Mon Beau 15ème Arrondissement
My first apartment upon arriving in France was in the charming, if unexciting, banlieue Asnières-sur-Seine. I spent my days commuting to and from the city via metro ligne 13 and insisting to my friends and family back home that “I basically live in Paris.”
Once that lease was up, I couldn’t be happier to move into the city proper and dub myself a Parisian. A 3-month apartment hunt hellscape, however, left me desperate and jumping on the first apartment that accepted my dossier: a cozy studio in the 15è arrondissement. This ordeal was quickly replaced with another minor social inconvenience: fielding the reactions from people when I told them I lived in the 15è: “Oh, I’m so sorry”; “Really? How’s that going?”; or my favorite, “Hmmm.”
Perhaps out of sympathy or perhaps out of defensiveness, I am now on a mission to show the world what mon beau 15è arrondissement has to offer by taking you through my weekend of touring the sights, sounds, tastes and smells of Paris’s largest (and least appreciated) district.
FRIDAY, 3:00PM: Île aux Cynges
Class is out and the weekend has begun. Rather than hop back on ligne 8, or blaze down the cobblestone bikeways in a motorized Lime bike, I opt for a peaceful route to stretch my legs on the way chez moi: a stroll down Île aux Cynges.
The island draws a narrow line between the iconic Pont Bir Hakeim (the “Inception bridge,” for the uncultured) to the significantly less spectacular Pont de Grenelle. Photo-ops are abundant by the statues La France Resistance and Statue of Liberty, that is, if resistance and liberty are your kind of thing.
Passing through this skinny spit of land, you see the Paris skyline fade from Haussmann classics of the 16è and 7è arrondissements to the more modern battlements and exemplaires of French soft power: the pithily-named Maison de la Radio et de la Musique and the super mall Beaugrenelle. We may be off to a rocky start, but at least we’re in (what technically qualifies as) nature, and the melancholy melody emitting from a busking saxophonist under Pont Rouelle only adds to the ambiance.
FRIDAY, 8:00PM: Le Café du Commerce
Kicking things into gear, we start by getting as sterotypically French as possible. Let’s hit Le Café du Commerce for dinner. A brasserie might not seem such an inspired choice for a neighborhood tour, but walk with me and my merry band of AUP grad students on this intellectual and gastronomical exercise.
Get a load of the place, and get a load of some history. This establishment, formerly a fabric store, is over 100 years old. The centuries are felt in the mosaic floor, the tiered dining hall, the formality of the staff, and (of course) the menu.
I said we’re going 'Frenchy', and I meant it. The courses go through a cliché tour of the French dining experience: Soupe à l’oignon gratinée, Magret de canard, and Fromage blanc coulis exotique. Between hearty bites and airing out grievances from our midterms, we mused about the merits of a touristic spot that has retained a level of quality to justify its own existence.
Once you have slipped through the invisible barrier between tourist and local, you tend to stop going to the archetypal brasseries and cafés of Paris, and tend to go for the newer, trendier, more diverse tastes that populate a metropolitan city of this size.
The sun goes down and natural light no longer pierces through the immense solarium at the heart of the restaurant. It’s time to move on.
FRIDAY, 10:00PM: Plan B Brewing
Rolling out of the café stuffed to the gills, we take a short jaunt across Avenue Émile Zola to my favorite watering hole, Plan B Brewing.
A beer-lover’s oasis in a city barren of barley, Plan B boasts of around a dozen diverse small batch beers made onsite and a large projector that churns out surf videos. It’s enough to make you want to drop your midterm assignment and light out for the coastal territories.
Tonight, the holiday lights are up, the tunes are bumping, and the bartenders are delivering tastings of their beer selection with jokes and smiles to new-comers and regulars alike. One is immediately warmed by the atmosphere as much as the crisp IPA and the shelter from biting cold wind. Tonight's forecast is a rare snow flurry, and all of a sudden we seem to have been transported to a mountain-top ski lodge this urban cityscape.
SATURDAY, 10:00AM: Wave in Paris
Our Friday night of gluttony has now become a Saturday morning of social battery charging and light activity.
Our choice of adventure this fall morning is Wave in Paris, the French capital’s only artificial indoor wave pool. Who needs a 7-hour trip to Biarritz when we have some tasty waves in our own backyard waiting to be carved.
We arrive a bit early, so we settle into the salon above the wave with some espresso (we pass on the 5€ pint of hair of the dog) and some foosball to get limber. Others seem to be typing away on their computers as if it was just another café, rather than acknowledging the ripping current below them.
After a quick change into swim trunks and a briefing with the instructor, we’re ready to drop in. We opt out of the belly-down boogie boarding trial period, which for newbies can last for half of the session, and jump straight into stand-up shredding. We are met with the consequences of our own hubris immediately.
Although we come into this exercise with some experience in board sports of surf, skate, and snow variety, we are surprised by how challenging the wave is at first. That is all for the better, or else this would feel like the kiddie wave at the water park. However, after a couple attempts and some major loosening up, we are able to make decent carves and stay on our own two feet for a beautiful fleeting moment.
After tumbling down the falls a few times, stoking each other up, and a helping of hooting and hollering, we wash off the chlorine and step out into a sunny day with renewed vigor.
SATURDAY, 12:00PM: Le Cuistot Tibétain
Although the jet-propelled water of the artificial wave was warm, we stepped out into the cold and brisk light of day. We are in need of some comfort food, and we are going to step out of the stereotypical French fare. Onward to my personal favorite spot in the neighborhood: Le Cuistot Tibétain.
There is a nugget of backpacker wisdom that I heard many times while travelling in Thailand years ago: the quality of a restaurant's food has an inverse relationship with the amount of decorations in the joint. If there are neon signs, wall-spanning murals, and dynamic lights, then the food will be mediocre at best. If the establishment is mostly bare, with maybe a dusty calendar and a thumbtacked tourism poster, then you are in for the meal of your life. If Le Cuistot is any indicator, then the rule extends to Tibetan cuisine as well.
While the interior design is more thought out than a roadside stall in Bangkok, it is sparse. The customer is here to focus on the steaming bowls of goodness emanating from the table. Today’s menu consists of a refreshing cucumber salad, a giant skillet of momos (Tibetan steamed dumplings) and a sauteed noodle dish with what for my money is the best fried chicken in the city. The warm glow of the steamed-up windows are like a beacon of comfort in the frigid urban landscape.
SATURDAY, 3:00PM: Marché du Livre
Our limbs loose from this morning's workout, and our bellies full once again, we strike out into the depths of the arrondissement to reach a rather chill destination: Le Marché du Livre Ancien.
There is no shortage of vintage and antique brochants in this city, but most seem to be populated with broken wristwatches, dusty coats, and paintings that one might describe as motel art. While it is a crummy day weather-wise and the crowds have thus not yet poured in, we browse the endless kiosks on the hunt for discount novels, records, and art books.
It is here that I meet Damian, a middle-aged bookseller from Provence. His table is split up between large, flat coffee table books on art and architecture to his left, and another table of pocket-sized novels to his right.
On the right-hand table I spot a favorite of mine, Pedro Paramo by Juan Rulfo, in French translation. Arguably the most impactful Mexican novella of the 20th century.
As I fish out my 5-spot to hand to Damian, we chat about our mutual backgrounds in teaching: he taught English and French in his native Provence and abroad in Albania (which he insists I must go to before the crowds ruin that coastline too); the merits of American westerns; and our favorite postmodernists (his is Faulkner). I walk away with just one book, but a dozen more recommendations to hunt down elsewhere.
SUNDAY, 1:00PM: Voie 15
The latter events of Saturday evening were long and memorable, but unfortunately they took place outside the boundaries of my beloved 15è and they will therefore be omitted from this very important chronicle. The wake up time this morning was a sluggish 11:00am(ish) and it is even longer until I am finally out the door.
Multiple school and work deadlines hang over my head and, as Duolingo has instructed me to say, “J’ai une faim de loup.” We kill these two 'Sunday Scary' birds with one stone, on one railroad track.
This afternoon’s destination is Voie 15–a café and coworking spot fashioned out of an old railway station on what is now known as “La Petite Ceinture,” a testament to urban reclamation. The order of the day is one “Muffin Anglais,” one café glacé, and one 3,000-word Peacock Plume article (woah, we’re getting meta here).
Maybe it's due to the locale or being on the outskirts of town, but the ambiance is a merciful calm that is rare to find on the weekends at a brunch joint. The keyboard worker-bees are typing away in the indoor dining room; the more chatty crowd is lightly sprinkled around the outdoor terrace; and not a word of English nor a blaring of Top 40 radio hits can be heard. If you are in desperate need to lock in, then welcome to heaven.
SUNDAY, 4:00PM: La Petite Ceinture
Schoolwork: completed; Outlook inbox: read; stomach: full… Not bad for a late start. Let’s reward ourselves with a stroll through the arrondissement’s best green spaces, starting with the aforementioned La Petite Ceinture.
You may have seen this city-wide decaying railroad track featured on a number of urban explorer videos shared throughout social media. This stretch of the railway is very much open to the public, as in evidence from the plethora of joggers and dogwalkers. Along the way, we are treated to sunshine, fresh air, and some of the outer-arrondissement’s quirkier facades.
After 20 minutes or so, the pathway ends and we descend to the Balard pocket of the 15è. Checking the map, two parks are within spitting distance so the Sunday stroll continues.
SUNDAY, 5:30PM: Parc André-Citroën
Our tree-lined urban hike tracing the borders of the arrondissement brings us to perhaps the area’s best known green space: Parc André-Citroën.
The park is named after the inventor and business owner whose car brand, Citroën, is ubiquitous in Europe to this day. Today is an especially fitting day to visit his namesake park as well–there is a convention of Citroën DS cars gathering in the paved convention space at the end of the area’s sprawling lawn, celebrating the model’s 70th anniversary.
While admiring one pristine off-white number, an elderly woman approaches us. She tells us her personal history with the Citroën DS, and why she has come today to bask in nostalgia and engineering appreciation.
This particular model holds a warm place in her heart and memory because it was the one she learned to drive in–an endeavor she had never considered on her own. Brought on by the encouragement of her mother, and a debilitating scoliosis condition that confined her to her bedroom most days, she acquired a newfound freedom behind the wheel and saw sights around the continent that she would never have seen on two feet.
After she recounts her story, we all look on quietly as the crowd putters and mumbles, the foliage falls gently, and the light autumn breeze blows.
MONDAY, 9:00AM: Debriefing
So, after this exercise in playing devil’s advocate for my beloved neighborhood, it’s time to reach a verdict. Is the 15è criminally underrated? Is it actually a hidden gem? Is it the next big thing that the Le Marais crowd doesn’t see coming?
No, not really–but who cares, I had fun. The 15è is a local’s area: people don’t often venture in, but they also don’t often venture out as much as the residents of other arrondissements. As a result, a thriving and familiar scene of food, drink, and activity has been sustained off of those that know and love this area of the city.
As Voltaire (kinda) once said: “don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.” TikTok algorithms push upon us a never-ending stream of suggestions on what is the best or coolest cocktail bar/museum exhibit/”authentic” Parisian experience. It’s never-ending, it’s a losing game, and you will never catch up. But there is solace and freedom in accepting that.
My plea to you is to not give in to the onslaught. Do your own thing. Find your own locals. Discover what’s in your own back yard. There is more that exists in the street than what you see on social media or a Lonely Planet guidebook.
