Paris in The Fall
A Trip in Photos
What I remember most about Paris is the crisp blue sky. Stepping out from a feathered comforter onto the cool tile of a small balcony, birds sang from urban perches, and late summer flowers shivered. The mornings in the 20th were quiet, with only the sounds of residents waking: quiet conversations, heels echoing on pavement.
In the apartment, brioche grilled from the toaster oven, as my mother-in-law moved between kitchen counter and table, her blonde hair swept back beautifully even at 7 am. My father-in-law came into the kitchen, kissing us both on the forehead, as toast was passed around, butter and honey spread, and Nespresso brewed.
I’d never felt quite so home away-from-home as I did when sitting on the leather sofa talking books with my partner’s father, or walking through cobble-stoned pathways with his mother—the way she’d loop her arm confidently through mine, making me feel as though I belonged as inherently as the birds and falling chestnuts.
As the days went on, I spent the trip not so much as a tourist, but as a guest. We ate at restaurants with only locals, and walked through avenues that blended the orange lights of cafes with the heat from bars and pizza shops. I met friends and family members, and ate foie gras on fresh bread from the preferred baker around the corner.
We even travelled outside of Paris, borrowing the French equivalent of a Subaru hatchback and driving the few hours to Fontainebleau, where the forests feel older than anything you’ve ever know: roads are named after kings, and tree trunks lay across the woodland floors, casualties of time and drenched in silence.
Paris in the fall is not its most beautiful. I visited once before in the summer months, days when teenagers drink by the river, vendors selling identical prints by Notre Dame, and white paper shopping bags form their own body on famous streets, divided only by the blue jeans of tourists. In the summer, light green trees are perfectly trimmed with flat tops and dusty pathways are left with crumbs of trash—a reminder of the hours well-spent by locals in the park.
Paris in the fall is not quite this charming—but it’s intriguing with its relative emptiness, being left mostly to the people who keep it. Of course there are tourists—living out 21st century romance under the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower and other monuments. But mostly, the crowds and traffic are local. Parisians exiting the subways, unlocking gates with food or a small book tucked under their arm. Cigarette smoke weaving out from under cafe terraces, and a quiet anticipation on everyone’s mind for the coming holidays.
