ordered escargot – because when in Paris, you must – and watched as my oldest eyed them suspiciously. “Can I try one?” she asked, equal parts brave and hesitant. She took a deep breath, speared one delicately, and popped it into her mouth. A pause. A swallow. Then, a smile. “Actually… I love it.”

Across the table, my youngest looked horrified. “That’s disgusting,” she declared, twirling her plain pasta with all the indignation of someone wronged by French cuisine itself. The moment was pure family comedy – and one of those tiny, perfect memories that makes traveling together so worth it.

Le Musset – where my oldest discovered her love of escargot and my youngest reaffirmed her love of buttered noodles.

The Louvre: Art, History & a Smile Seen Around the World

After lunch, we entered the Louvre, the largest museum in the world and once the royal palace of French kings. Built as a fortress in the 12th century and transformed over time, it now houses more than 35,000 works of art spanning human history.

We wandered through the galleries – Egyptian antiquities, Greek marble, Renaissance masterpieces – each hall more breathtaking than the last. But we knew where the current was taking us. As we approached a larger crowd, the air seemed to buzz. People jostled forward, phones lifted. Even before we saw her, we could feel her presence – that quiet confidence, that gaze that seems to follow you. And then there she was: Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.

She’s smaller than most expect – just 30 by 21 inches – but her mystique fills the room. Painted between 1503 and 1506, her enigmatic smile has inspired debate for centuries. Is it amusement? Serenity? A secret? Leonardo used an innovative technique called sfumato, blending tones without harsh lines so her expression seems to shift as you move. Standing there, it felt like time folded in on itself – a 500-year-old face still holding the power to mesmerize millions.

The Mona Lisa – smaller than expected, but larger than life in mystery and legacy.

Montmartre & Sacré-Cœur: Artists, Wine & 18 Miles of Wonder

Our last stop of the day was Montmartre, that bohemian hilltop where Paris’s artists, poets, and dreamers have gathered for generations. We wound through narrow streets lined with cafés and studios, the scent of roasting chestnuts in the air. At the top, Sacré-Cœur Basilica gleamed white against the evening sky, its domes glowing as dusk settled.

A small stand nearby was serving vin chaud – mulled wine spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and citrus. My oldest and I shared a steaming paper cup, our hands grateful for the warmth. It tasted like Christmas and comfort – a perfect reward for a long day on our feet.

By the time we started walking back toward our hotel, my step counter read nearly 18 miles. My feet ached so badly I could feel my pulse in them, and my youngest’s chorus of “Are we almost there?” echoed through the Paris streets like a soundtrack. But we made it – tired, happy, and full of stories.

Montmartre at twilight – vin chaud in hand, music in the streets, and a view worth every step.

Dinner at Benoit: A Michelin Star and Too Many Courses

That night, we traded cobblestones for candlelight and dined at Benoit, one of Paris’s most historic and charming Michelin-starred restaurants. Open since 1912, it’s the kind of place that feels frozen in time – lace curtains, gleaming brass fixtures, and waiters who glide rather than walk. The menu itself looked like a piece of art, hand-lettered and nostalgic, promising a classic French feast.

Chez toi Benoit on boit festoie en Rois – “At your place, Benoit, we drink and feast like kings.”

Dinner began with pâté en croûte, a rich, savory slice of pâté baked in a flaky pastry shell and served with crisp lettuce drizzled in walnut oil. The taste was earthy and elegant, but the portion… substantial. My husband was in heaven – I was pacing myself.

Each course came paired with a new glass of wine or champagne, elegantly poured before we could finish the last. My oldest, who was technically of drinking age in Europe, handled her glass politely – sipping, smiling – before slyly switching empty glasses with her younger sister, who was decidedly not. I did the same with my husband. It became a silent dance of etiquette and substitution, our own private comedy beneath the linen and chandeliers.

The filet of sole followed, delicate and buttery, served with crayfish and tender spinach leaves in a creamy sauce that tasted faintly of the sea. Then came the gâteau chocolat, layered with praline crunch and hazelnut ice cream – the kind of dessert that makes you forgive every rich bite that came before it.

By the end, my husband had doubled – and in some cases tripled – his portions, happily finishing what the rest of us couldn’t. He leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, declaring it “the best meal of my life.” My oldest daughter and I, meanwhile, were a mix of full, tipsy, and helplessly giggling, teetering between Michelin-starred refinement and pure exhaustion. My youngest was hungry since the only dish she liked was dessert, and not amused.

As we stepped back out into the Paris night, the glow of Rue Saint-Martin reflected off the rain-slicked cobblestones. Benoit had been everything I’d imagined – indulgent, elegant, and just a little over the top.

Benoit – a century of French tradition, laughter, and far too much food.

Versailles, the Champs-Élysées & Farewell to Paris

The next morning, we headed to the Palace of Versailles to follow in the gilded footsteps of the Sun King, Louis XIV. That grand escape deserves its own post – one filled with gold leaf, mirrors, and royal drama – so I’ll share that separately.

Our final evening back in Paris was spent on the Champs-Élysées, the famous boulevard lined with lights, luxury, and life. We admired the Arc de Triomphe, watched the crowds move like a river, and joined the line at Ladurée to choose a pastel assortment of their legendary macarons – pistachio, rose, salted caramel, lemon, raspberry, and chocolate. Each one was delicate, crisp on the outside, cloud-soft within.

We ended the night testing perfumes in a nearby boutique, leaving with no bottles but a cloud of French sophistication that followed us out the door.

Ladurée macarons – small, perfect jewels of Paris in every flavor and hue.

A Sunny Goodbye

After days of fog, the city finally woke to sunshine on our last morning. Before heading to the airport, my daughters and I walked to the Trocadéro Gardens, the famous terrace overlooking the Eiffel Tower. The view was dazzling – the Iron Lady glowing in full light for the first time all week.

Of course, my girls had seen the photo on Instagram – the one where you pretend to pinch the top of the Eiffel Tower between your fingers. What started as a few pictures turned into a full photo shoot, complete with laughter, bad angles, and plenty of “Wait, wait, one more!” As I watched them, I couldn’t help but smile – this was exactly the kind of moment I had dreamed of when I first imagined bringing my family to Paris.

A clear Paris morning at Trocadéro – laughter, sunlight, and the perfect photo op to say au revoir.

A week after we left, the city we had fallen in love with was in turmoil. The “Gilets Jaunes” (Yellow Vest) protests erupted across Paris in November 2018, sparked by rising fuel taxes and economic frustration. Streets we had walked peacefully were suddenly filled with demonstrations, barricades, and police. Students in my daughter’s program were advised not to travel to Paris. We couldn’t help but feel both grateful and wistful – we had seen the city at its most luminous, just before its next storm.

Paris has always been a city of contrasts – beauty and unrest, art and defiance, grace and grit. And maybe that’s what makes it unforgettable.

Paris – a city that shines through fog, through centuries, and even through its own revolutions.