A Perfect Pairing: Paris, Cheese, and 48 Hours With My Best Friend

By Lauren Regan.

Last December, my best friend Amy and I found ourselves people-watching from the window of The French Quarter in Newcastle city centre. After tiring of watching various slightly tiddly Christmas partygoers trip over the curb outside, talk turned to how, at the grand age of 37, Amy had never properly visited Paris, aside from a fleeting work trip a few years earlier.

Fast forward two months, and I was waiting for her at the terminal, ready to board our 90-minute flight to Charles de Gaulle International, with no plans other than to snaffle as many tasty treats as physically possible over the next 48 hours, perhaps with a glass or two of French wine thrown in for good measure.

"It's so easy to get the train right into the city centre," I said smugly as we headed down to the platform - only to be greeted by a looming sign that, in English, we guessed loosely translated to: "Nice try, losers - that would be too easy." The Duolingo owl hadn't taught me the phrase for "where are the trains" (though I could confidently ask "whose whale is this?"), but Amy's excellent memory of A-level French helped us figure out that a World War II bomb had been found near the line at Gare du Nord, cancelling all trains in and out of Paris while it was dealt with.

"It's been there 80 years," I thought, "Why did they have to find it this weekend?"

There was nothing to do but join the ever-growing taxi queue and head into the city with another stranded traveller from our flight who was heading in the same direction.

The sun was shining, and as we wound our way through the streets of Paris, we stared longingly out the window at people sipping Aperol Spritz at pavement cafés. Our hotel was a stone's throw from the Eiffel Tower, a lovely little boutique place tucked down a pedestrian side street and flanked by bakeries, boulangeries, and brasseries. We dropped our bags, changed our travel clothes, and headed out to explore the area, get our bearings, and find some food.

It was about 4 pm, and the sun was still shining, so we stopped at a bistro for a holiday cocktail and "a little cheese board to share before we have dinner later." It's no exaggeration to say the amount of cheese that arrived was truly shocking. Wedges and wheels filled a butcher's block, with mounds of bread and crackers spilling onto the table. Though we'd assumed it might feed us for the whole weekend, the journey had clearly taken it out of us. Reader, we demolished the lot.

Delirious from all the cheese and maybe a little tipsy from the Aperol, we strolled around the corner to see the Eiffel Tower twinkling in all her glory. We paused to watch women strip off big coats to reveal beautiful dresses underneath, dressed perfectly to capture the perfect Parisian photo. A couple of streets later, we found ourselves on the banks of the Seine.

Earlier, we'd spotted a cosy-looking wine bar not far from our hotel. As the night cooled, we turned back in that direction, the twinkling lights of the tower guiding our way. I wish I could remember the name of that wine bar; I fear it might be one of those magical places you're never quite sure really existed. The food looked (and smelled) incredible, but we were still far too full of cheese to indulge. Instead, we peacefully shared a bottle of Sancerre and chatted for hours.

At one point, the waiter asked where we were from. "Northern England," we said. When we clarified that it was specifically Newcastle, his eyes lit up. "Stay there," he said, darting off to fetch a colleague, to whom he gleefully announced, "These girls are from where they filmed Goal!"

Having a younger brother, Amy was more familiar than I was with the 2005 British sports film that follows the fortunes of Santiago Muñez, a talented Mexican immigrant scouted in Los Angeles and given a shot at Newcastle United. Of all the things I expected to be asked about in a Parisian wine bar, that was not one of them.

Feeling warm and a little giggly after our wine, we headed to the bar next door to our hotel for a nightcap - an Old Fashioned for me and an espresso martini for Amy - then shared a couple of desserts before heading to bed, delighting in not setting an alarm.

The next day was our only full day in Paris. We grabbed coffee and pastries to go and headed to the Batobus - a hop-on, hop-off boat service that lets you see the city from the water. A one-day pass is only €23 (€13 for children), and it stops at all the major landmarks along the Seine, offering great views from its wraparound glass windows.

We got off at the Musée d'Orsay (after seeing the Louvre described as a "physical ordeal") and spent a wonderful few hours taking in the exhibits. The walls of the former Gare d'Orsay are packed with works by Monet, Degas, and Caillebotte, and my favourite is Van Gogh's Starry Night. We could have spent hours more wandering, but after one last look at the dancers high-kicking from their frames in the Toulouse-Lautrec gallery, we headed back out into the sunshine in search of lunch.

We hopped back on the Batobus and floated down to Notre Dame, then took a slow amble along the west bank to Île Saint-Louis. There, we embraced the Parisian café culture dream - enjoying cold drinks and frites while people-watching in the sunshine.

After a lazy afternoon, we returned to the hotel to change into our 'out-out' outfits. We hopped in an Uber to Montmartre, snapped a picture outside the Moulin Rouge, then climbed the hill to take in the view from the bustling steps of the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur as the sun set over the city. There are a lot of steps, and those feeling less active or less inclined to lie to their best friend about the length of the walk might want to opt for the Montmartre Funicular, which takes you right to the top.

It was our final night in Paris, so we treated ourselves to a nice dinner. After stepping out of a few places that didn't satisfy our French onion soup cravings, we settled on a charming family-run restaurant in the heart of Montmartre. We sat outside late into the night - eating, laughing, sipping good wine, and soaking in what felt like the first days of summer with one of my favourite people on the planet.

"I could live here," I thought.

If only that DuoLingo owl had taught me anything actually useful.

MOLE works with businesses in the UK and Canada to find their voice, tell their stories, and shape their future. To speak to Lauren about your organisation's ambitions, reach out on [email protected]