Carnet de Voyage: Paris in 1971

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. 

In the 1970s, I went to university in Switzerland. Back then, Europe felt like one big adventure. I often travelled to France, but this time, I was off to England to work on a history paper. I took a route from Basel, through Colmar, then to Paris, and finally caught a ferry to England.

The best part of my trip was the two days I spent in Paris. I had no plans or bookings. I decided to explore the city, and it turned out to be amazing. I arrived at 3 a.m. A truck had picked me up in Colmar and taken me through the busy streets of Paris. We passed by the Seine River and reached the old Les Halles market in the 1st arrondissement. I learned that this market, which had been around since medieval times, was closing that very year because it caused too much traffic. 

When we got there, the market was buzzing with activity. People were unloading things and setting up stalls. I wanted to help the driver, but he said l’assurance, l’assurance! in his thick accent. After some confusion, I figured out he was talking about insurance. He gestured for me to follow, and we made our way through garbage and crates into a beautiful wrought iron and glass building. 

I was really hungry since the truck ride had taken nearly six hours. We ducked into a nearby building, and the smell of food hit me. It was a kitchen area where leftover food was being turned into meals. Pots were clattering, and delicious smells filled the air. The driver grinned and led me to a counter where they served soup. First, the soup! he said, showing me bowls of soupe à l’oignon, topped with bread and cheese. Ah, French onion soup, I said, surprised. He laughed, “Of course it’s French! Where do you think we are?” 

After enjoying the soup, I said goodbye to the driver. I wasn’t really sure what he had been transporting. Leaving Les Halles was bittersweet. It was a beautiful market complex that was about to be replaced with something modern—a real loss for the city. 

As I walked towards the Seine, the sun rose, shining warmly over Paris. The city was waking up. I spent the morning wandering along the river, following the Eiffel Tower’s spire. I even explored the bouquinistes, the second-hand booksellers by Notre-Dame. Some stalls were still closed, but a few gave a peek into the city’s love for literature. I was just strolling around, soaking it all in. This is what a flâneur does—wander without a plan, appreciating everything. It was a perfect way to enjoy a spring day. 

By evening, I was hungry again and found myself in the lively Latin Quarter. It felt full of students, still vibrant from the 1968 uprisings. I stopped at Café Danton, where a group invited me to join them. Despite being shy, I said yes. What a night it turned out to be! The folks there were smart and passionate, discussing big ideas and politics. We drank wine, smoked Gauloises, and shared cheese until the café closed at 2 a.m. 

Then I realized I had nowhere to sleep. I mentioned it casually, and one of them offered me a cot in a nearby building. The building felt like a scene from a novel—old and creaky, with a funky concierge and a rat running into the cellar. The charm of free lodging came with a unique flair. I climbed the stairs, the boards creaking beneath me. The air smelled like old cigarettes. 

At the top, my room was small and simple, just enough for a bed and a table. A tiny window let a bit of moonlight in, and I finally settled down. The next morning, Paris woke me up with its sounds: squeaky gates, trash trucks, and deliveries. When I remembered where I was, it made me smile. I washed my face and joined my host for coffee.

The room had a nice feature—a small door that opened to a balcony overlooking the rooftops. My host said, “You know, Picasso studied those rooftops.” I wasn’t sure if it was true, but it sounded nice. The view was great, too, with no tall buildings blocking it. 

I thought about the bathroom, which was an odd setup that reminded me of my time spent in Egyptian souks—a hole in the floor. Not fancy at all, but it worked fine for quick trips.

By the afternoon, I said goodbye to my host and headed to Gare du Nord to catch a train to Calais. When I got to the port, I was hungry again. I grabbed fish and chips from a street vendor. They were fresh and delicious. I can’t say if it was the emptiness of my stomach or the fish’s freshness, but the taste still sticks with me. That was Paris for me—an eclectic city filled with surprises and warmth.

Read our other Carnet de Voyage entries here. 

Alan Pendleton is the retired owner of New World Radio Group in Washington, DC., which broadcast Radio France Internationale daily in Washington from 1992 to 2012.  

Mr. Pendleton holds a Diploma (International Studies) from the Geschichte und PolitikWißenschaft Fakultät, Universität Basel (Switzerland), a B.A. in History (honors) from Westminster College; both an MBA and Masters in International Management from Thunderbird School of Global Management at Arizona State University; and a post-graduate appointment in East Asian Studies as a Visiting Fellow at the Hoover Institution on War Revolution and Peace at Stanford University. He has studied, lived, worked, and travelled widely in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East and is conversant in German, French, Arabic, and Japanese. He travels to France every year without fail!