Things to do in Paris: Eight-day trip to Paris

In 2012, I had the opportunity to spend an entire summer in Paris as an exchange student, but I missed it for various reasons. Since then, I had never been to Paris until this August.

This regret led me to develop an unrealistic imagination about Paris, imagining what exactly I had missed.

In my imagination, during that summer, I could have strolled along the Seine River with many young people of my age, wandering under the shade of poplars and green willows, the gentle waves of the Seine reflecting the brilliant sunlight of a Tuesday afternoon, the mild breeze filled with the bitter aroma of distilled coffee and the enchanting melody of French chansons. I could have visited Paris’s countless museums, art galleries, and former residences of famous figures whenever I had free time, and during short holidays, I could have traveled to other provinces or even to various European countries. As an exchange student, time was not a scarce commodity; no one needed to leave immediately or worry about post-graduation matters, and academic studies were not an urgent task, since it was just an exchange program. The law school in Paris would certainly not have tampered with my transcript due to absences and tardiness.

Of course, I had already experienced this when I later went to Japan for an exchange program, which is why I know exactly what I missed out on.

Coming back now, I’m no longer at that age, nor with that identity. There won’t be a group of carefree, happy young people around me anymore. We can’t sit on the lawn together, eating cheese, drinking red wine, chatting freely while still holding naive fantasies about the beauty of the world. Although the things I need to worry about now may not be as many as the Himalayas, they probably have the height of Luojia Mountain. But if I don’t go now, will there be such an opportunity in the future? If I don’t go now, will there be regrets like those in 2012?

With Xu Zhimo’s 1930 replica edition of “Paris’s Claws” in hand, I boarded the plane from Lisbon to Paris.

Before the plane landed, I tried to finish reading the book, but in reality, there were only a few pages about Paris at the very beginning. In the late 19th century, Paris was almost the center of the world, and French became the lingua franca in many fields. The latest technology, the most fashionable culture, and the most developed economy all converged here. No wonder famous American writers of that time would gather in a small bookstore in Paris, and no wonder Xu Zhimo would exclaim “Those who have been to Paris will no longer yearn for heaven… Paris is like a mattress of eiderdown, making you feel completely comfortable, softening even your hard bones.” Paris is no longer the Paris of that time.

What hasn’t changed are many things left behind by France’s former glory. First and foremost is the Louvre.

The Louvre

I have been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York many times and am confident in my experience with visiting such colossal institutions, but the size and volume of the Louvre still left me in awe. I prepared for a full day, walked over 30,000 steps, and still couldn’t see everything, which of course is also related to the Louvre’s complex structure. The Louvre was originally the French royal palace, later opened as an art museum. It consists of the Denon Wing, the Sully Wing, and the Richelieu Wing forming a U-shape, with the famous glass pyramid designed by I.M. Pei in the center, which serves as the underground space connecting the three wings and is also the main entrance to the Louvre.

Then there are the crowds at the Louvre, of course. The Metropolitan Museum has many visitors too, but the Louvre is simply overcrowded, which is understandable given its abundance of masterpieces. Especially in the painting section, where masterpieces are displayed one after another at an incredibly high density, the entire area feels like a Chinese morning market, packed with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Some try to stop and appreciate the art, some rush through to check off their must-see list, and others like me linger, feeling as though they haven’t really seen anything and need to go back for another look. On one side is Gérard’s ‘Psyche Awakened by Cupid’s Kiss,’ on the other is David’s ‘The Oath of the Horatii,’ and turning around, there’s ‘The Death of Marat.’

However, none of this compares to when you get to the museum’s crown jewel, the ‘Mona Lisa.’

The crowd waiting in front of the Mona Lisa, as if ambushing the Beatles at the airport, made it a formidable task for me to squeeze to the front to catch a glimpse of her true appearance. Moreover, it’s such a small painting. If it were a massive painting like ‘Liberty Leading the People’ or ‘The Coronation of Napoleon’, one could see it clearly from anywhere. But through the double-layered glass and the surging crowd, nothing much can be discerned.

The other museum treasures were also surrounded by crowds, just not as exaggeratedly. Those crowded in front of the Venus de Milo were mostly Chinese, Japanese, and Korean tourists. Their guides would introduce the artwork in hushed tones using Bluetooth microphones, while the tourists listened through Bluetooth earphones and nodded in silence, resembling spies exchanging secret codes. The Winged Victory of Samothrace stands at the end of a gallery, atop a staircase, forcing everyone ascending to look up at this statue that appears to be standing at the prow of a ship, riding the wind and waves. Other museum treasures might have been unrecognized by visitors or perhaps less famous; for instance, there was surprisingly no one in front of the Code of Hammurabi. However, some statues and paintings captivated me for a long time. I simply had to ration my imagination, energy, and time because the collection was so incredibly rich and the museum premises so vast.

There was also a very interesting decorative arts exhibition area showcasing the interiors of past royal palaces and aristocratic residences. The decorations inside were so dazzlingly magnificent and splendid that they made one’s head spin, yet they were also breathtaking to behold. I couldn’t fathom why room decorations could be so expressive and dynamic. Naturally, I couldn’t help but marvel at the incredibly extravagant lifestyle of the French upper class of those times. No wonder the French sent their king and queen to the guillotine.

After seeing this, I feel like I should set aside three days for the Louvre.

I also visited three other art museums. Musée d’Orsay, Musée de l’Orangerie, and Montmartre. The first two are not far from the Louvre. Musée d’Orsay was converted from a former train station and houses a large collection of Impressionist masterpieces, such as Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night over the Rhône’ and ‘Self-Portrait’, Monet’s ‘Luncheon’, Renoir’s ‘Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette’, Gauguin’s ‘Tahitian Women’, Millet’s ‘The Gleaners’, Manet’s ‘The Luncheon on the Grass’ and ‘The Fifer’, and Rodin’s ‘The Gates of Hell’. After being overwhelmed by the Louvre, I experienced another wave of soul-stirring moments that nearly exhausted me. Musée de l’Orangerie is relatively small, mainly featuring a special exhibition hall for Monet’s ‘Water Lilies’. I visited Montmartre while going to the Sacré-Cœur. It doesn’t have any major masterpieces in its collection, but this place was once home to Picasso, Modigliani, Utrillo, and Renoir. The gardens and swings here have been painted into famous works by these artists. Additionally, when I visited, there was an exhibition of Maximilien Luce’s paintings. His style resembles dot matrix patterns used for color blindness tests, but some of his early works depicting Parisian sunsets are very evocative.

Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral, Arc de Triomphe, Les Invalides

Besides the museums, I also visited those world-famous landmarks. I waited in line for a long time at the Eiffel Tower before finally getting on the elevator to go up. As the elevator car slowly ascended, the iron and steel framework beneath created a peculiar beauty, making it hard to imagine that this colossal structure was built more than a century ago. It symbolizes both the power of the industrial era and carries the delicate touch of romantic decoration, forming a stark contrast with today’s simple and sleek modern architecture. I think if it were built in the same style today, it might seem complicated or even tacky, but only this tower, with the traces left by weathering and natural erosion over time, exudes that unique weight and charm. Standing at the top and looking down, the city streets radiate outward like a spider web, and the Seine River glistens in the setting sun, both spectacular and romantic.

I also went to visit Notre-Dame Cathedral. Although there were many people, the line was orderly, and I didn’t have to wait long to enter, especially since it had finally reopened after the great fire. Walking into the cathedral, I could feel the power of the Gothic architecture reaching toward the sky. The towering spires, elegant flying buttresses, solemn stone-carved saints, and magnificent and sacred stained-glass windows remained majestic after restoration. The Sacré-Cœur Basilica, on the other hand, had a different atmosphere, with its white dome standing quietly on Montmartre hill. Looking down from the steps, the entire Paris spread out before my eyes. Entering the basilica, light refracted through the colored glass scattered across the floor, the air was tranquil, and my mood became calm as well. However, because I had climbed too many stairs, I finally didn’t have the energy to go up to the dome.

We also climbed up to the Arc de Triomphe. The interior was different from what I had imagined, lacking gorgeous decorations, instead resembling a stone-built tomb, filled with thick, airtight stone materials. Walking up the narrow spiral staircase, every step allowed me to feel the weight of history. Standing at the top, twelve avenues radiate outward like wheel spokes, with endless traffic flowing, revealing the order and prosperity of Paris before my eyes. Compared to the romance of the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, this place has more of a solemn and dignified atmosphere.

In addition, I also went to Les Invalides in Paris. Originally built as a nursing home for veterans during the reign of Louis XIV, it is now a grand military museum. Walking into the exhibition halls, you can see weapons and armor from various eras, from medieval knight armor to modern artillery and firearms – everything is complete, as if walking through a condensed history of European warfare. The cold metallic luster and neatly arranged weapons make one feel the foundation of France as a European military power. The core of Les Invalides is, of course, Napoleon’s tomb. The huge dome shines with golden light, solemn and magnificent. Descending into the circular corridor of the tomb feels like entering a sacred space. In the center rests a huge red sarcophagus, containing the remains of Napoleon. The reliefs and statues around all tell of his life’s conquests and glory. Standing before the tomb, it’s hard not to be awed by this sense of historical weight: a legendary figure who once swept across Europe now rests here quietly.

Kingdom of the Dead

I also visited two real tombs.

One is the Père Lachaise Cemetery, established in 1804, which is one of the largest and most famous cemeteries in Paris. Here are buried celebrities from various fields including literature, music, art, and politics, including writers Balzac, Proust, Molière, and Wilde; musicians Chopin, Jim Morrison (lead singer of The Doors; I’m not familiar with other figures in art and politics so I won’t list them). Wilde’s tombstone was once kissed by fans leaving lipstick marks, and now has a glass protective cover.

Wandering through the cemetery, I truly felt the meaning of ‘To be a hero in life, a spirit in death.’ In fact, besides the famous figures, there are many ordinary people in this cemetery. Even some tombs that look very magnificent, exquisitely designed, and weathered by wind and rain might have belonged to wealthy people in their time. But in a place filled with so many renowned figures, merely being wealthy might not have earned them a place on the directory at the entrance that helps visitors find their way. Only those who became top figures in their fields might still be remembered hundreds of years later. Of course, since they’re already dead, whether people remember them in the future might not be very important anymore. Besides, even if people remember them hundreds of years later, thousands or tens of thousands of years later, they might not still be remembered, and perhaps by that time, humanity itself will have become extinct.

Another one is the Paris Catacombs, which contain the remains of millions of Parisians, neatly arranged by femur bones and other skeletal parts. In the late 18th century, because cemeteries within Paris were overcrowded and there was a high risk of infectious diseases, and at that time because quarrying within the city was prohibited, there were many empty quarries, so the authorities moved thousands of remains to the old quarries, gradually forming the catacombs.

To protect the remains and passages, only about 200 people are allowed to enter at a time, and the waiting time is usually very long. After entering, you first need to walk along a narrow, dim tunnel until you see the stone tablet inscribed with ‘Stop! This is the empire of Death’ (Arrête ! C’est ici l’empire de la Mort), which marks the true entrance to the catacombs. The stone walls are neatly stacked with skulls and long bones, resembling an ‘art gallery of death,’ while also evoking a sense of calm order.

Before coming, I was worried it might be too frightening, considering that it’s underground and involves such close contact with so many remains. But after actually entering, the feeling was not as eerie as I had imagined; instead, there was more of a solemn and tranquil atmosphere. Footsteps echo in the narrow corridors, and the air carries a slightly cool, damp breath, as if reminding people that this is not just a cemetery, but also a memorial place about history and life. When you emerge and see the sunlight again, you suddenly develop a deeper appreciation for the everyday reality of ‘being alive.’

Shakespeare and Company Bookstore

With so many attractions in Paris, I almost forgot to come here at first, but being able to remember to visit without external reminders might qualify me as a decent ‘middle-aged literature enthusiast’. This place was once a gathering spot for countless literary giants. As early as the early 20th century, Joyce completed and published ‘Ulysses’ here, Hemingway wrote about his days borrowing books here in ‘A Moveable Feast’, and Fitzgerald, Pound, and Gertrude Stein also frequented this place, making it a spiritual stronghold for the Lost Generation. After World War II, the bookstore reopened and welcomed Beat Generation poets and writers like Ginsberg and Burroughs. In more recent years, contemporary authors such as Haruki Murakami, Paul Auster, and Ian McEwan have also visited. Precisely because of the endorsement of these names, Shakespeare and Company is not just a bookstore, but more like a pilgrimage site carrying literary memories.

The green sign and wooden window frames on the bookstore’s exterior carry an air of accumulated years, as if a literary character could walk out at any moment. Inside the bookstore, the space is cramped, with wooden shelves stacked high and filled with books, and the air carries the scent of paper and old wood. The second floor is a reading room, with windows overlooking the Seine River and Notre-Dame. Walking on the creaking wooden stairs, one feels that this is not just a bookstore, but more like a small literary sanctuary.

Unfortunately, this place is really famous, and there are too many tourists visiting. Now you even have to queue just to enter the store, and inside it’s crowded with people shoulder to shoulder. It’s very difficult to take a good look to see if there are any books you like. I browsed through a few old books on the second floor and also sat in the corner for a short rest, feeling as if I had become part of this literary tradition.

Versailles and Fontainebleau

In addition to the Paris urban area, I also went to the surrounding Versailles and Fontainebleau.

The Palace of Versailles was originally the royal palace of Louis XIV and has now been converted into an art museum. Walking into the Hall of Mirrors, the dazzling crystal chandeliers and mirrored corridors are still breathtaking. The ceiling murals and luxurious gilded decorations vividly showcase the splendor of the French monarchy era. That grandeur was not just a display of wealth, but also a manifestation of aesthetic taste. One can feel the extreme importance that the French royal family and nobility placed on artistic cultivation. They often sponsored painters, sculptors, and craftsmen, and collected artworks from across Europe and even the world. In a sense, it was this plundering and collecting that made today’s Paris one of the cities with the most concentrated collection of artworks.

Besides the Palace of Versailles itself, I also made a special trip to visit the Petit Trianon next door, which was specially prepared for the queen. This was originally a small palace built by Louis XV for Madame de Pompadour, and later became the private domain of Marie Antoinette. Here, she stayed away from the cumbersome court etiquette and enjoyed a relatively free life. Even more interestingly, the queen also personally created a pastoral village behind the palace. There were cottages, a mill, farmland, and pastures. While they looked like farmhouses on the outside, they remained comfortable and exquisite inside. The queen would change into simplified dresses here, pretend to be a “shepherdess,” and experience an idealized rural life. Walking through it, one can indeed feel a delicate pastoral atmosphere, as if on a stage set.

This practice reminds me of Emperor Qianlong of the Qing Dynasty in China, who also built imitation rural scenery and agricultural scenes in the Summer Palace. Similarly, it carried a contradiction and sense of detachment of being in an imperial position yet wanting to experience an idyllic pastoral life. Whether it was the Queen’s Hamlet in Versailles or the farming and weaving scenes in the Summer Palace, both were idealized homelands imagined by those in power, far removed from the real folk life.

The Palace of Fontainebleau, however, offers a slightly different impression. It is older than Versailles, with its history dating back to the Middle Ages, and nearly every generation of French monarchs has left their mark here. Compared to the ostentation and splendor of Versailles, Fontainebleau possesses more substance and tranquility. Inside the palace, there are Renaissance-style frescoes and carvings, as well as the bedchamber and throne from the Napoleonic era. Walking through the courtyards and long corridors, one can feel that this place is not merely a symbol of power, but also a microcosm of centuries of evolution in French art and architecture.

On a personal level, perhaps because Fontainebleau has preserved and even restored a large amount of the original furniture and furnishings, which have not been repurposed, the atmosphere feels more authentic and more immersive. Stepping into the bedchambers of the kings or queens, one can not only see the original fireplaces, carpets, draperies, and chairs but also sense the living atmosphere of the time, as if the owners had just left and might walk back in at any moment. Compared to the museum-like presentation of Versailles, Fontainebleau feels more like a palace that was truly lived in, allowing one to more directly perceive how power, life, and art once intertwined here.

The Streets of Paris

In Paris, the places worth seeing are not just the world-famous attractions, art galleries, and museums. Simply wandering casually through the streets already feels like being in a movie. The rows of plane trees on both sides of the road are tall and dense, with sunlight casting mottled shadows through the leaves. Historic buildings can be seen everywhere, with stone walls, carved balconies, and wrought iron railings, as if transporting people back to 19th century Europe. In the small parks by the street, the grass is green and lush, unknown wildflowers display vibrant colors, children chase on the grass, and elderly people quietly read newspapers. Everything is natural and romantic.

I made a special trip to see Paris’s elevated park (Coulée verte René-Dumont). Initially, I just wanted to compare it because I like New York’s High Line. But I later learned that Paris’s version actually predates New York’s by several decades, making it the truly pioneering elevated greenway, though it’s not as famous. Walking along the promenade converted from an old railway line, with shady trees and blooming flowers on both sides, you can occasionally see remnants of the tracks and the city’s rooftop skyline. Compared to New York’s trendy design, Paris’s greenway feels more natural and quieter, with less commercial atmosphere but more of a living, breathing quality.

The experience at Paris train stations was also quite interesting. Besides the buildings themselves often having a historical feel, there were also some small travel episodes, such as the fact that toilets in most stations charge a fee, and some only accept cash. If you don’t have change, you just have to hold it until you get on the train. Paris’s metro and RER rail transit system also left a deep impression on me. At first, I thought the RER (Réseau Express Régional) was impressive, as it could quickly connect the suburbs with the city center. But after taking the S-Bahn in Germany, I discovered that the German system seems to be superior in terms of convenience, carriage cleanliness, and overall efficiency.

After visiting Paris, I deeply realized that only when enough people truly love art can a place gradually develop such a rich artistic atmosphere. If art is merely treated as a means to pursue fame and fortune, transfer funds abroad, or preserve and increase value, then the so-called passion for art is out of the question. What makes Paris special is precisely this – there is indeed a large group of people here who genuinely love art. Whether it’s visiting museums and art galleries, or simply listening to music on the street or watching an exhibition, people are willing to stop and appreciate, or even participate. It is this bottom-up passion that integrates art into the daily life of the city.

Of course, looking at famous French works, many classic works are actually depictions of various nudes by painters. If interpreted according to certain contemporary concepts, these works would likely be accused of being offensive and objectifying, and in some countries, they might even be censored or restricted from exhibition. But from the perspective of the essence of art, it may precisely be the projection and expression of human emotions, desires, and libido. Art does not necessarily avoid eroticism; instead, it often explores deeper questions about beauty, life, and existence through the expression of eroticism.

Therefore, should we sacrifice or even castrate art itself for the sake of so-called political correctness? The value of art probably never lies in conforming to any set of contemporary moral censorship, but in whether it truly expresses human experience, emotion, and creativity. If we add fig leaves to classics or criticize them with trendy theories out of fear of offending, what we lose is not only the integrity of the works, but also art as a testament to the free human spirit.

I don’t know if my life would have qualitatively changed had I come to Paris in that summer many years ago, if I would have met people who would have influenced me, or if I would have left behind memories worth savoring repeatedly. I only know that this summer in Paris, I have indeed left an indelible mark in some corner of my mind that will last forever.

Paris, I probably should have come earlier. But life has no “what ifs,” only the present moment and place. Since I have finally come now, I consider it as fulfilling a belated promise with myself. Whether one arrives early or late, what matters is that they have come.