Carnet de Voyage: Une Bonne Adresse 

Travel notes from the real France. Carnet de Voyage is a weekly personal travel story in France sent in by readers. If you’d like to write a story for Carnet de Voyage, head here for details on how to submit. 

“I could live here!” How often have I declared this upon settling into a Paris apartment rental?  

In 1994, many years before Vrbo and Airbnb, I booked my first short-term stay from an agency I found in a Paris guidebook. In those bygone days, people were baffled. “Don’t you want to stay in a hotel?” they’d ask. “Won’t you miss the breakfast and daily housekeeping?” But for me, the fantasy of living like a Parisian, however briefly, far outweighed the convenience of a hotel. Over the next three decades I would end up staying at seven different addresses around the City of Light. 

The place I chose for my mother Jutta and myself was a simple one bedroom on rue de l’École-Polytechnique, up a steep hill from the Sorbonne. I slept on a daybed in the living room, and Mum took the bedroom. The enterprising French agent also arranged Carte Orange transit passes, for which I mailed him photos from the US. Sitting at a small dining table in our little place, nibbling on takeout céleri rémoulade from the local marché, made us both feel insanely pleased with ourselves. 

I loved shopping for provisions and making coffee “chez nous” in the morning. There was something intoxicating about riding in the tiny elevator and eavesdropping on the other residents through their open windows. Plus, the apartment, though small, was much bigger than a hotel room. 

Thus was I hooked on holiday rentals. The next February, I brought my husband James to a charming place on rue Mâitre-Albert near the Seine, managed by a British company called RothRay. The quiet back bedroom was completely bedecked in black-and-white French toile. We shopped at La Grande Épicerie for smoked goose breast, haricots verts, Alsatian Pinot Noir, a pear tart, cassoulet, eggs, and madeleines—try doing that in a hotel! 

But perhaps my greatest coup was in January 1999: a week in the Montmartre pied-à-terre of an American who let us her cozy place on rue Ravignan for $500. We used frequent flyer miles for free travel, so the entire getaway was an incredible steal. I enjoyed spying on the students at the dance studio across the street. Indeed, we liked living up on the Butte so much that we barely left the neighborhood. Who cared if there was a small hole in the bedroom floor? 

In May 2009, I took my mother to Paris for a final jaunt. Since she adored the Luxembourg Gardens, I reserved what appeared to be a stylish spot on rue Madame. Alas, the bare apartment looked nothing like the photos, and we were rather let down. “Oh, no, honey!” she cried when first we walked in. How could I have been so wrong? But we gamely rearranged the furniture, became regulars at the local bakery, and by the time the week was up, we considered even this mild disappointment “home.” 

As my fortunes improved over time, so did my Paris holiday rentals. On our last trip in 2022, my husband and I stayed at a luxurious apartment on Boulevard Richard-Lenoir in the 11th. Spacious, sunny, elegant, functional—the handsome Art Deco building with an elevator and concierge was everything I could have dreamed of. No more daybeds or floor holes!  

Today, most vacationers accept the holiday rental as a viable travel option. It seems impossible to imagine a world without endless online listings, with their enticing photos and detailed user reviews. But there was a time when many people would confess to me, aghast, “I just don’t want to make the bed when I’m on vacation!” 

Me? I never mind making the bed. 

Read our other Carnet de Voyage entries here. 

Lead photo credit : On rue de l'Ecole Polytechnique © Kathleen Paton