Paris is my hot hot…

Posted by Isabel Dexter at 11:17 on 10 Jun 2010

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One of the most fascinating and also difficult things about being an étrangère (stranger) in another country is the isolation. Inevitably you spend more time alone, especially at the beginning. This time fourteen months ago I'd spend days wandering around the little rues in Saint Ambroise, trying to piece together enough euros to buy some pain au chocolat (cue violins here please, this ain't no Disney story) and looking at the French, who are hardly ever alone. Now I feel more popular in this city than I ever did in my life but at the time I didn't really realise how fleeting that initial isolation would be. As they say, with hindsight everything is 20/20.

The French obsession with not being alone is summed up for me in that phrase 'toute seule'. All alone. Not just alone. All alone. And I thought Celine Dion was Canadian.  Once I was invited to a party with strict instructions that this was a select gathering and that certain friends in our group had not been invited. "T'es toute seule?" said my hostess with a pitying look when I showed up, accompanied by that ever constant buddy, Malibu. Quoi? (what?) or to be more English about it WTF?

Like a cat though, I actually sort of love being alone. And no where more so than in a nice hotel. My Mum always said my dream idea of living in a hotel would be impersonal and isolating and yet we all feel like that anyway sometimes, so why not embrace it, especially when you have a view of the Opera? So when I was invited to the Intercontinental I happily tripped along toute seule to languish in the gorgeous enormous beds (well just mine of course - it's always better to sleep with someone you actually love), try out the only spa in the centre of Paris to offer Thalassotherapy treatments  (10 out of 10, and a Parisian is notoriously hard to please) and sample the fashion pastries, created specially for the Intercontinental by the likes of Agnes B, Paco Rabanne and Elie Saab.

This was just before Christmas and the Intercontinental was strewn with fairytale-esque Christmas trees that were the work of the very talented students of the l'école supérieure des arts appliqués Duperré. The sculptures were incredible, my favourite included a tree made entirely out of books, which had a definite Alice in Wonderland vibe. Paris always has a magical quality, but the opulent Intercontinental, full of fantasy Christmas trees and first built in 1862 looked like it had it's very own Fairy Godmother.

The hotel is also home to the famous Cafe de la Paix, which I'd loitered in before as it has the best hot chocolate and oyster bar in Paris. (Now, now any French people reading this, I'm English, I like to mix it up). It's perfect for people watching, which bizarrely enough is one of the only things it is acceptable to do here alone. Or preferably with a small dog. Later we (the group, not me and the dog) snuck onto the roof where you can see L'Opera all lit up and the sparkling Eiffel tower in the distance. I know it sounds cheesy but it was such an I Heart Paris moment that it made up for all the dirty looks and the sometime surliness of the Parisians. People, I was beaming. Forget music, Paris is my boyfriend.

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