Our first full day in Paris began in the Marais, a neighborhood that feels like a living museum yet pulses with modern life. The streets are narrow and cobblestoned, lined with 16th–19th century buildings whose weathered facades now house chic cafés, boutique shops, and bustling restaurants. It’s a curious paradox: history preserved in stone, but animated by electric push bikes whizzing past, delivery vans squeezing through impossibly tight lanes, and locals weaving effortlessly through the chaos.
We started the morning in the most Parisian way possible—with flaky pastries and strong coffee. There’s something about biting into a croissant in Paris that feels like a rite of passage: the crisp layers shatter delicately, leaving buttery traces on your fingers, while the coffee cuts through with just the right bitterness.
From there, we walked to Notre Dame. Even under scaffolding, the cathedral commands attention. It doesn’t quite match the sheer scale or ornate grandeur of some Italian cathedrals we’ve seen, but it has its own quiet majesty. Restoration work continues, and it’s clear the French have poured heart and skill into bringing this icon back to life after the fire.
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| Notre Dame |
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| Notre Dame |
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| Notre Dame |
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| Notre Dame |
Inside, however, we had a less-than-holy experience. The gift shop—tucked directly within the church—was a logistical nightmare. Melissa queued patiently for nearly an 30 minutes, only to be told the ornament she wanted didn’t exist. Moments later, she spotted it on another shelf. Back into the line we went, inching forward another 30 minutes to cover what felt like five meters. By the time we finally checked out, our patience had worn thin. Still, amid the frustration, the sound of a mass being celebrated nearby reminded us of the cathedral’s deeper purpose. The chants and organ music reverberated through the stone, lending a sense of timelessness.
Skipping lunch, we tackled some practicalities—posting parcels home. The French postal staff were surprisingly helpful, guiding us through the process with efficiency. With that done, we turned to art. The Picasso Museum offered three floors of exploration, though the third was closed due to a strike. Of course—this is France, after all. Still, wandering through Picasso’s evolving styles was fascinating, from cubist experiments to playful sketches.
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| Picasso |
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| Picasso |
The evening was reserved for the Moulin Rouge. Our plan to take the bus quickly unraveled when we discovered three stops with the same name. Confused, we hailed a taxi instead. The ride was its own spectacle: the driver darted through a chaotic ballet of pushbikes, electric scooters, motorbikes, and cars, all seemingly ignoring traffic rules. Somehow, he delivered us safely to the theatre.
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| Dinner 50Euro |
Dinner nearby was simple—pasta, vegetables, and two drinks—but still managed to cost €50. Proximity to the Moulin Rouge clearly comes at a premium.
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| Moulin Rouge |
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| Moulin Rouge |
Inside the theatre, the organization surprised us. Guests were seated by staff, eliminating the scramble for “best seats.” We good fortune with a spot directly in front of the stage, elevated just enough for a perfect view. No photos were allowed, but we bought a program as a keepsake. Our tablemates from Poland and Norway added to the convivial atmosphere, and the champagne (included in the ticket) was both delightful and expensive.
The show itself was two hours of spectacle. The dancing and singing were everything you’d expect—scantily dressed performers in extravagant headdresses, choreographed with precision. But the interludes stole the show:
• Two skaters spinning at dizzying speed on a tiny platform.
• A contortionist twisting himself into shapes that made us feel clumsy just tying our shoelaces.
• An acrobat and strongman duo whose feats of balance and strength drew gasps from the crowd.
It was dazzling, absurd, and thoroughly entertaining—a Parisian icon that lives up to its reputation.
Afterward, our intention was the walk some of the way of the of the 4.5 km home to avoid high premium fares. Around the 2 km mark, we summoned an Uber for remaining distance. We arrived just before midnight, exhausted but exhilarated. My step counter confirmed it: more than 20,000 steps in a single day. Paris had kept us moving, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
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