Paris, a City to Ourselves
When you have three kids under seven, leaving for five days feels like sneaking out of your own life. Add a 10-month-old baby to the mix, and it's not just a getaway—it's a full-blown romantic jailbreak. Last month, Mark and I slipped away to Paris, just the two of us, for the first time since Luca was born. No diaper bag. No nap schedules. No bedtime routines. Just five days of sleeping in, lingering over lunch, and remembering what uninterrupted conversation feels like.
I've been to Paris more times than I can count. I majored in French and spent a year abroad here, back when my vocabulary was sharper and my sense of direction unerring. This time, we stayed in the 9th arrondissement, a new-to-us neighborhood near the Opéra—a deliberate decision to explore fresh territory. I told myself we would only eat at new places, and we kept that promise.
We arrived late morning on a Saturday, checked into La Fantaisie, and promptly parked ourselves outside with a café crème and croissant in hand. Rue Cadet, where the hotel sits, is pedestrian-only—a surprise bonus—and lined with small treasures: a boulangerie, a wine cave, a ramen shop. It buzzed with Parisians living their weekend lives. Already, I felt lighter.
La Fantaisie is a bright and colorful boutique hotel that feels tailor-made for adults traveling without children. The design is playful yet refined—a tactile mix of textures, lush prints, and layered details that feel more whimsical than kid-friendly. Our room had a spacious bathroom with excellent water pressure (always worth mentioning) and the common areas were a quiet retreat from the hum of the city. One detail I loved: each night at turndown, we found CBD gummies and a silky eye mask laid out for sleep—a thoughtful, indulgent touch that signaled this was a place meant for true rest. The ground floor houses a charming café and restaurant with a green-fringed patio that fills with sunlight during the day. And at night, the rooftop bar comes alive with views of the sky and soft music drifting through the air. There’s even a petite spa on the main floor, where I booked a surprisingly strong deep tissue massage. While families wouldn't be unwelcome, the vibe is decidedly grown-up—ideal for couples looking to slip away from routines and reenter their own rhythm.
Lunch was at Le Bon Georges, where the food far outshone the distracted service. My viande haché arrived buttery and crisp-edged with a side car of golden fries; Mark's trout was perfectly seared and herb-flecked. We sipped chilled white wine and ended up sharing dessert—an oversized dutch oven of chocolate mousse drenched in chocolate shavings —with our neighboring table of Frenchmen. One turned out to be Alexandre Chapon, who owns Chez Julien, a bistro in the 1st that we loved on our visit to the city two years ago. Moments like these remind me why Paris never feels finished. It's a city you slip back into like a favorite novel, each visit offering a new chapter.
After a meander past the vintage shops along Rue des Martyrs, we returned to the hotel for a siesta (another underrated pleasure of child-free travel). Later, we sipped spritzes on the rooftop at la Fantaisie before heading to Soces, a locals-only spot in the 19th with flickering candles and a menu that celebrated seafood and seasonal vegetables. Plump oysters, mussels in curry broth, tuna carpaccio with shiso and tomatoes, and a hearty white bean salad over a bed of pistou. After dinner, we stumbled into a street concert that was part of Fête de la Musique, the summer solstice music festival. The streets were alive: families dancing, beers clinking, bands on every corner. We walked part of the way home, letting the music guide us through the lively streets, before giving in to our sore feet and hopping on the subway.
Sunday began with a food tour through the Left Bank with Paris by Mouth, led by the brilliant Victorine Lamothe. From croissants at La Maison d’Isabelle and Patrick Roger chocolate truffles to cheese from Laurent Dubois and wine at La Derniere Goutte, it was an education in indulgence. There was a quiet sense of coincidence woven through the day: one of the other participants on the tour—a small group of just eight—had attended the same high school as Mark, though neither realized it until their hometowns came up in conversation. And at La Dernière Goutte, Patty—an American who has lived in Paris for decades, who might have fooled me into thinking she was French until I heard her speak English—also turned out to have spent many years in Norfolk, Mark’s hometown. Somehow, even in a city as vast and storied as Paris, familiar threads always emerge. We wandered through Luxembourg Gardens and ended the day by scootering home on a rented Cooltra along the Seine, giddy with freedom.
That evening, we dined at Amâlia, a revelation of a restaurant in the 11th. The tasting menu was thoughtful, modern, and deeply satisfying—starting with slender corn grissini served alongside paprika butter. A warm artichoke with mint and goat cheese emulsion gave way to pillowy gnocchi in lemon butter, followed by silky fusilli laced with tomato water, roasted garlic, and olives. Each course was composed, seasonal, and quietly confident. The barbecued asparagus dish with roasted lemon paste and hollandaise as well as the eggplant confit with miso and tahini managed to be both earthy and elegant.
What made the experience even more memorable was the staff: warm, attentive, and genuinely passionate about the food they were serving. They described each dish with reverence but never pretension, and seemed to take real joy in watching our reactions. It felt less like dining out and more like being welcomed into someone’s deeply personal culinary vision. I’d return to Paris for that meal alone.
Monday, we wandered Montmartre's winding streets, visited the Musée de Montmartre, and lunched at Mokonuts, a buzzy pint-sized spot with mismatched plates, friendly energy, and the kind of food that lingers in your memory. We shared a small plate of creamy labneh and special zucchini, feta, and lobster appetizer that was light but full of flavor. My pork tenderloin arrived perfectly pink, served over green beans with a vivid, herby sauce; Mark's tuna—just-seared—sat atop a bed of slow-roasted tomatoes and squash. Their cookies are well-known for a reason: the miso sesame was especially memorably, deeply nutty and just salty enough. The service, while warm and well-meaning, often seemed distracted, and there were lulls that made the meal feel less seamless than it might have. But the kitchen more than made up for it.
Back at La Fantaisie, I had a massage at the Holidermie Spa—compact, but surprisingly good. For dinner, we wandered until we found Ramdam le Comptoir, a gem of a spot with outdoor tables and a neighborhood vibe. We shared a cheese plate and grilled eggplant with tomatoes and mint before I dug into my beef carpaccio with truffle mayo and shoestring potatoes.
Tuesday, our last full day, we enjoyed a leisurely morning walk from the hotel to the Tuileries, then strolled along the Seine to the Grand Palais to catch the Ernesto Neto exhibit. On a whim, we scootered to Epicerie Jeanne in the 6th, where I had maybe the best sandwich complet of my life. We split up briefly so I could shop at Le Bon Marché and Le Petit Souk picking up treats for the kids and beauty products from a pharmacie. (Side note: the Klorane dry shampoo and Respire deodorant are worth the suitcase space). That night, we stayed close to the hotel, enjoying a casual glass of wine and a hummus plate next door at Ame et Esprit du Vin before a dessert crêpe at Breizh Café.
There was something about this trip—maybe it was the contrast to our current daily chaos, maybe it was the luxury of eating and sleeping when we pleased, or maybe it was Paris itself—that felt like a needed recalibration. We talked about our kids, of course, but also about who we are beyond them. About where we might travel next. About the kind of life we want to build after this season of parenting passes. And that, I think, is the truest gift of travel: not just the escape, but the space to dream again.
