June 28, 2009
Frugal Paris
By MATT GROSS
WELL before midsummer, the sun sets late over Paris. Even at 9 p.m., you can sit on the banks of the Canal St.-Martin in the 10th Arrondissement, and see in the still water the reflection of the sky, a blue mottled with thin clouds, and the low pale buildings with their amber lights just turned on, and the ruffled, fractal edge of the trees in full green bloom. Night seems as if it will never come.
By the water, there is a small pink dot of a helium balloon, bobbing in the intermittent breeze. The balloon is key. It was given to you by Pink Flamingo, a pizza parlor down the nearby Rue Bichat, whose bicycle deliveryman will use it as a beacon to locate you and present the five pies you’ve ordered (10.50 to 16 euros each). They’re not all for you, of course — you’ve got friends to help eat the pizza and drink the four bottles of red wine (40 euros) you picked up from Le Verre Volé, a wine bar across the canal.
You’ll love the pizza’s quirky toppings — the Poulidor’s goat cheese and sliced duck breast, the bacon-and-pineapple Obama — and the earthy pinot noir. But finally it will be dark and you’ll be more than tipsy and your friends will be heading home by Métro, by Vespa and by Vélib’, the city’s rental bicycle system.
And you, you’ll take off on foot, up along the canal toward Belleville, where Asian, Arab and African immigrants live alongside artists and yuppies and bobos. And you’ll climb the stairs at the Hipotel Paris Belleville and collapse into the single bed of your spartan room, not caring that the toilet is in a smelly closet down the hall, because the sheets are clean, the rate is dirt cheap and you’ve just experienced the most wonderful, traditional and frugal activity in the City of Light — the picnic.
The picnic is the great democratizing institution of summer, when Parisians spill onto riverbanks and bridges and into parks and gardens, chasing away the memories of winter and rain with baguettes and bottles, sandals and sundresses. For the wealthy, picnics are a lark, for the less wealthy an escape, and for this Frugal Traveler, who spent nine days in Paris at the end of May and early June, proof that classic Parisian indulgence doesn’t have to cost a fortune.
In fact, this idea that Paris is expensive has always struck me as odd. Of course, it can be, if your conception of Paris is built on haute couture and Michelin stars. But Paris — the physical as well as the cultural — is the creation less of the moneyed nobility than of the strivers, schemers, hustlers, freeloaders and starving artists who roam its streets, sing chansons on its subways and make tiny cups of coffee last hours at zinc counters. When I imagine Paris, I think of Émile Zola, the 19th-century novelist whose based-in-reality characters — from ambitious laundresses to real-estate speculators — are, in their own way, just as responsible as Napoleon III and Baron Haussmann for transforming it into the grand, boulevarded city we know today.
I also think of Ernest Hemingway, whose “A Moveable Feast”— a “restored” version is being published this summer by Scribner — is the ur-text of rose-tinted Parisian poverty, a collage of scenes in which the young novelist starves for his art in a cold-water apartment, yet somehow manages to enjoy ski trips to Austria, bottles of good white Mâcon and platters of oysters.
Of course, Hemingway didn’t spend the rest of his life in a dingy garret (hello, Key West!), and neither would I. In the spirit of Parisian strivers past and present, my plan was to switch hotels every few days, starting with cheapest but (I hoped) still recommendable bed I could find, and moving my way up to grander and fancier digs — while, of course, staying well under 100 euros a night. In a twisted kind of way, I wanted to develop a bit of Baudelairean “nostalgie de la boue,” or nostalgia for the gutter — a romantic vision of poverty that can only really be embraced after climbing out of privation.
My descent into Paris’s lower rungs began at the allegedly two-star Hipotel, which I found through my trusty European hotel guide, EuroCheapo.com. The photos were sharp, the location decent and the price (32 euros a night, or about $44 at $1.41 to the euro) terrific, and the poor reviews on TripAdvisor only fed my dream of finding the ideal, undiscovered hovel. Dream on. When I arrived around 11 a.m., there was no one at the front desk and the hallways were just clean enough to dissuade complaint. After lugging my suitcase up a flight of stairs (what, did I expect an elevator?), I found the corridor dark, the light switches dangling on exposed wires.
The room was, in the French description, a “simple.” I had a desk, a bed, a sink, mismatched hangers and a single window that let in some welcome daylight. The only towels were hand towels, and the shower was down the hall, in a locked, windowless closet whose key I had to request at the front desk. It was bad, but neither hilariously bad nor charmingly bad. At least I was well situated, around the corner from the Colonel Fabien Métro stop and walking distance from other neighborhoods.
Because of this, I spent little time in Belleville. Instead, as always seems to happen, I wound up wandering the Marais, the former Jewish quarter that straddles the Third and Fourth Arrondissements and has, in the past 15 years, become home to innumerable galleries and fashionable boutiques. It’s also one of the few neighborhoods relatively untouched by Haussmannian urban planning. The streets remain narrow and chaotic, and feel more so because of the masses of tourists bumbling about.
But though it now defines the beaten path, the Marais still holds, if not secrets, then overlooked — and inexpensive — delights. Chief among them is the Carnavalet, one of 14 free museums run by the city, this one focusing on the history of Paris itself. In a conjoined pair of opulent 16th- and 17th-century mansions, dozens of exhibitions track the city’s evolution, from prehistory (represented by fossilized canoes) to the Middle Ages to relatively modern times (a niche containing Proust’s bedchamber). I was captivated by an 1890 painting of the Canal St.-Martin, looking almost as it does today, mirroring the lights of buildings at night, but also by a 16th-century painting of an anti-Henri IV march by soldiers and priests at the Place de Grève. All around them, everyday city life thrives — men cut wood, repair boats and fight over a pig.
AS I visited museums, I even tried skipping lunch à la Hemingway, who claimed fasting helped him concentrate on the Cézannes in the Musée du Luxembourg — “to see truly how he made landscapes.” My hunger, meanwhile, let me focus not on Cézanne but on the Museum of Hunting and Nature, free the first Sunday of every month. (The Louvre, the Musée d’Orsay and others offer the same deal, which President Obama took advantage of at the Pompidou.) My stomach empty, I explored this strange collection of taxidermied animals, read arcane lore (in late medieval France, I learned, deer had to be hunted nobly, but you could catch wolves deviously) and admired works of contemporary art — like a Jeff Koons puppy — among the stuffed relics.
Two nights in the garret, however, was enough — I was ready to upgrade my Paris life. I moved into the Hôtel des Arts Bastille, a fine old seven-story building with a mansard roof, Juliet balconies, an elevator and, what I was most excited by, ensuite bathrooms. I’d found it through Kayak.com and picked it for its looks (rooms with jaunty orange highlights), location (close enough to Bastille to be accessible, but far enough from the noisy bars) and, above all, its price: 60 euros a night, if I booked for three nights. Compared with the Hipotel, it felt like a five-star.
After checking in, I cracked open the tall double windows that looked down on the quiet street and breathed deeply. The air did not smell like a toilet. There was no hammering from next door. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this place — but maybe nothing truly special, either.
Once I settled into these plusher surroundings, I felt ready to indulge in a slightly better life. The sandwiches au jambon I’d been buying for a few euros from nameless street vendors were great, as were the half-dozen fines de claire oysters I’d consumed at a stand outside the Montgallet Métro (8 euros, including bread, butter and wine), but I’d been dying for a traditional French bistro meal.
Thanks to one of my Twitter followers, @webcowgirl, I found Bistrot Victoires, about halfway between the Louvre and Opéra. The décor was classic — zinc bar, huge mirrors, wood paneling, brass trim — and so was the food. My grilled rib-eye (11 euros) came topped with burning thyme, the embers glowing red, the smoke a haunting perfume. The Côtes du Rhône (13.75 euros a bottle, shared with my three lunch mates) paired nicely, and the crème brûlée (5 euros) was, as the French say (and are than happy with), correct.
My craving sated, I worked up the courage to go shopping. The flea markets provided many bargains (which I’ll describe in detail this Wednesday on my blog), but I found other options, too.
À Chacun Son Image, for example, was a trove of anonymous found photographs (5 euros and up) of midcentury beachgoers, World War I veterans, dinner parties where half the attendees have their eyes closed — all regular people contributing to a romantic, black-and-white image of Paris past.
Paris past also turned up at Native Kingdom, a newly opened vintage children’s clothing store in the upper Marais, where I bought my daughter a striped Petit Bateau bikini bottom (only 4 euros!), and the shop’s owner, Ema Caillon, wrapped it up in pink tissue paper held together with a pretty toy bird clip.
More slightly outdated fashions were available at the A.P.C. surplus store in Montmartre. A.P.C. virtually defines a certain type of fashionable Parisian — equal parts sharp tailoring and street style — but six months after the clothes hit stores, if they haven’t sold they move up to the Montmartre outlet and go on sale at 50 percent off. Eighty euros still isn’t cheap for a hooded windbreaker, but definitely more tempting than the original price.
When evening began to fall, hunger became an issue again. I’d stave it off a bit with a drink at Le Baron Rouge, a bar in an old working-class neighborhood where most of the nearly 50 wines cost less than 3.50 euros, or at Chez Georges, the kind of ancient dive that’s been sustaining impoverished drinkers for decades. (“I used to go there when I was 18!” wrote one friend, now 39, in response to my e-mail invitation.) It’s easy to see why. Beers are 2 euros, kirs 2.50, and all are welcome, from old-timers who wander in and out, to hip kids who groove to the D.J.’s turntables under the stone arches in the basement. In my mind, I saw it as an assommoir, or gin mill, from one of Zola’s novels.
But eventually, I had to eat, and though I loved the picnics — say, on the Pont des Arts, a pedestrian bridge that crosses the Seine west of the Pont Neuf — occasionally I wanted to sit down in an actual chair. Well, Churrsaqueira Galo, a Portuguese restaurant on a forlorn stretch of the Ninth Arrondissement, recommended by the Paris-based American cookbook author David Lebovitz, had chairs. And tables. And that was about it: there was no décor to speak of, just white walls and, in one room, a steel rotisserie. But it also had beyond-hearty helpings of roast chicken, pork ribs, steaks, lamb, rice, fries, salad and an herb-flecked hot sauce, most for 10 euros or less. It was the kind of place where, if I lived in the neighborhood, I’d feel guilty for going there so often. (Maybe.)
The décor at Spring, one of the hottest tables in the city, was pared down as well, but in a far fancier and more expensive way. Opened two and a half years ago by Daniel Rose, a 32-year-old American chef who has already become a Paris legend, it featured a 48-euro menu (gray-shrimp marmalade, sole beignets), just 16 seats and a monthlong waiting list for reservations. How did the Frugal Traveler get in? On a no-reservations Saturday, when Mr. Rose serves a discount menu of lobster rolls (23 to 28 euros, depending on the market price) and duck-fat French fries (5 euros).
Champagne, wine and macvin (a wine fortified with grappa from the Jura) flowed long after Spring should have closed, but Mr. Rose’s friends and customers kept strolling in, including one stunning woman in evening dress who clutched her nonexistent potbelly and declared, mixing French and English, “Je suis full!” So was I. (Spring is in flux right now as Mr. Rose is shifting it to a new location in January.)
And so it went most nights. A good, inexpensive meal with friends, maybe a visit afterward to a wine bar like Le Garde Robe, where the bartender suggested one of my all-time favorite bottles, the rough and punchy 2001 Domaine Maria Fita (24 euros), and plunked down a baguette and a slab of gnarly terrine. And then I’d walk through the empty streets — watching the occasional Vélib’ rider cruise past, or dodging the raindrops that dripped through the trees — to whichever hotel I was staying in that night.
That stroll was, my last two nights, particularly joyful, as I was heading for the 40-room, family-owned Les Chansonniers. After holding my nose at the Hipotel, and feeling simply satisfied at the Hôtel des Arts, I was ready for a dose of Parisian luxury (okay, affordable luxury). I’d found Les Chansonniers — off in far-flung but Métro-accessible Ménilmontant, between Belleville and the Père-Lachaise Cemetery — through EuroCheapo, and I’d fallen for its beauty, its affordability (my room, one of the hotel’s best, cost 82 euros a night) and its theme: the great French singers of old, almost all of whom were, at one point or another, starving artists.
I dragged my old rolling duffel there from the Hôtel des Arts as a light rain beginning to fall. I checked in (the clerk even complimented my French!) and climbed the stairs to my room, the Mistinguett, named for the singer who started out selling flowers on the street and a couple decades later was insuring her legs for 500,000 francs.
When I walked in the door, I felt suddenly, weirdly out of place. The bed was big and soft, covered in a thick, tastefully pink duvet. Rose-patterned toile de Jouy wallpaper added to the romance, and in the huge bathroom I spied a whirlpool tub. (Towels, too!) After a week of striving, I’d hit the big time, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. I almost felt as if I couldn’t simply relax there — as if this was someone else’s room and I didn’t want to mess it up. One afternoon, I brought home a merguez sandwich (4.50 euros) and ate it carefully, afraid of what the housekeepers might think if they found crumbs in the sheets.
It wasn’t until my last morning in Paris that I put that whirlpool bathtub to its proper use. There, with the hot water whooshing around me, I examined the intricate details of the tiled wall and felt what I imagine Hemingway, Piaf and every other striver who made it felt — that despite the challenges of poverty, self-imposed or circumstantial, the days of denial had made this final indulgence that much sweeter (especially, in my case, since I still wasn’t spending much). Life in Paris on a low budget could be tough, could be frustrating, could involve long walks, bad meals, rudeness and discomfort. It was certainly no picnic — except, of course, when it was.
IF YOU GO
HOW TO GET THERE
Many airlines fly nonstop between New York City and Paris. A recent Web search found Air France flights from Kennedy Airport into Charles de Gaulle from $900 in July.
HOW TO GET AROUND
The Vélib’ bicycle-rental system has become exceedingly popular. Rental stations are located all around the city, and a one-hour rental costs only 1 euro.
The Métro is the best alternative (besides walking). Tickets are 1.60 euros each, but can be bought in packets of 10 (un carnet) for 11.40 euros, about $16 at $1.41 to the euro. If you’re going to be in Paris from Monday through Sunday, or plan to ride the Métro frequently, invest in a swipable Navigo card. The card itself costs 5 euros, and a weeklong unlimited credit is 16.80 euros. Hold on to the card when the week is up — you can use it on your next visit.
WHERE TO STAY
Hipotel Paris Belleville, 21, rue Vicq d’Azir, (33-1) 4208-0670; singles from 32 euros.
Hôtel des Arts Bastille, 2, rue Godefroy Cavaignac; (33-1) 4379-7257, www.paris-hotel-desarts.com; doubles from 59 euros.
Les Chansonniers, 113, boulevard de Ménilmontant; (33-1) 4357-0058, doubles with shared bathroom from 46 euros, with ensuite bathroom from 59 euros.
WHAT TO SEE
Musée Carnavalet, 23, rue de Sévigné;(33-1) 4459-5858; www.carnavalet.paris.fr, free admission.
Musée Cognacq-Jay, 8, rue Elzévir; (33-1) 4027-0721; www.cognacq-jay.paris.fr., free admission.
Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature, 62, rue des Archives; (33-1) 5301-9240, www.chassenature.org; admission 6 euros, free the first Sunday of every month.
WHERE TO EAT & DRINK
Pink Flamingo, 67, rue Bichat; (33-1) 4202-3170; www.pinkflamingopizza.com
Le Verre Volé, 67, rue de Lancry; (33-1) 4803-1734; www.leverrevole.fr.
Bistrot Victoires, 6, rue de la Vrillière; (33-1) 4261-4378.
Chez Georges, 11, rue des Canettes; (33-1) 4326-7915.
Le Baron Rouge, 1, rue Théophile-Roussel, (33-1) 4343-1432.
Churrasqueira Galo, 69, rue de Dunkerque, (33-1) 4874-4940
Le Garde Robe, 41, rue de l’Arbre Sec, (33-1) 4926-9060.
Le Cul de Poule, 53, rue des Martyrs, (33-1) 5316-1307, is super-playful from its name (literally, chicken butt; figuratively, double-boiler) to its décor (orange chairs, bed-like banquette). But the cooking is serious, precise, creative and affordable, with two courses 23 euros, and three for 26.
Le Bar à Soupes, 33, rue de Charonne; (33-1) 4357-5379; www.lebarasoupes.com, offers an excellent lunch deal: a fresh market soup, two types of cheese, bread and a glass of wine for 9.90 euros.
WHERE TO SHOP
À Chacun Son Image, 35-37, rue Charlot, (33-665) 2395-0300; achacunsonimage.wordpress.com.
Native Kingdom, 24, rue de Poitou
A.P.C. Surplus, 20, rue Andre del Sarte; (33-1) 4262-1088; www.apc.fr.
MATT GROSS writes the Frugal Traveler blog at nytimes.com/travel.
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December 16, 2010
36 Hours in ParisBy GISELA WILLIAMS
HAS Paris lost its edge? Mais non! The city’s bohemians are just harder to find. The artsy denizens and creative tastemakers, always on the hunt for cheaper rents, have migrated to the city’s fringes, like Belleville and the former red-light district of Pigalle. There are even fashion-forward hangouts in the postcard-perfect center — a pop-up restaurant here, a taxidermy-stuffed speakeasy there. And, of course, a modern take on the classic Parisian bistro or boulangerie will never go out of style.
Friday
4 p.m.
1) GALLERY GHETTO
The ghosts of Paris’s master artists are everywhere, but if you want to dive into the city’s contemporary art scene, head to Belleville, where the steep hilltop streets are dotted with upstart galleries and cozy wine bars. Among the earliest galleries was Bugada & Cargnel (7-9, rue de l’Équerre; 33-1-42-71-72-73; bugadacargnel.com), which specializes in both French and international emerging artists. Newer arrivals include Gaudel de Stampa (3, rue de Vaucouleurs; 33-1-40-21-37-38; gaudeldestampa.fr) and Marcelle Alix (4, rue Jouye-Rouve; 33-9-50-04-16-80; marcellealix.com). For a mix of art and fashion, swing by Andrea Crews (25, rue de Vaucouleurs; 33-1-45-26-36-68; andreacrews.com), where vintage duds are transformed into fast fashion.
6 p.m.
2) LA BOHèME WINE BAR
Perched above the Belleville park, Le Baratin (3, rue Jouye-Rouve; 33-1-43-49-39-70 ) is an unpretentious and intimate wine bar with antique tile floors and worn wood tables. Despite the local buzz, it has managed to stay low-key, so it’s still possible to walk in at an odd hour, sans reservations, and join the bohemian crowd as they sample the dozen or so small-production wines, scratched on the chalkboard.
8:30 p.m.
3) CHIC BISTRONOMIQUE
Here’s the trick to getting a table at always-packed Le Chateaubriand (129, avenue Parmentier; 33-1-43-57-45-95). Park yourself at the bar around 8:30 p.m. the day of, and fortify yourself with wine and snacks — and people watching — while you wait for a table. It’s first come first served for the 9:30 seating. (Otherwise, you have to make reservations at least two weeks in advance for the 7:30 seating.) The young Basque chef, Iñaki Aizpitarte, serves a five-course menu that changes daily. Recent meals included a foie gras served in miso soup, and a sea bass served with red chicory and lemon crème fraîche. Prix fixe: only 50 euros, or $65 at $1.31 to the euro.
Midnight
4) RED LIGHT SPECIAL
In recent years, the area around Pigalle has drawn Parisian tastemakers looking for a good time — with their clothes on. Start with a drink at Hôtel Amour (8, rue de Navarin; 33-1-48-78-31-80; hotelamourparis.fr), an artsy hotel decorated with disco balls and Terry Richardson photographs that is partly owned by the reigning king of Paris night life, André Saraiva. Then continue to Chez Moune (54, rue Jean Baptiste Pigalle; 33-1-45-26-64-64; chezmoune.fr), a former lesbian cabaret that is now a popular hangout for the city’s polysexual fashionistas.
Saturday
11 a.m.
5) WHERE LADY GAGA SHOPS
By now, you can pretty much find those Lanvin flats and Céline bags back home. But Bambi-shaped shoes? Or a Kermit the Frog jacket? The aristocrat fashion designer Jean-Charles de Castelbajac has a new boutique in St.-Germain (61, rue des St.-Pères; 33-9-64-48-48-54; jc-de-castelbajac.com) where fashion inspiration comes from unexpected places, like “Paradise Lost” and Donald Duck.
Noon
6) POP-UP BISTRO
Even jaded Parisians have waited weeks for one of the 12 seats at the pop-up restaurant Nomiya (13, avenue du Président Wilson; online reservations at art-home-electrolux.com), a glass box that floats on the rooftop of the Palais de Tokyo. Instead of dinner, come for lunch, when seatings are easier to come by, and the views are more spectacular. The five-course meal cooked up by Gilles Stassart might include foie gras with eggplant confit and scorpion fish served with a vegetable medley (80 euros for lunch and 100 euros for dinner). Nomiya’s run has been extended until spring 2011.
2 p.m.
7) SHOP THE CANAL
On sunny weekends, stylish young families and boho-chic couples stroll the gentrified Canal St.-Martin — fast becoming a charming little shopping hood of indie boutiques. Dupleks (83, quai de Valmy; 33-1-42-06-15-08; dupleks.fr) sells eco-friendly fashions, Espace Beaurepaire (28, rue Beaurepaire; 33-1-42-45-59-64; espacebeaurepaire.com) carries street-art prints, and La Piñata (25, rue des Vinaigriers; 33-1-40-35-01-45; lapinata.fr) has wooden children’s toys. Style hounds especially like Sweat Shop (13, rue Lucien Sampaix; 33-9-52-85-47-41; sweatshopparis.com) , a funky D.I.Y. collective and cafe with sewing machines to rent by the hour.
4 p.m.
8) SAVORY AND SWEET
One bite, and you’ll understand why there’s a long line outside Du Pain et Des Idées (34, rue Yves Toudic; 33-1-42-40-44-52; dupainetdesidees.com), a cultish boulangerie in the Canal St.-Martin neighborhood. The escargot chocolat-pistache, a snail-shaped pastry filled with chocolate and pistachio, will shatter the will of any dieter. So will the mini-pavés, savory knots stuffed with spinach and goat cheese.
8 p.m.
9) AMERICAN TRANSPLANTS
Paris-obsessed food bloggers will roll their eyes, but Spring (6 Rue Bailleul; 33-1-45-96-05-72; springparis.blogspot.com), an intimate restaurant that moved this summer to the First Arrondissement, deserves the hype. The French-trained American chef Daniel Rose takes something as simple as eggplant and prepares it four eye-opening ways. Dinner prix-fixe menu: 64 euros. If you can’t make reservations months ahead of time, head to the newly revamped Minipalais (Grand Palais, Avenue Winston Churchill; 33-1-42-56-42-42; minipalais.com), a loft-like brasserie with an American-friendly menu that includes a terrific duck burger with foie gras. Or try the new Ralph’s (173, boulevard St.-Germain; 33-1-44-77-76-00; ralphlaurenstgermain.com), owned by Ralph Lauren in St.-Germain, which, believe it or not, is fashionable with a young Parisian crowd.
Midnight
10) LE CHIC ET LE GEEK
Ever since the legendary Le Montana reopened during last spring’s fashion week, le party hasn’t stopped. Resurrected by André Saraiva (yes, him again) and Olivier Zahm, Le Montana (28, rue St.-Benoît) draws an A-list crowd of models and actors. But be warned: getting past the bouncer is harder than squeezing into jeggings. Fortunately, a 20-minute walk away is the geeky hot spot Curio Parlor (16, rue des Bernardins; 33-1-44-07-12-47; curioparlor.com), a speakeasy-style lounge popular with a chic Parisian crowd that sips single malt whiskey.
Sunday
11 a.m.
11) GRASS IS GREENER
Since the historic dance hall and watering hole Rosa Bonheur reopened in 2008 (2, allée de la Cascade, in the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont; 33-1-42-00-00-45; rosabonheur.fr), it has brought the city’s party crowd to the great outdoors. By day, middle-aged hippies strum guitars alongside hungover clubkids. By night, it turns into a full-fledged party complete with velvet rope and D.J. This winter the party continues inside with the restaurant Mimi Cantine overseen by the Michelin-starred chef Armand Arnal.
1 p.m.
12) FANTASTIC MR. FOX
Blame it on Wes Anderson movies or an obsession with the cult taxidermy shop Deyrolle, but nothing gets a Parisian bohemian more excited than a room filled with stuffed animals. Get your fix at the Musée de la Maison de la Chasse et de la Nature (62, rue des Archives; 33-1-53-01-92-40), a quirky museum with an eccentric collection of taxidermy and antique weaponry. There is also a room dedicated to unicorns, which adds just the right amount of je ne sais quoi to the intentionally musty space.
IF YOU GO
Give Philippe Starck two years, a jaw-dropping budget and a grand Parisian shell, and you get the new Raffles Royal Monceau (37, avenue Hoche; 33-1-42-99-88-00; leroyalmonceau.com). Steps from the Arc de Triomphe, the 85-room hotel leaves no detail too small to escape the designer’s touch, with rates from 780 euros, or $1,000.
For a taste of the seedy-cool district of Pigalle, book a room at the Hôtel Amour (8, rue Navarin; 33-1-48-78-31-80; hotelamourparis.fr), the brainchild of the graffiti artist turned nightclub entrepreneur André Saraiva and Thierry Costes of the Costes family. Rooms start at 100 euros.
The year-old Hotel Banke (20, rue La Fayette; 33-1-55-33-22-22; derbyhotels.com/banke-hotel-paris), near the Place Vendôme, combines Belle Époque-style architecture with not overly trendy touches, with 94 rooms starting at 260 euros in December.
