I tried to be a ‘cool’ traveller in Paris. It didn’t work

“Monsieur, un...” My voice dies as I wrestle with the indecipherable French menu. The waiter’s face perfectly captures my own muddled state: a tourist adrift in a sea of local streets, 25 metro stops from cliche.

Like most who visit, I had my Parisian fantasy. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just flaky croissants, lazy days in a beautiful park, and the Eiffel Tower as my ever-present companion. There’s nothing wrong with that.

We try to “do as the locals do”. The first week is a baptism by fire. We get a (loud) lesson in grocery etiquette when we can’t decipher a cashier’s frustration over an open self-service lane (that doesn’t take cards). Our hunt for vintage treasures leads us on a questionable Metro ride and a 20-minute walk through a lively market (clutching my wallet a little tighter, admittedly). But the reward? A haul of home design pieces so stunning we contemplate hiring a shipping container to get them back to Australia.

The following week, we book a hotel in Le Marais, walked along the river, and slip into a red and white rattan chair facing the Seine with a glass of house white.

Is it the most “authentic” Parisian experience? Probably not. But the menu is translated, and the waiter greets me with a warm smile and a booming “Bonjour!”

From then on, we ditch our monochrome mission to be “cool tourists” (black is the Parisian uniform) and embrace our signature bright colours on a cheesy “Paris in a Day” tour with The Tour Guy.

Our tourist trail kicks off in meandering Montmartre, where we discover it was a boozy haven in the 16th century, a tax-free “commune libre”. Imagine the revelry. We peek into the home of Dalida, a cherished singer who had a tragic end, before we conquer the peak, where the imposing Sacre Coeur washes away the sins of the French Revolution and Franco-Prussian War.

And, just as the locals do, we board the Metro. Sure, the museum is overflowing with tourists, but there’s comfort in being swept up in the human current. We are all drawn to the same masterpieces— Mona Lisa’s enigmatic smile and Venus de Milo’s missing arms (seriously, where did those go?). There’s undeniable electricity in the air, a shared sense of awe that surpasses language barriers.