Falling under the Spell of the Ile St-Louis

There is nothing finer in the world than spending a night on the Ile St-Louis, the tiny island in the middle of the Seine just upstream from Notre Dame. No matter how many times I visit Paris, I rarely get a chance to indulge in sight-seeing and being a tourist. Back in September, we had a full week of it and I felt so lucky. The hotel rooms may have been small, crying out for a renovation, but what a fabled address: Right on the main street that runs down the length of the island, connecting to the grander Ile de la Cité by a pedestrian bridge.

Smack dab in the middle of Paris, the island is a calm quartier, its 17th century stone townhouses protected by a line of leafy trees around the island's perimeter. I could sit by the hotel window for hours, watching the street theater. The leisurely quotidien of traditional Paris. The line assembled outside the boulangerie, where the smell of baking bread wafted towards my window. The butchers arriving in white aprons to open the award-winning shop renowned for the care with which the products are displayed in the window-- even the chicken feathers are blown dry for effect.


And we could watch the constant stream of tourists who make the walk from one end of the island to the other, peering with delight into the boutique windows, checking out the flower boxes, staring at the sweet perfection of it all. There are a slew of excellent restaurants lining the street, and it's hard to imagine such epicurean abundance packed into such a small area. (Don't miss an ice cream at Berthillon, or the sinfully thick hot chocolate at Cacao et Chocolat. I picked up the bad habit of a chocolat chaud a day.)

This is the heart of Paris, both geographically and spiritually. It's easy to get seduced by the island's romance and quiet charm. Indeed, it has a village feel. Folks who live here are said to say "I'm heading into the city!" if they venture off the island (a rare occasion), crossing one of four bridges. It's not uncommon to see groups of chatting fishermen assembled under the bridges-- though I'd be hesitant to eat a fish that came from the Seine.

Pictured: One of many river perspectives. A dog keeping watch outside an island boutique. The butcher's famous shop window, where we stared in amazement at all the pretty birds and rabbits. The elegant (uniform) façade of townhouses as it appears from the Ile de la Cité. Fishermen under the bridge. Crossing the Pont de la Tournelle.