I leave Scotland by train: Dunblane to Edinburgh, then Edinburgh to Kings Cross, London, where the world switches directions, it seems, and then walk across the side street
On the train rides, I meet people easy to remember...a woman on her way to a college reunion who points out the landscape to me as we ride from Edinburgh to London; we get on so well, I give her my card and tell her to come visit me.
On the way to Paris, I am seated with a Brit who lives in Paris and turns old buildings into new appartements. I know this because for the first part of the trip, he spends a lot of time on the phone, speaking the kind of French that long-time British Paris residents know; therefore, I learn a lot of new words for building and renovation while he talks. Then, when we converse, he tells me he thinks I should move to Paris...he has just the place in mind. Right. But genial, he is good company for the last hour of the trip. Across the aisle is a whole family of Parisian Chinese who smile at me a lot, and wonder about what, how and with what yarn I am knitting. I knit a lot on the trains and planes and in parks.
When we arrive at the Gare du Nord, it's late (see photo at top), and the taxi line long. But as the taxi pulls up to the hotel, which I don't at first recognize, it's so tucked away in the quiet Rue Chomel, the lights are on and a young man inside is ready to meet me.
It sounds like hype, but in their hands, the Signature Hotel Ste. Germaine is genuinely homelike. Downstairs, I ask about a restaurant or cafe still open...I'm hungry, having had only a complimentary but surprisingly tart rose' which I don't bother to finish on the Eurostar.
Wine, too, of course, just right. From my seat, I can see the whole room...not large, but amiably holding about ten tables. Among the other patrons are two American women who live in Paris (I can hear their conversation), two or three French couples, one young, two middle-aged, and a party of six friends or colleagues enjoying themselves at the last table in the back. I take my time enjoying the food, the wine, the scene before me, and as the restaurant slowly empties, I leave, too, promising to be back. A neighborhood family restaurant is what seems right for this laid-back trip.
I slept that night as if I were at Will's and Dorothy's, sound and long. In the morning, downstairs in the cheerful front room, there is a woman with a bright smile and easy conversation to greet me...Manuela.
We exchange bon jours. She asks what my day will be like, and I tell her that I am waiting here for a friend this morning. Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait? she asks. Non, merci...my new friend and I are going out for coffee before our brocante adventure this morning. But I have to ask her about the hot water in the room shower...I haven't figured out how to turn the spigot to hot. Oh, she says and immediately picks up the phone to ask the maid to check it. We want everything to be perfect, she tells me. Come, we'll try it out.
And up we go to my sixth floor abode to learn how the hot water works. It turns out it's quite simple, but she doesn't bat an eye at my silly mistake, and neither does the femme de chambre, happy to educate and ask if there is anything else I need to make my stay comfortable. Mais non! I tell them. It's lovely.
Manuela is one of the staff...no! that's not the right word...other hotels have staff...this one has people who are helpful, warm, funny, friendly...not in a practiced, distant way, but sincere. They become instantly the virtual compass point of my Paris stay. Over time I learn about their lives, too, and they mine.
But let's begin with the lobby, warm bright colors to greet you at any time of day. Mirrors on the back and side wall reflect light and the facade of the balconied French buildings across the way.
Chairs are living-room comfortable, and the two yellow cases near them hold books to borrow and read, books to travel by, books to get one into Paris life. I choose one nearly every day to read at night or in the morning, though I am more often likely to take it out with me to read in a park (when I am not knitting or chatting).
In the lobby, guests come and go, never without a greeting, or advice...sometimes life lessons, too. Coming down one morning, I catch Manuela sitting in a cosy clutch of chairs with a couple of Americans who, though in late middle age, are clearly not travelers. She is telling them in perfect English that Paris is a big city, like others in the world, lots of things to do and see, to take time taking it all in. Also, they need to be careful to keep their belongings safe. "Leave your treasures in the hotel," she says, with the kindest and least patronizing voice I have ever heard a professional hotelier use...it's as if she is a friend imparting her own earned wisdom. "And ask us anything! We are happy to help."
I smile a little at her as I pass, and she turns to say, "Bonjour, Rachele! Comment ca va?" I'm off to a museum (maybe the Rodin...can't remember now), I say, and she wishes me well. Then she is back to her new guests, who are looking very much as if their children had given them this new adventure as a gift, one they are still bemused by. But they are listening to her and nodding, a little less anxious after our exchange.
Even by the small-room standards of Paris homes, rooms have the illusion of space. No tripping, no maneuvering. There is a desk and two chairs, two bedside tables, everything one would need and yet uncrowded.
A bed with a mattress and linens to fall into dreamland each night, a large double window looking out over the nearby rooftops and apartments next to us. The closet had room to keep a wardrobe for a year, neatly compartmentalized, and still included a small refrigerator and a safe, which I didn't use.
The attached bathroom was one you wish you had thought to install at home, well-appointed and elegant. Its only flaw for me and my poor balance is a tub instead of a shower stall, but the shower it comes with is exactly right and I climbed in carefully. Even the nice toiletries, exchanged each day for new, whether you used them or not (I travel with my own), are collected and given to a shelter. (When I learned that, I donated some of mine, including masks and wipes. More homelike...)
About a week into my visit, I am continually amazed by the way things run without appearing to run. So I ask if I can interview Delphine and her mother. I'm by now curious about that spirit they manage in their hotels. The hotel where I am is one of three each run by family members. We find her mother Isabelle at the second hotel down the street, which Delphine helps with (she must work 18 hours a day all week); the third they own is near the Eiffel Tower, also her mother's. I am intrigued by their sense of hospitality, clearly many years in the learning and doing, one generation after another. But those who work with them, like Manuela, are also clear about what hosting guests (rather than the industrial mislabel, hospitality) means. You can see each of the people who work there in any capacity on their website...it's one of the things that charmed me into making a reservation.
Delphine and her mother are so easy to talk to, even with my awkward French. Their ventures began with their grandfather, who long ago owned a boulangerie in Montmartre, but found out he was allergic to the dust from flour! Eventually he bought a hotel and then his daughter (Isabelle) and her busband bought another in addition, and then another, which in time their daughter Delphine took over. Delphine had been in the jewelry business, quite high-end, which took her to England for a while, but she came home, bought this building from her parents, and transformed it utterly; she clearly has an eye for good design and good designers who know not institutional but real comfort.
Another thing: booking is kept to themselves...I think I told you in an earlier blog how I'd found this one by accident. They prefer that because so many people return over and over. Both women were clear to say that the most important reason they work so hard is because of the people from all over the world who find them...they are their pleasure...they become friends. I, too, am lucky to have found them, so that on my next trip to Paris, I can "go home" again.
Such a comfortable and comforting way to travel!
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