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Emily in Paris Recap: Season 1, Episode 1

Published by Diana

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Welcome to our first Emily in Paris recap: Season 1, Episode 1. Oh là là.

I remember how stressed I was when the show first debuted, in 2020. It was like watching your infinitely more glamorous and better dressed neighbor go on the same vacation as you — only their clothes were better, their hotel was nicer, the beaches that they went to had better sand and prettier views. It was your experience, only better, in every possible way. Mon dieu, I say. Mon dieu.

Moving to Paris feels like a unique experience, but it is not. In fact, the silver lining is that it is infinitely variable, and depending on your experience, talent, ambition, and worldview, it is infinitely possible to make new, vital, and canonical work about it, like Ernest Hemingway, James Baldwin, Josephine Baker, and a million more. (Two of my favorites include dyed-in-the-wool Midwesterners: Iowa painter Grant Wood, most famous for “American Gothic,” who painted in France on four separate trips to Europe between 1920 and 1928, and Nebraska-born Alexander Payne, whose contribution to the Paris je t’aime anthology film is a wonderful short starring Margo Martindale, and I think one of the best-ever meditations on Paris syndrome.) All of these stories can live peaceably alongside each other — but here was Emily, and Netflix, with the definitive story of an American woman coming to Paris, in search of love, connection, and a promotion to senior brand manager as soon as she returns to Chicago. I watched it with trepidation, and I didn’t enjoy it much.

Good lord but a lot has changed since 2020, and I decided to rewatch the show, and write about it here. I’m less uptight about my experience in Paris, now that I’m further dividing my time between there, New Jersey (where I’m from), and Iowa (where I’ve been in grad school the past two years). So far, I’m liking it much more.

We begin with Chicago, where we know Emily is young and ambitious because she runs increasingly quickly beneath the Chicago skyline, wears Kenzo to the office, and has a glamorous boss with a masters degree in French who is capable of procreating in her early 50s. World, meet Emily. Emily, le monde.

Tragically, Emily is also provincial, which we understand because her Cubs-loving boyfriend orders her a beer. (“White wine,” Emily says, correcting him. “Anything French.”) Can we stop for a moment to say how Chicago, an amazing and world-class city that has functioned as the birthplace of multiple artforms, including house music, Chicago blues, and many more, should not be used as a synonym for an unsophisticated, un-Paris American city? As Jessica M. Goldstein wrote in Vulture: “I guess they figured she wouldn’t be quite so starry-eyed about Paris if she were from New York or L.A.?” Chicago is great, and Chicagoans fucking love their city, so I’m calling BS on this. BS! (I literally cannot imagine just showing up in Paris and being handed the keys to an apartment. Finding my current place was the hardest thing I’ve done there.)

Anyway, we know Emily and her American boyfriend are going to break up because he loves the Cubs, and beer, and sports bars. She shows up in Paris for the requisite tour de taxi, passing sights including the Arc de Triomphe and the Palais Garnier — exiting at the Place de l’Estrapade/rue des Fossés St Jacques, in the fifth. This is an extremely lovely part of Paris and well done on Emily for inheriting her boss’s chambre de bonne here. By the way, her apartment looks much bigger than a chambre de bonne, and assuming she got the same apartment Madeline was supposed to have, I am again calling BS: According to Glassdoor (IDK why I am investigating this to this degree but OK), a senior marketing manager (like Madeline) in Chicago (like Madeline) could expect an annual salary of up to $190,000 a year, and according to the rent calculator on apartmentlist.com, 30% of that salary for rent would be about €4500. €4500 a month in Paris can get you a f-ing lot of apartment in Paris, and much more than a chambre de bonne, which are typically very, very small — like under 10 mètres carrés small. (Closet-small. Well, very big closet.) Emily’s rental agent immediately asks her on a date. Fair.

Also, this is Emily’s face when she’s told that she’s only on the fourth floor, not the fifth, which I am again calling BS on because the whole “the first floor is the ground floor, the second floor is the first floor, etc” is such common newcomer-to-Paris knowledge that I absolutely do not believe Emily doesn’t know this. It’s on the cover of every Lonely Planet guide ever written about any region of France/Europe. But of course, if she doesn’t make this mistake, she won’t accidentally knock on the door of her downstairs neighbor a few nights later:

Most of Emily’s drama, however, occurs not within her apartment building (we’ll get back to that in a second) but at her office, which, for the record, opens at 10:30 a.m., not 8:30. (Another mistake I do not believe our hyper-prepared Emily would have made. She is both simultaneously smarter and dumber than the we want or need her to be.) The show wants to have it both ways: to poke fun at her ignorance, and to revel in her command of her chosen field. But people tend to be “do one thing the way you do all things,” you know? It’s perfectly excusable that Emily, who did not anticipate moving to France for her job, would show up not speaking French. It is less understandable that this hyper-American American wouldn’t quickly get up to speed on some of the basics of French life.

That said, I will co-sign Emily’s hot neighbors. There are like ten apartments in my building, and everyone, at a huge variety of age ranges, could qualify as hugely attractive. But then, that is France! Everyone can be hot, in their own weird way. It’s one of the best things about the place.

Back to the office: We meet Sylvie (Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu), Julien (Samuel Arnold), Luc (Bruno Gouery), and the owner of the firm, Paul Brussard (Arnaud Viard). Emily’s employment, we discover, was the condition of the sale of the agency to the American mothership, and now she will have the opportunity to teach all these Frenchies how to use Instagram. It makes sense!

Obviously Sylvie becomes a big part of Emily’s story, and I did very much like Emily’s introduction to Paul, which included his breakdown of Chicago’s deep-dish pizza (“like a quiche made of cement”), the American pharmaceutical industry (“So you create the disease, then you treat the disease, then you market the treatment” — yes!) and a very prescient mention from Emily of a diabetes drug that causes weight loss and grew Merck’s profits by 63%. (V. specific.) “Perhaps you have something to learn from us,” Paul concludes, “but I’m not sure if we have much to learn from you.” I bet there might be some cross-cultural, two-direction learning on the horizon!

Anyway, Emily’s coworkers are mean, and no one wants to get lunch with her. Their reaction to this smiling, cheerful, outdoor-voice-at-indoor-meeting pixie is summed up in Julien’s expression, one I know well:

It is the look of a Parisian disappointed in, and confounded by, American cheerfulness.

Emily attempts to convene a meeting of the firm, only to see the woman in charge of its social media flee (in terror, disapproval) when Emily leads it in English: “I did Rosetta Stone on the plane, but it hasn’t kicked in yet.” (That is very funny.) It’s all very Mean Girls, or Méchantes Ados, as it was known in Québec. The only holdout in the be-mean-to-Emily brigade is Luc, with his funny hair, who scooters by her as she sits, despondently, outside a café on the ile Saint-Louis, joining her briefly for a vape and a cultural briefing. “Your ideas,” he says. “They are more new. Maybe they are better. [But] I think the Americans have the wrong balance: You live to work, we work to live.”

“I enjoy work! And accomplishment. It makes me happy,” Emily says.

“Work makes you happy?” Luc says. “Maybe you don’t know what it is to be happy.”

Well, fair enough. Room for growth on all sides.

Speaking of accomplishment, Emily ends the episode by shorting out the electricity in her apartment building by plugging her vibrator into a wall outlet fitted with an adapter. I did the same thing, though with a decidedly less exciting immersion blender. C’est la vie, if you will.

Emily in Paris recap, Season 1, Episode 1 Recap:

Overall grade: B+
Best line: The dig on Chicago deep-dish (though justice for Chicago deep dish! We can’t all be a quiche)
Second best line: IDK, I just thought it was funny when she said the entire city looked like Ratatouille. (See at top.)
Most believable cultural note: The French staff going through multiple bottles of wine at lunchtime
Least believable cultural note: That a Chicago boyfriend wouldn’t know his girlfriend wanted a glass of wine rather than a beer. Justice for Chicago boyfriends!

Flodesk Review: My Take as a Flodesk User

Published by Diana

My Flodesk review is I love it: It makes building beautiful newsletters easy. Here’s more.

Hello! I’m the author of the Faraway Places newsletter, and I urge you to subscribe, if you like reading newsletters about France and travel. Regardless, whatever your interests are, I am writing this to recommend Flodesk. Use my affiliate code and sign up here.

I’ve used basically every newsletter platform out there: Mailchimp, Tinyletter, ConvertKit, custom-designed systems for large editorial outlets. I haven’t used Substack, but I have an argument against it, which I’ll get to, below. Here’s a primer on what for me were the most important things to know.

What is Flodesk?

Flodesk is a platform for sending email newsletters to your email list. It’s made to be easy to use. I think of it as an email sender for people who are artists, writers, florists, designers, whatever — basically, everyone but marketers. Marketers, I’m sure, would be happier with more “robust” programs like ConvertKit, Mailchimp, AWeber, etc, offering more intense segmentation, retargeting, and stuff like that — but if you’re at the place in your entrepreneurship or creative journey where you want an easy, beautiful way to send email newsletters, I honestly don’t think Flodesk can be beat.

I think Flodesk sits at a really interesting spot on the spectrum of newsletter senders: right between the more marketing-centric offerings like Mailchimp and the more community-based options like Substack. I’ve used them all and they’re all great — it’s just a question of what makes the most sense for you.

How much is Flodesk?

It’s $38 a month — a little cheaper if you pay annually (it works out to $35 a month) and substantially more if you add some ecommerce features, including an integrated checkout ($64 a month).

Flodesk vs Mailchimp

I started out on Mailchimp, and I would likely have stayed with them, but they introduced tiered pricing. I have just under 10,000 subscribers — which is $135 a month on Mailchimp! Yes, there’s more functionality, but I don’t need it. I just want a way to send out a text-based email every week or so to my subscribers. $135 was not going to work for me. (And by the way, that number continues to climb as your list grows — 100,000 subscribers is $800 per month. At Flodesk, it’s still just $38.)

Mailchimp has better customer service than Flodesk — officially with Flodesk, you can get help by email, but practically, the fastest assistance comes via their official Facebook group. Mailchimp, by contrast, has 24/7 support by email and chat support, and if you’re on a premium plan, help by phone as well. Flodesk only recently debuted analytics, and they’re much less fine-grained than Mailchimp’s. Finally, if you have a very small list, the pricing can be quite competitive — if you have 500 contacts and send under 6,000 emails per month (that’s 12 sends to your whole list), it’s only $20 a month. Plus, there are lots of features a growing business might want down the road, including advanced segmentation and behavior targeting.

If you’re building a brand, I think Flodesk is the better choice. If you’re building a business, I think Mailchimp makes sense.

Flodesk vs Substack

As a writer, Substack could make a lot of sense for me. It’s built its reputation as a home for writers and thinkers, and it’s made to accommodate subscription tiers (free and paid). For me, though, I just didn’t want to buy into a platform with its own vibe — does that make sense? People say they have “a Substack,” not a newsletter. I personally wanted to get as far away from this as possible — when you buy into a platform with its own reputation, that reputation commingles with your own. Just consider the recent controversy (“Substack Says It Will Not Ban Nazis or Extremist Speech“). I want nothing to do with this. I work hard on my newsletter and refuse to let it become tainted by someone else’s bad morals, bad taste, or bad decisions.

I do feel a little #girlboss-y (not in a good way) having a “newsletter” rather than a Substack, which I think is the “cool” option, especially for writers and artists. And I miss the opportunity to have a sense of community around my newsletter, which you’ll see on the best Substacks.

Substack is free for readers and writers — unless you’re selling subscriptions, in which case it charges fees that add up to about 13% of your price. I think this is the biggest difference between Flodesk and Substack: the monetization. Substack is primarily subscription-based (as in subscriptions to the newsletter itself), while on Flodesk, if you’re selling anything, you’re selling something other than the newsletter. Personally, I’m more of a product maker than a subscription seller — I like buying and selling things (did you want to buy some postcards??) versus subscriptions to my musings. Probably this is something I should work out with my therapist — but I like the idea that if people want to support my work monetarily, they get something material in return. I’d rather sell tote bags than subscriptions — which isn’t a value judgment, I just think making tote bags is fun. But if you’re the sort of writer (and I say “writer” because that’s Substack’s vibe) who’s turned off by this late-stage capitalistic tote bag selling, then Substack’s the place for you.

For all these reasons, I’m happiest on Flodesk. But there’s a program here for everybody.

plane flying above earth with glow of sunset on engines

15 Things a Travel Writer Takes on Every Flight

Published by Diana

I think a lot about how to pack a carry-on — and indeed, how to dress — on the plane: Planning well can be the difference between a mini-retreat, with entertainment and snacks, and a freezing-cold brain prison. Below, you’ll find everything I bring to keep it more in the former vibe than the latter.

I will add here that of course you want all your essentials in your carry-on, rather than any checked bags: medication, wallet, etc. etc. One thing I often pack by accident into my checked bag is charging equipment: cords and battery packs and wall chargers. Of everything here, the thing I forget most often is cables: a USB cord to charge my phone, a full laptop charger, and a cable to connect my headphones to the plane’s entertainment system.

A quick note about budgeting, as several of the items below are expensive. As a freelance travel writer, my income varies hugely from year to year: It stabilizes when I take a staff job, and then occasionally craters when I’m freelancing, including some years when my income fell under the poverty line. (Freelancing is not for the faint of heart.) While I’m fully employed, I try to buy quality gear that will last through the rough periods — during my last staff job, I bought the Away bag and both pairs of headphones below, and I’m hoping I’ll have them for years. I’ve had the same Gregory backpack since 2012, I only replace my phones when they’re lost or destroyed, etc. And I’ll add that I’m happy to travel with well-used gear — it’s less of a target for thieves.

Affiliate links below.

Gear

1. A 30-Liter Gregory Backpack

I much prefer to travel with a backpack versus a suitcase. You have total mobility, whenever you want it: Stairs? Elevators? Who cares!

The size is important. I wanted a 30-liter pack — I just looked and that size is rated for 1-3 day(!) trips. (I routinely use mine for month-plus-long stays.) The fastest way to make a trip miserable is to overpack, and it’s virtually impossible when your bag is this small. Another huge bonus is that it can fit under an airplane seat, which means you’ll never have to check a bag — or, even better, worry about overhead space.

The model I have — an older version of the Gregory Z-30 — is no longer available, so I’m suggesting the next size up: the 45-liter Facet. Gregory has other 30-liter bags, but now they’re structured more like daypacks — I like having more side pockets, and lighter materials, of this slightly larger size.

BUY IT HERE: Gregory

2. For Nice Trips, An Away Carry-On

Sometimes, when I’m not traveling solo (or I’m writing about a hotel where it will matter if I show up looking like a ragamuffin), I’ll bring this nice Away carry-on. It’s fine. I suggest waiting for one of their limited-edition colorways — I loved their no-longer-available Aura collection.

BUY IT HERE: AWAY

3. In an Era of $5 Diet Cokes

Empty on the way through security, then filled with water before the flight. Obviously there are a thousand different models and color combos, but I love this “Hawks in Flight” version from Bird Collective.

BUY IT HERE: BIRD COLLECTIVE

Electronics

4. A Google Pixel

I’ve weirdly been in the Android phone world since I gave up my iPhone 3 for a gifted Samsung Galaxy a million years ago. I’ve loved my Pixel, though recently I’ve felt like I’m seeing nicer photos on my sister’s iPhone. But I’m one of those people who won’t give up their phone until it’s lost or destroyed, so I’ll be getting by with my Pixel 7 for a while.

The best thing about Pixels is that they’re made for Google Fi service (note you can use an iPhone, or any other phone, on Fi as well). Its international service can’t be beat: “unlimited” international data — though they’ll throttle you at a certain point, and it’s a violation of the terms of service to use it only overseas (a dilemma if you’re traveling with it as a digital nomad), though I don’t know how much this is enforced. Calls to the U.S. from overseas vary by country; from France, they’re 10 cents a minute, though it’s pretty rare I pay that since wifi calling is free, and texting both ways is free.

BUY IT HERE: TARGET

5. Macbook Air

I cannot believe anyone here is going to base their laptop choice on my rec, but I will say that after my Macbook Pro was stolen (out of my apartment, by a thief who came in through an open fifth-floor window), I downgraded to a new Air and didn’t notice a difference, even though I’m doing moderately heavy lifting (video editing, etc.) Go, Air! Don’t forget about educational discounts if you qualify, and refurbished models if you’re looking to save.

BUY IT HERE: AMAZON

6. Bose 700 Noise Cancelling Headphones

There’s no better way to reduce airplane noise (which is considerable!) and isolate during a long flight than with these headphones. After too many hours using a sander with no ear protection (don’t get me started), I can barely hear my phone or laptop on a plane without jacking up the volume. These headphones mean I can tune everything out for up to about 18(!) hours.

I’m obsessed with these Bose headphones and once rescheduled to a later flight when I realized I’d left them at home. I have an older version of these, the 700s. These have 11 levels of noise cancellation and free two-day shipping from Bose. One thing I’ll say is that after two years I’m noticing some wear in the “protein leather” (a pleather, but very soft) covers, which has me slightly concerned. I do use them constantly — not just for flights but at the gym, on walks with the dog, etc.

BUY IT HERE: BOSE

7. Google Pixel Buds Pro

I feel like a princess when I do this, but I always switch from the Bose headphones to earbuds when we land — it’s too easy to lose all sense of spatial awareness in the larger ones. These, from Google, have great noise cancellation while not limiting my understanding of where I am in space. (Read: I’m less likely to walk into things wearing these.)

BUY IT HERE: AMAZON

8. The Best, Heaviest Coat I Can Afford

I feel like many of these picks somehow involve not being cold. There’s nothing worse than getting somewhere and realizing you don’t have proper protection from the cold, because you’re not going to want to buy an emergency new coat, and it sucks, gutting it out when you have a chill. You don’t want to do anything but stay inside, wrapped in a blanket.

Of course, since you’ll be on the move, you want to optimize for both cold protection and packability/weight. This Fjallraven coat is filled with down and warm enough that I can wear it in the middle of winter in Iowa with just a T-shirt underneath (handy for going to the gym). I have a heavier wool coat from Sandro, but it’s super bulky, and not good for travel. In fact, I’m wearing this Fjallraven right now, on a plane, and I am extremely warm, and I could not be happier.

BUY IT HERE: FJALLRAVEN

Clothing

9. Walkable But Not Too Sporty Sneakers

What I want is something between my Nike Metcons (my choice of gym shoe, I love them) and Vejas, which are very stylish but which I also don’t trust to be comfortable on 10,000-step days. The best answer is colorful and vintage-styled Nike Daybreaks — they’ve been discontinued for the moment, but they’re available everywhere but Nike.com — like the ones shown above, which are on sale at ASOS.

BUY IT HERE: ASOS

10. American Vintage Cashmere Sweater

Just something warm and blanket-like for when the air conditioning is on too high — I have this one from American Vintage.

BUY IT HERE: AMERICAN VINTAGE

11. Topshop Jamie Jeans

They’re not what they used to be, before Topshop was sold to ASOS, but I still love the Jamies, especially for traveling: They’re high-waisted and slim, and the fabric is stretchy enough that it’s comfortable on the plane. I used to prefer leggings but just got tired of looking like a pile of laundry in the airport. Respect if you can pull it off, but I couldn’t.

These go on sale all the time, so just keep an eye out for your preferred color and/or embellishment.

BUY IT HERE: ASOS

Entertainment

When I’m on top of it, I have a very strict regimen for my on-board entertainment. Otherwise, I just stare out the window.

11. Downloaded Comedy Specials

I take a lot of short flights — mostly between Cedar Rapids and Chicago — so I prefer entertainment that I can dip in and out of without ruining something more in-depth. Comedy specials are perfect for this — this year, my favorites included Beth Stelling’s If You Didn’t Want Me Then, Mo’Nique’s My Name Is Mo’Nique, John Mulaney’s Baby J, and Sam Jay’s Salute Me or Shoot Me.

12. Downloaded TV

So comedy is Tier 1. If I have a longer flight, I want something I can dig into, which is where actual television comes in. This year, my favorite shows were: Beef on Netflix (obsessed — Rolling Stone called it “this oddest, darkest of dramedies,” which I co-sign), Barry on Max (weirdly, that same description applies), Succession on Max, and a zillion more. All are downloadable (the Max shows depending on your membership level — it’s only with the no-ads service.)

13. Downloaded Audiobooks

I save this for the longest of flights (and road trips, of which I am a master, having done the 1000-mile trip between New Jersey and Iowa about a dozen times by now). The right audiobook can make the difference between a smooth and successful trip and a slog — and the right audiobook, I’d argue, can make the perfect book even better. I actually did a little post on this a couple years ago and I really did get to some of the best: The Handmaid’s Tale (read by Claire Danes), Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime, and Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, which is read by Nicole Kidman and absolute perfection. To that list, I’d add World War Z: The Complete Edition: An Oral History of the Zombie War, which includes voice actors like Martin Scorsese, Mark Hamill, Alan Alda, and the author, Max Brooks, as well as Gary Chapman’s The Five Love Languages.

14. Actual Books

The best books for long flights are big, epic books with lots of intense world-building. My favorites in this category include: Pachinko, obviously the entire Game of Thrones series, the His Dark Materials trilogy, Outlander, The Stand, and a million more.

Miscellaneous

15. United Club Infinite Card

I have more credit card debt than I should, and I don’t recommend that anyone irresponsible (like me) take out additional credit if they can avoid it — it’s too easy to overspend. That said: I love this credit card. It has a high annual fee ($525), but the perks may very well make up for it. United lounge access is free, as are up to two checked bags. If you’re flying on someone else’s dime, or if you have elite status, that might not be so exciting, but it is for me. Even outside of just “lounge access” (not a necessary thing!), I save so much money eating (for free) in the lounge that it makes up for the cost. Eating in the lounge also means I’m less likely to get by with sugary snacks or fast food — it’s a total win. Here’s a link — it’s the one on the right.

a view of the countryside including a pond and trees

An Interview With Annabel Simms, Author of “An Hour From Paris”

Published by Diana

I’ve been living with Annabel Simms’ books nearly as long as I’ve been living in Paris. She’s the author of several guides to exploring the city from is outer limits and beyond, into the glorious French countryside, rife with forgotten castles, unexpected vistas, appealingly decrepit train stations, and much more.

I’ve had a parasocial relationship with Annabel since I first bought An Hour from Paris, which includes detailed itineraries for 20 day trips outside the city (but easily accessible via a dense and generally well-run public transportation network.) Another book of hers, Half an Hour From Paris, earned a new edition in July and covers destinations including the Parc Saint-Cloud, Malmaison, and the Chateau de Vincennes.

For all these reasons, I was incredibly excited to chat with Annabel over Zoom about her life in Paris — she in her 25 meter square apartment in Paris, me in Iowa City. Anyone dreaming about coming to Paris to start a new life should keep reading to see how she decided to, and succeeded, forge a new life in France, following a midlife crisis.

How did you first come to Paris?
It was September 1991, and I didn’t come for a man, and I didn’t come for a job, which makes me unusual. It’s the first question expats ask each other, in more or less direct ways: Why did you come? If it’s a woman, it’s either a man or a job. And if it’s a man, it tends to be a job, but sometimes it’s a woman. In my case, it was a midlife crisis.

I had just turned 40 — all the zero [birthdays] are significant, and that one was particularly so. I had finally been promoted to this incredibly responsible job, training other trainers — I was training people from the Metropolitan Police [in London], I was training the local nurse tutors from the local hospital, I was training some of my own colleagues. I’d been in the job 18 months, realized that I was now actually on top of it, and I was just dismayed at the thought of the future. The future would be more responsibility — more and more of it. And my heart sank.

I was staying in a crumbling convent in Gabon, near the Congo, with an American. We didn’t like the little town we were in, and so we lurked in the dormitory — a huge dormitory designed for about 30 people, and just the two of us, sitting on our beds, eating sardines out of a tin, and drinking a disgusting concoction that we’d bought in the town, a ready-mixed gin and tonic.

It was the most miserable birthday I’d ever had, and I was 40, and I saw my future in England: Yawn. Dismay. I got back to Libreville, the capital of Gabon, and the good friend I was staying with said, “Well, you get on with the French, nobody else does. Why don’t you go to France? Take a sabbatical?” It took a year and a day to organize, and I arrived for a yearlong, unpaid sabbatical the day after my 41st birthday.

I feel like a lot of people are drawn to start over in France because they dream of a life of exploration and adventure — but if you were in Gabon for your 40th birthday, you must have already been doing that!
I was visiting a friend — an American who was unusual because she’d gone to university in England. She worked for the American diplomatic service, but she’d been sent on this punishment posting to Gabon. The only diplomats you meet in Gabon are people who’ve done something wrong, like my friend, or very young people, on their first diplomatic posting. I met all these diplomats — the lot of diplomats we never met were the French. They wouldn’t talk to us.

It was expensive and complicated to get there because it’s not a tourist destination. But I thought, you know, how many chances am I going to get to go to Africa? I’m convinced that had I been in Europe for that birthday, I’d still be in London. I’d have been with friends, I would have been in a familiar environment, and those horrible existential questions would have been squashed. But I was in Africa, and so I came to France, and have been here ever since.

Having lived in the U.K., I know that the English can have really intense ideas about the French. How did you confront those?
I should explain that my parents were not English — they were Hungarian, and they met in England as refugees after World War II. And my mother was in love with France all her life. She brought me up to sort of look to France for all that was different, civilized — you know, sitting in cafes outside, literature, the lot.

My mother spoke four languages, and she came from a very cosmopolitan background. So did my grandmother, who brought me up as well. They would both make very disparaging remarks about England, especially things like crap heating: You know, “On the continent, we had central heating in the ’20s and ’30s.”

I realized that in a single year — I suppose, 1990 — I’d been to France four times on little trips. Did I have illusions about it? Probably. My mother had illusions about it. My illusions have changed, but I still find the way of life [in France] attractive, and I can’t make up my mind between the two countries. So I’m still here. Dithering. I’ve been dithering for 30-odd years.

When you say you can’t make up your mind between the two countries, what do you mean? I think you live in France full time.
I am a full-time resident, as far as the tax people are concerned. I do have the pleasure of paying tax in both countries, because I have not cut certain key links with England. I still have my flat [in London], which I rent out. I think it’s significant that I have not bought in Paris — I’m renting here. I took this place that I’m in now for six months, and 30 years later, I’m still in it, even if it’s obviously not a place for a grown up to live in: top floor, five flights of stairs, 25 square meters, no washing machine. There’s a lot of things it hasn’t got, apart from no washing machine and no lift. So clearly it was always meant to be temporary. And then I never found a place I liked better. It’s in a 17th century building on an island in the heart of Paris, it faces south and has a wonderful view of the sky because it isn’t overlooked by other buildings. It’s quiet and sunny, and I can walk everywhere. It feels like more like home than any other place I have lived in, and I have lived here longer than anywhere else in my life.

I want to go back to what you said about illusions. I feel like every American who comes to France is hit in the face with their crashed illusions about what it means to be in Paris.
I couldn’t agree more. Some of them who’ve been here for as long as I have have survived the loss of those illusions. And many of us end up having a love-hate relationship with France. There are some things I still love and some things I hate. But I can say I don’t find it boring.

How do you compare London and Paris?
London and Paris, and the area around London and Paris, couldn’t be more different. I’d brought my knowledge of London with me and expected the area around Paris to be the same [as around London] and gradually discovered how wrong I was. Think of a fried egg: Paris is the yolk and the white is greater Paris — le Grand Paris. If you think of the Tube map of London, Paris would fit into the Circle Line.

Wow. That’s crazy. I didn’t realize that’s how tiny it is.
The area around Paris, though — the white of the egg — is ten times bigger [than the area around London]. London’s more like a scrambled egg — that is, the yolk and the white are mixed up. The center of Paris is this tiny yolk, which is incredibly densely populated, the most densely populated city in Europe. But in London, like a scrambled egg, there isn’t a huge difference in population density. It’s nothing like as dense in the middle as Paris is in the center. Not many people actually live in the center of London — they can’t afford to. It’s shops and millionaires. All the poor have been squeezed out and everybody lives in Zone 2 and beyond.

And people have gardens. I had a garden. It’s normal. Nobody in central Paris has a garden because of the pressure on space. But outside Paris, it’s a completely different story. And only — if you can believe this — only a quarter of that huge expanse of space [of outer Paris] is urbanized. And that area is very well served by an extremely good commuter network. That’s also the opposite of London, in that the London network is very clearly mapped and described, and it’s easy to find your way around, but the service is poor compared to Paris. The Paris one is sort of opaque. If you don’t know how it works, you’re not going to find out. The Paris one is efficient and the London one is not, but you have brilliant information and presentation. That’s London.

You talk about this a lot in your books — about how hard it is to get clear, reliable information about things like public transport in Paris, even if the service itself is quite good. Why do you think that is?
The attitude to information is based on how you grow up in France, and your closest relationships are with your family, and then the very close friends you make at school. And you keep those friends for life — so your relationships are very close and very warm. If you need any help, you activate your social network, and you get help from your family and friends. The public face of the way that French people interact is cold. Private, warm — public, cold. And I’ve noticed in England it’s the opposite: It’s public, warm — private, cold. I’m exaggerating enormously. But the attitude to information is linked with that, in cultures where kinship patterns matter enormously: family, the close friends you make when you’re growing up, who become effectively family too. Those are the links that matter and you distrust everyone outside that, including other French people, because you don’t know them. So you treat them with suspicion — and there’s good reason to be suspicious of foreigners and strangers in France — unlike in Britain, which is an island. France has been invaded lots of times, and it was only unified in the 18th century — even the 19th, for some parts of it — whereas Britain hasn’t been invaded since 1066. And so you get your information through all sorts of private, family, and friendship networks. And if you are informing the public as part of your job, you don’t have the first idea how to go about it.

I suppose you could make a very crude link in Europe between Catholic and Protestant — the Protestant countries, in their handling of information, tend to be information rich. They’d rather tell you too much than too little. And the Catholic countries — I don’t know if the other ones are as bad as France, but it’s information light by our standards because they don’t want to patronize you by telling you the obvious.

The Catholic and Protestant thing is not original — I think it was Max Weber, in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. I’m jumping around a lot here — anecdote within an anecdote within an anecdote. The French love that. The English hate it. Most of them, they find it disconcerting. I put it down to my Hungarian upbringing.

Once you were in Paris, how did you come to realize you’d discovered this thing: a rich cultural heritage, easily accessible to people in Paris if they only knew how to get there?
I’d met various men in Paris, and then a particular one, who happened to be an American — one of those millions of Americans who love France but actually find it quite difficult when they’re here. I’d had a long history of relationships that didn’t work, and this was obviously going to be yet another one, because the bloke had just left, and I didn’t know when I was going to see him again, if ever. I felt terrible, but not just terrible because of the immediate circumstances — it was a familiar feeling of “Why does this happen to me? This isn’t how it should be.” And then I remembered that I’d jotted down some ideas for a book. I think I’d put them — not quite on the back of an envelope, but that kind of thing. I fished them out, looked at them, and thought, There is a book here. And I immediately felt better. It was born out of emotional misery — as a way of picking myself up. It was a way of picking myself up and saying, “I’ve got some value. I don’t have to rely on my crappy relationships with men because they all seem to be doomed to disaster.”

That was the germ of it, but it did take about two years to sort of sell the idea. And then another two years to bully my publisher, who is still my publisher, into getting around to doing it. And I did end up having a long and fruitful relationship with another American, and I did most of the walks with him. Then the bastard died. The way they do.

How did you originally come to do the kind of long walks in the countryside that are covered in the book?
I’d had a garden in London. I didn’t have one here, and I started going out on Sundays. I put all this in the introduction to the book because this is the sort of thing you can admit to. I did not say that it was yet another emotional disappointment that decided me that I would bloody well try and get this project going.

I want to give you two follow-up questions. One will be French and discursive, and one will be very American and practical. The American one is: Will you tell me about your favorite walk in the book? The French question is: What happened next romantically and did you figure out how to avoid disappointing romantic entanglements?
I can answer the last one first. The next romantic entanglement was with a Frenchman and it was the most intense and in some ways the most rewarding of the lot. But also impossible. We’re still in touch all these years later but only by text. I know enough now to keep my distance from the kind that attract me — that I know are going to be trouble.

The other question: what’s my favorite walk. I find that quite difficult. I don’t really enjoy so much going back to a walk I’ve already done. I enjoy discovering — discovering comes first, even if what I discover is crap and can’t be written about. And that’s nine-tenths of it. Nine-tenths of [my exploration] never gets written about because, you know, it’s not good enough. But I like going out and exploring. Putting together the walks and creating the maps and researching the restaurants and testing it — that’s more fun for me than taking people on walks that I know work well — which I do sometimes, because you’ve got to please some of your friends some of the time. I had another friend, who I first knew at the British Institute. She took [my American friend’s] place and on those walks — the fun was exploring. Because neither of those people cared if we got lost or missed the train. And I love that. That counts for me more than anything else. Unfortunately she’s died as well.

But I do have a little sort of roster of people I walk with who, you know, haven’t died. They’re still around. And some of them are new walking partners. I tend to pick tried-and-tested walks for those who are less adventurous and save the pioneering, exploratory walks for those who are.

So the pleasure of it for you comes from exploring, not guiding.
I hate guiding — I hate it. I’ve taken that off [service] my website, but it was there.

My favorite people to walk with are people who don’t mind exploring and are happy to go anywhere, and if it rains, they don’t care. If we get lost, they don’t mind. I’m interested in all aspects of those walks, including the shabby cafes, which are getting thin on the ground. It makes my day when I find a cafe open on a Sunday, in the middle of nowhere.

For our last question, I want to go back to something you said at the beginning: that you’ve been dithering between two countries, France and the U.K., for 30 years. What do you think are the benefits of that indecision, and what are the costs?
On a good day, the pluses are that I found a lifestyle that suits my nature. I’m adventurous, but I’m also very family oriented. And I keep my friends forever. So, I have the adventure here. I have the family and the old friends in England, even if I also have some very old friends here now, because I’ve been here so long.

Because we are expatriates here, we almost function like a second family. So, the good side is I have the adventure and the challenge of living in a different culture, and the closeness of and solidity of family and old friends in England, and in France.

It depends on what day it is, but on a bad day I feel I don’t belong in either place. I’ve sort of forgotten how things function in London, even though I go over a lot. I don’t live there. My spoken French wasn’t bad when I arrived, but it’s not much better than it was. So on bad days, I feel like a complete foreigner, in both places. On most days it’s a mix of those things. I’ve learned to accept that I belong in both, to make the most of what both have to offer and not to fret about the future more than I can help.

Find out more about Annabel’s books on her website.

The 17 Best French Food Gifts: Fancy Cookies, Special Butters and More

Published by Diana

It’s that time again! Time to buy presents: presents that reflect their loves (France?) and their interests (food?). If you’re shopping for someone who falls under those categories, we’ve got 17 excellent ideas below for your best French food gifts— all Made in France unless otherwise noted. Bon appétit!

1. The Mercer 12-Macaron Gift Set

Who doesn’t love a macaron, the world’s most expensive mid-tier cookie? The iconic brand in France is Ladurée, with their famous pea-green bags and boxes. They deliver in the U.S., though macarons are not cheap. Delicious. Not cheap. They have all levels of gift boxes and promotions — this is a 12-macaron set with illustrations on the box of the Mercer Hotel in SoHo (New York, FTR).

BUY IT HERE: Ladurée

2. Bacanha Grenadine Syrup

Bacanha is a 10-year-old French brand making organic syrups — mostly for cocktails, but also, according to their website, for lattes(?? very specific?) and water(???). Love that packaging! They’re available at a bunch of U.S. retailers, but here’s a tight edit — as a person who likes a good reason to have as many maraschino cherries as possible, I would love the grenadine syrup and endless Shirley Temples.

BUY IT HERE: Bacanha Grenadine Syrup

3. Herbes de Provence

You can definitely make your own herbes de Provence — basically it’s a mix of Provencal herbs that’s a foundational element of many recipes from that region, generally consisting of things like rosemary, marjoram, fennel, basil, and more. (Here’s a video explaining it.) If you don’t have time for a ~project~, just buy it! Better if you can find the ones made in France, but I don’t know, honestly, how totally necessary it is. This one from Sur la Table earns five stars for being made in France, but loses two for the part-anglophone label on the container.

BUY IT HERE: SUR LA TABLE

4. Le Creuset Cookbook

Do you know someone who bought a piece of Le Creuset cookware and has no idea what to do with it? Just me? This cookbook is a stylish addition to, say, the Le Creuset Dutch oven in sea salt.

BUY IT HERE: Amazon | Sur la Table

5. Dartargan Trio of French Pâtés

Not my thing, but maybe you know someone dying to add a sampler of pâtés to their charcuterie boards? Maybe this one from Dartagnan, with Pâté de Campagne, Mousse Truffée, and Duck Terrine Mousquetaire — or as they put it, a “signature collection containing a trio of our most popular French pâtés, mousses and terrines, each made from D’Artagnan’s exclusive, traditional recipes using artisanal methods with only the finest ingredients”? No antibiotics, no hormones. I’m obsessed with this shop, which, BTW, also offers duck fat by the pail.

BUY IT HERE: Dartagnan

6. Beurre d’Isigny With Rock Salt Crystals

This isn’t my brand, but it is my absolute number-one favorite French food concept: butter with rock salt crystals within it. To underline, this is not simply salted butter — but butter with big hunks of salt inside of it, making it the final-tier-forever best thing to put on popcorn. Next level!! This isn’t my brand, but the closest thing I can find from a retailer operating in the U.S.

BUY IT HERE: Amazon | iGourmet

7. Maille Whole-Grain Old-Style Mustard

Maille is a literally 300-year-old mustard brand, headquartered in Marseille. Who could do it better? The dijon variety is available here and there, but I vote for the Old Style Whole Grain Dijon Mustard — it’s here to make every sandwich you have that much better. This is definitely a supermarket favorite, though the schmancy boutiques are a fun stop in Paris — if you’re looking for a higher-end-looking brand of mustard, maybe consider Pommery? Totally different vibe but very cute labels, if that’s your thing.

BUY IT HERE: Amazon

8. Let’s Eat France

I’ve recommended this book more than any other French cookbook — it’s a visual smorgasbord of French cheese, butters, meats, olives, and everything else. If you know someone who loves France and food and books, there’s absolutely no other choice.

BUY IT HERE: Amazon | Bookshop

9. Le Saunier De Camargue Fleur De Sel

This costs about twice as much in the U.S. as it does in France, but it’s still my favorite sea salt in the world, cultivated in the Camargue salt marshes in southern France. It’s without question the #1 product my family asks me to bring back from France — it’s the one thing here that makes all the other best French food gifts that much better. (Well, maybe not the cheese crackers immediately below, they’re salty enough as it is.)

BUY IT HERE: Amazon | Sur la Table

10. Michel et Augustin Cheese Crackers

Michel et Augustin cheese crackers are a fundamental part of my day to day life in France — I get antsy if I don’t have one on hand. Warning: I feel like these bags look like they’re bigger than they are; I’ve never taken more than a day or two to get through one. (I am a barnyard animal, always feeding?? I have no idea.) Note on prices: I’m not sure why L’Azur’s price is so high; you can get three packs for the same price from the retailer. Just including it because I like a lot of the other things they sell. My top pick: all of them! Also the comté! BTW, if you buy them on Amazon, please note all the reviews saying that the crackers were received broken in the bag, but they were still delicious.

BUY IT HERE: Amazon | L’Azur

11. Le Chatelain Camembert (and Other French Cheeses)

If you have a nearby gourmet grocer with a solid cheese selection, I think we must do as the French do and shop for our fine fromages IRL, but if not (and I sympathize, being precisely 100 miles from the nearest Whole Foods): iGourmet will ship all varieties of French cheeses, including 53 different kinds of Brie and other white mold cheese. (Note that they’re not exclusively French, though many are.) Maybe Le Chatelain Camembert, best served with Calvados (Normandy’s famous apple brandy), and which comes with this warning:

BUY IT HERE: Amazon | IGourmet

12. Le Beurre Bordier Butters

While we’re covering the butter family of foods: There’s no more famous maker of butter than Bordier. The French.us website has a wide variety of their flavored butters, including the Vanilla de Madagascar, smoked salt, Espelette chili, and lots more. (Also the regular butter, both demi-sel and un-sel.) All butters are shipped overnight frozen, and can stay frozen for up to four months or can be used pronto, within two weeks. I know this picture sort of looks like Satan’s butter choice (it’s very red??) but it’s tasty.

13. iGourmet Gift Set of Cheeses

Sometimes everything’s just easier when everyone does the work for you? Like this gift set from iGourmet (worst name though good selection)? Sixty bucks for 30 ounces of cheese doesn’t sound like the most amazing deal to me, but it’s cheaper than going to France. This set includes Pont L’Eveque, Comte Reserve, Buche de Chevre and Fourme d’Ambert (my personal fave). Loving the fact that the Pont l’Eveque includes this warning: “It does tend to have a strong, pungent aroma that is not for the timid.”

BUY IT HERE: iGourmet

14. Jacques Torres Salted Caramel Set

For many of the items on this list, I would say to buy French or not buy it at all — this might be the one exception. Salted caramels are pretty much salted caramels?? And while I have had some extremely good French ones, the ones that weren’t quite as gourmet tasted almost exactly the same. So for this one, I’m going to recommend French/Algerian/American chocolatier Jacques Torres (who’s based in New York) and his nine-piece box. If you really prefer the French-French version, consider these, from La Maison d’Armorine, which come in a wooden, Camembert cheese-style container.

BUY IT HERE: Jacques Torres Chocolates

15. Les Trois Petits Cochons Saucisson Sec

As a person who loves few things as much as French sausage-y, salami-y things, I cannot recommend this saucisson sec more highly. Stocking stuffer!!

BUY IT HERE: LES TROIS Petits Cochons Saucisson Sec

16. Mariage Frères English Breakfast Tea

Mariage Frères is like the French high-end tea maker, with cute little tea shops in the Marais and elsewhere. They don’t ship directly to the U.S., but Bergdorf Goodman has a selection of their teas (see their picks here); maybe English Breakfast (a.k.a. “thé du matin au goût anglais”) is ironically your pick?

BUY IT HERE: Bergdorf Goodman

17. Les Sables de La Mère Poulard

I feel like La Mère Poulard makes the French equivalents of Walker’s Shortbreads — cookies (sables) more than shortbreads in the case of La Mère Pouland, but very similar. Historical tidbit: La mère Poulard is actually Annette Poulard, who opened an inn on Mont Saint Michel in 1888 with her husband, Victor. She’s most famous for her omelette — I went looking for recipes for it, and found this warning: “You will never be able to recreate the true recipe unless you use a special thick steel pan and a fireplace.” Now we know!

BUY IT HERE: Sur la Table | Amazon

Looking for more ideas about what to do in France? Here’s 101 of them.

Photo at top by Siebe Warmoeskerken.

best fall Diptyque candles - picture of the citrouille candle

So What Are the Best Fall Diptyque Candles? (Hint: It’s the Diptyque Pumpkin Candle)

Published by Diana

Is there anything nicer than lighting a lovely, powerfully scented candle as the leaves begin to fall and it gets darker earlier? There isn’t. Especially when that candle — my vote for the top spot on the list of the best fall Diptyque candles — is the Diptyque Pumpkin candle (a.k.a. Citrouille).

As much as this is a Diptyque pumpkin candle review, it’s first and foremost a round-up of the five best fall Diptyque candles. When I began writing it, I was sure — sure! 100%! — it would be Feu de Bois. There’s no candle, Diptyque or otherwise, I love more than Feu de Bois (except, maybe, Sapin de Nuit, which was a limited-edition holiday candle and is sort of Feu de Bois adjacent — it’s like a woodfire, but of a pine tree). But I had never tried Citrouille, the Diptyque pumpkin candle, and I knew I’d have to before I wrote this.

So I did — and let me tell you, I hated it when I first burned it. It’s so strong. Now: Don’t get me wrong, I only like candles with extremely strong throws. I want to be enveloped in scent — otherwise, why pay the money? And Citrouille did that — but I didn’t like it! My immediate reaction: Now that is just too much pumpkin. It smelled exactly like the interior of a pumpkin. Am I dumb? I expected something like pumpkin spice — a bit of this, a bit of that, some clove, some cinnamon, some nutmeg. (I didn’t conjure that up on my own: According to Diptyque, Citrouille has “mouthwatering notes of chestnut and spices, inspired by traditional pumpkin pies, mingle with crisp green accents of fruit.”) Mais non! It’s pumpkin — pumpkin. I’m using all the italics I can because I don’t know how else to say that it smelled exactly like the hot interior of the sweetest pumpkin you can imagine. It took a week, but I became obsessed with it, and burned it all the way down to the bottom within a period of four weeks. It’s the fastest I’ve ever gone through a Diptyque candle, and it was worth every cent.

Moving on to the rest of the best fall Diptyque candles:

2. Feu de Bois
Feu de Bois is still my favorite Diptyque candle — somehow it seems OK, to believe that this is the best in the whole range, but that Citrouille is better for autumn. In fact, you can read a whole post about how great Feu de Bois is — but the TL;DR is that it smells like the best woodfire you’ve ever smelled, in the tidiest little cabin in the cutest little forest glen. It’s perfection.

3. Cannelle
Cannelle means cinnamon, and indeed, this is candle smells exactly like it — though in the sense that cinnamon is the bark of a tropical tree. This candle smells like the whole of the tree — a classic cinnamon scent, yes, but also the bark, the roots, the forest in which it grows. It’s like the holistic experience of cinnamon, and it is lovely.

4. Chêne
What is it about autumn that smells like big oak trees? Chêne is — you guessed it — French for oak, and that scent is replicated here. If you love the smell of old bureaus, you will absolutely love this. I added it to the list (over, say, Pomander, which was close) because it’s unlike anything else on here — a little more masculine, a little more subtle.

5. Sapin
OK, so Sapin is definitely a transition to the holiday period candle — but it’s perfect for that time between Thanksgiving and Christmas (which, after all, is mostly fall). This is a limited-edition holiday candle, always presented in a special way — this year, as Diptyque notes, “in a vessel decorated with flames in green and gold.” As to the smell: It’s essentially a Christmas tree, but the best Christmas tree you’ve ever smelled. What could be better?

is chanel cheaper in france - chanel photos

Is Chanel Cheaper In Paris? (Yes! Here’s By Exactly How Much.)

Published by Diana

Is Chanel Cheaper in Paris? is part 3 in an ongoing investigation. Please also see Is Sézane Cheaper in Paris? and Is Diptyque Cheaper in Paris?

If you’re wondering if it’s cheaper to buy Chanel — a French, largely made-in-France brand — in France, the short answer is: Oh, it sure is! Let’s do some super exciting math! And we’ll take a look at three Chanel pieces: a handbag, a lipstick, and some perfume. Note that these are prices for new, retail Chanel goods. For this post, we’re leaving out the myriad possibilities of resellers, vintage shops, etc etc.

Is Chanel Cheaper in Paris: The Handbag

To start off, we’re talking full-fat, retail prices. Let’s look at the Mini Cabas in pink, it’s beautiful:

As Chanel fans know, it is at this time not possible to purchase new Chanel handbags online. The Chanel website, though, does offer “recommended retail prices,” which you can toggle between English/USD and French/euros (look for the option at the bottom of the website, where it says “Change language and location).

In euros, the Mini Cabas is 4300€. In USD, it’s $4400. At the current conversion rate, that’s $4450. Now, let’s add 3% in foreign-transaction credit card fees, for $4686.50. Now, we can subtract 12% in VAT refund for residents of non-EU countries, meaning our total recommended retail price in France for the Mini Cabas bag is $4124.12. Ultimately, a substantial savings over the US price (which would of course be inflated by local, city or state taxes, where applicable): Let’s say you’re shopping in New York City, where sales tax is 8.875%.

Your final price: $4790.50. In France, you’d pay $4124.12, meaning you’d save 14%!

The Lipstick

Chanel’s Rouge Coco Bloom is available at Nordstrom for $45 (with free shipping!). Let’s again add on NYC sales tax (8.875%), for a total price of $48.99.

It’s also available in France, at Sephora, for 38,25€, or $40.50.

Now this time, you won’t qualify for VAT unless you spend another 63€ or so — to qualify for VAT refund, you must spend over 100€ in a single store.

If you don’t qualify for the VAT refund, you’ll save 17.3%. If you do qualify for VAT, you’ll receive a 12% refund, meaning the cost of the lipstick will go down to $35.64, and your percentage of savings to 27%! But you’ll have to spend a little more to get that.

(Remember, for both the lipstick and the perfume below, most foreign credit cards will incur a fee of about 3%, knocking down your percentage of savings by a point or so — which may very well be balanced out by local/city/state sales taxes, depending on where you’re shopping.)

The Perfume

What’s more Parisian than a bottle of Chanel No. 5? Note I do not like this perfume at all and definitely suggest Le Labo’s Paris scent instead? Whatever! It’s a classic!

The 3.4-ounce bottle of Chanel No. 5 eau de parfum is available at Sephora (US) for $165.

In France, this is sold at Sephora as 100ml — and it’s 121.50€, obviously much cheaper (specifically, 22% cheaper).

And once you factor in the 12% VAT refund, it’s even more so: 121.50€ drops down to 106.92€, or about $113.50 — for a super-substantial savings of 31%!

image of three candles in a pumpkin patch

Is Diptyque Cheaper in Paris? (Yes. Here’s by Exactly How Much.)

Published by Diana

Is Diptyque Cheaper in Paris? is part 2 in an ongoing investigation. Please also see Is Sézane Cheaper in Paris?

Short answer: absolutely yes. Here’s by how much.

Diptyque candles come in two primary sizes: small and Classic. Something that will make this article fairly brief is that each size has an equally standard price, wherever you purchase your luxury candles: Small Diptyque candles are 70 grams, with a burning time of around 20 hours, and cost $42 USD and 38€. Classic-sized Diptyque candles are 190 grams, with a burn time of around 50 hours, and they’re $74 or 58€.

Is Diptyque Cheaper in Paris? Yes! But Also in the US

So let’s do some math. Just to start with, these are not cheap candles. Per gram, a Classic Diptyque Feu de Bois, for example, costs 38 cents. A small Diptyque Feu de Bois costs 60 cents per gram! That’s already a sizable difference — you can save 37% just by splurging on the larger candle. And of course, the savings are more pronounced if you buy the largest-format available: I’m not sure the day will come when I spend $430 on the very large format, 1500 gram Feu de Bois, but if I do, I’ll only (“only,” lol) be spending 28 cents per gram and saving 53% versus the small Diptyque or 26% versus the Classic. (TBH, I thought the savings at that size would be even greater.)

And Now We Go to Paris

Now, to dig into the France-USA shopping divide. As we know that the euro has been “worth” more than the dollar for a while now, it’s plain to see that they’re cheaper in France — you don’t need to do heavy math to see that 58€ will be cheaper than $74. But let’s dig in. At this very moment, 58€ is $61 (with an exchange rate of 1€ = $1.07 (a rather low euro!)). So from this baseline, you’re saving about $13 per Classic candle, or about 17%. (For the small candle, it’s closer — 38€ is $40, or about 4.8%. Again, it’s clear from the numbers without doing much math, but it’s interesting how much more of savings you’ll see buying the Classic size (again, 17%) in France versus the small (just under 5%).

One thing we haven’t accounted for is fees. If you’re using an American credit card (or euros pulled from an ATM and an American bank), you’re most likely paying fees for foreign transactions. These will usually add about 3% to your purchases — so when you pay for a candle costing 58€, you’re not paying exactly that amount in dollars but that plus three percent — so in this case, not $61 but an extra $1.83. Factoring that in, you’ll still save money buying this candle in Paris, just not quite as much as we originally calculated: 14.86%.

Of course, there’s one more wrinkle to consider here, and that’s the refund of the value added tax, which permanent residents of non-EU countries are eligible for. The amount of the refund varies depending on the category, but the standard rate is 20%. Diptyque runs their VAT refund scheme through Global Blue — you just need to spend a minimum of 101€ at the shop, request a Tax Free Form in the shop, and validate it at the airport. Depending on how much you’ve spent it may or may not be a good use of time. In this case, you’d need to buy two Classic candles to meet the spending threshold — here’s how it all shakes down for a US consumer paying with an American credit card charging three percent transaction fees, and with today’s exchange rate:

Worst case scenario for two Diptyque candles in US: $148, plus 9.29% state/local sales tax (that’s the highest possible rate in the US, in Washington state). This comes to $161.74.

Average case scenario for two Diptyque candles in France: 104€ + 3% transaction fees – 20% VAT refund = 91.37€, or about $97.

Which is a very substantial savings of 40%!

One big note: I used “average case” here because the credit card fee can go all over the place, and I’m writing this while the euro is quite low relative to the dollar. Let’s take another look at the math, with a hypothetically weak dollar. If we rdo the math but the euro’s now at its five-year high of $1 USD = 1.23€, the savings would drop, to 31%, with a total expenditure on two Classic-sized candles of about $111.

And thus resolves our investigation of Is Diptyque Cheaper in Paris? The answer, clearly, is yes.

three feu de bois candles - best diptyque candle

The Best Diptyque Candle (And 6 Runners-Up)

Published by Diana

What is the best Diptyque candle? I have an answer for that.

A Diptyque candle is an investment. I like to think of it as what I do instead of drinking alcohol. I have rarely regretted the money I’ve spent on a Diptyque candle (argh thinking of you, Eucalyptus!!! you are the worst!), but nonetheless, you want to invest wisely. And yeah, I am very aware that when I think of “investing” I think of “getting the right Diptyque candle,” rather than, like, mutual funds. It bodes well.

So let’s get down to brass tacks: The best Diptyque candle is Feu de Bois. Don’t argue.

I’ll tell you what it definitely is not, and that is Baies — arguably (perhaps also factually, IDK) the brand’s most popular candle. If you went into a chi-chi shop in the early ’00s, I swear to God, every one of them was the Red Currant candle from the still-extant brand Votivo. I hated it then, and I hate it now, and it smells exactly like Baies.

Feu de Bois, on the other hand, smells like the best wood fire you could possibly imagine — one put together by a team of very ingenious mice, living in a very beautiful cabin in the mountains above Aspen. It smells like heaven, if your version of heaven is a mountain resort favorited by Beth Dutton.

Diptyque sells about 10000 different variations of Feu de Bois — small, classic, medium, etc etc — in different sizes and containers, and its poor copy writers have had to devise just as many different ways of describing what is essentially “ritzy wood fire.” Here are a few: “An open fire captured in a porcelain vessel.” “Logs, flames, fireplace.” (I mean, you can just hear them getting tired, am I right?) “In the flame, the scent of logs crackling and burning up.” Sure thing! They’re all true. It smells like the very heart of autumn, it smells like the video for “All Too Well (10 Minute Version)”. It smells like gray afternoons and rainy days, it smells like staying in, on the couch, and watching a movie. It smells like October and the better half of November. I can’t burn it between January and September, which is maybe not a great characteristic in a $75 candle, but for those other three months, it is perfect.

To summarize: the best Diptyque candle is Feu de Bois.

Now, obviously there are some runners-up. You’ll note that these rankings are slightly different from my list of the top 46 Diptyque candles — part of this is because my favorites change from day to day, but also this list has limited editions and seasonal picks, while the top-46 list is I think all the “classic” line.

Voilà, my list of the best Diptyque candle scents:

2. Sapin de Nuit: Ugh, it’s like Feu de Bois, but on Christmas Day. A version of this comes around every holiday season — my favorite will forever be Sapin de Nuit (“Moonlit Fir”), which has a beautiful illustrated holder. I grab it whenever I can off the Archives sale (it also pops up on Mercari, Poshmark, etc.) This year’s Sapin (with notes of pine, resin, and cedar) is here.

3. The Paris candle from the Le Grand Tour — this is a really annoying unboxing video that shows it, I do love that label! I’ve literally only found a link for it on the Hong Kong site. “the classic Paris candle is wandering in its verdigris attire, in and out of the antiquarians and bookshops. In its wake, the fragrances of waxed wood and old books, and the mineral notes of the Paris cobbles.” That’s ridiculous but I also think it’s true??

4. Villa Nouilles Liliac — another limited edition, only viewable on the HK site. I got this during the Archives sale as well. Very pretty and lilac-y, just as you would imagine.

5. Muguet!!! Who doesn’t love lilies of the valley? Smells like springtime — this comes out in late February and I love it so much.

6. Violette — this is very similar to Muguet, but violets rather than lilies of the valley. If you like violets, this is your best Diptyque candle scent.

7. Roses. If you like roses, this is your Diptyque candle. I like them enough. I think I had this the longest of any Diptyque candle I’ve ever owned, because I don’t use it that often, but when I do, it gives you exactly what you were looking for (roses).

What’s the Best Way to Travel from London to Paris? An Investigation

Published by Diana

Now, for those who prefer listening to reading, you can listen to me read this article aloud! Just click below or download or whatever.

It’s a truly pressing question: What’s the best way to travel from London to Paris?

I’ll tell you what is not the best way to travel from London to Paris: driving (unless you need to), cycling (unless you want to) or taking a nine-hour bus. Which pretty much leaves you with Eurostar, or flying.

Paris and London are just over 300 miles/several worlds/one time zone apart. It’s an incredibly quick flight — if you don’t add in all the travel to and from the airport(s) and the rigamarole getting through security. It’s also an incredibly efficient train trip — but often unbelievably expensive (closing in on $500 if you don’t buy in advance).

Each method has big-time pros and cons. This summer, I had the opportunity to fly to London from Paris, and then return by train — which made it easier than ever to compare the two services, which are by far the most popular ways to make the trip. Let’s discuss.

London to Paris by Air: EasyJet

I always check Eurostar first when I need to go to London from Paris, and generally, I’ll plan my trip around good train fares. This summer, though, I didn’t have a choice — I needed to be in London for two very specific events. The cheapest Eurostar ticket on the day I needed to travel was $400, so…I was not going to do that. Instead, I booked a ticket on EasyJet, a low-cost UK carrier I’ve flown all over Europe. I paid €48 (about $50) on June 12 to travel on July 12, traveling from CDG to London’s Luton airport (a first for me). I traveled by RER B to Charles de Gaulle — an Uber would have likely cost more than my ticket to London. (At Charles de Gaulle, I saw a JetBlue plane for the first time, above, on one of its round-trips a couple weeks after the start of the new service between Paris and JFK.)

Getting to London was a piece of cake — but getting from Luton into central London by train did not go well, as my train was traveling with half as many carriages as it required — it was more crowded than a New York City subway at rush hour and just not convivial. I actually asked for a refund for my $8 train fare out of sheer aggravation. I know that picture looks like a totally normal train ride, but please believe me when I say it was not.

I left my apartment at 6:08 a.m. and arrived at St. Pancras at 11:03 a.m. (12:03 p.m. Paris time), for a total travel time of six hours(!) and a total travel cost of about $73.

Pros: The actual travel experience on the plane was fine — I recommend EasyJet! I’d worried that immigration on the UK side would be overlong, but they’re using those automated gates at Luton and there was literally no one else there, so I flew through. It was relatively cheap — less than half Eurostar — and would have been even cheaper if I’d managed to book farther in advance — EasyJet fares between London and Paris start at £27 (about $32).

Cons: The flight was about 40 minutes, but the total travel time was six hours!! The problems with the train made that longer than it should be, but that’s just a natural effect of so many travel segments: the trip to the Gare du Nord (I walked but otherwise the métro), the RER B, the flight, the train to London — something can go wrong on any of those segments. This, sadly, is not the best way to travel from London to Paris or vice versa. It is just a possibly cheaper one.

Paris to London by Train: Eurostar

I find it hard to remember a time before Eurostar, which debuted in November 1994, with a trip from Waterloo station in London to the Gare du Nord in Paris. (The London station has since changed to St. Pancras). Eurostar also runs to Lille, and from there, to Belgium. In addition, the old Thalys service (from Paris to Amsterdam and Germany) rebranded this summer under the Eurostar umbrella.

It feels impossible to believe that it wasn’t that long ago that the best way to travel from London to Paris was to take a train to Dover, then change to a ferry, and then get on another train to Paris. Of course, you can still do the trip that way today, but it’ll take the better part of a day. The Eurostar service is about 2 hours and 20 minutes — a miracle, basically.

Traveling by Eurostar entails much of the same security measures as you’ll find at the airports: At both the Gare du Nord (seen above) and St. Pancras, you’ll enter a dedicated space for Eurostar service, first checking in through automated gates (where you’ll scan your boarding pass) and then going through security. You’ll go through immigration on both sides on departure — meaning that if you’re leaving from the Gare du Nord, you’ll go through UK immigration before getting on the train. This means that when you arrive at St. Pancras, there’s no wait — you’ll just walk out of the station and get on your way.

I paid $168 for a one-way ticket for travel on July 14, which I purchased on June 24 (about three weeks in advance).

I arrived at St. Pancras at 7 p.m. (an hour before departure) and arrived home at 11:32 p.m., for total travel time of 3 hours and 30 minutes — and that total is again inflated because I walked home from the station; if I’d taken the métro or grabbed a cab, the total travel time would have been just about three hours — half the plane trip.

Pros: Eurostar is easy, even when the trains are sold out, which mine was. I love St. Pancras — there’s a bunch of great shops there, including a Joe & the Juice, a Hatchards books, a Jo Malone, a Neal’s Yard Remedies, a Reiss, a WH Smith, and a Marks and Spencer for last-minute snacks. (The Gare du Nord is not a bad train station, but St. Pancras, désolée, is better.)

One major, major pro — so major it deserves its own paragraph — is that there are no weight limits on luggage on Eurostar, and even standard tickets include two pieces of luggage and a single piece of hand luggage(!). And to repeat: There are not weight limits! Or limits with liquids. Given the astronomical fees for stowed luggage on low-cost air carriers, this might be enough on its own to make a train ticket more economical than a (seemingly) cheap flight. (Here’s the official Eurostar rules.)

Cons: Last-minute fares are bananas. The post-security areas in both St. Pancras and the Gare du Nord are terrible — I don’t understand why both stations have such terrible waiting areas, when they have several hundred people captive there for hours every day. Did I mention that fares get extremely high?

Fast Facts About the Best Way to Travel From London to Paris!

How long is the train from London to Paris?
About two hours and twenty minutes, either way. Note that obviously with the time zone change, it’s “quicker” from Paris to London, since you get an hour back when you move into British time. (Officially, it’s 2:16 at best, and 2:37 at worst.)

How much is the train from London to Paris?
Officially the base Standard fare is €44. I’ve seen last-minute summer tickets for nearly ten times that — it really does pay to book in advance if you can.

Which train station in London goes to Paris?
St. Pancras.

Which train station in Paris goes to London?
The Gare du Nord.

How much should I pay for a Paris to London train ticket?
Personally, I hope to pay around $100 — under that, and I’ve gotten a steal. Much more (say, over $150) and I start looking at flights, or changing my travel dates.

When taking the Eurostar train from Paris to London, can you see any countryside?
This is my favorite question. The answer is — sort of. You’re in France much longer than you’re in the UK, and the countryside between Paris and the Channel is — I actually love it, but it’s a little low-key. Rolling hills and fields and that sort of thing. Relative to train trips to the south of France (or, for that matter, in the more rural parts of the UK), it’s a little unimpressive — relative to train trips through, say, the Northeast Corridor, it’s extremely competitive.

One random thing is that the train moves so fast that it’s hard to take pretty pictures of the countryside, at least for me.

Can you do a day trip to Paris from London by Eurostar?
Absolutely — I’ve done it. It’s just expensive, depending on how lucky you are with the tickets. (For this, I do think you need to take the train, since at least following my experience you’ll save about six hours of travel time.) The first train from Paris leaves about 6 a.m. and arrives about 7:30; the last train to Paris leaves about 8 or 8:30 p.m., arriving around 11 p.m. That gives you about 12 hours to see the best of London — plenty of time to see a small part of an amazing city. (In fact, it’s number one on my list of the best international day trips from Paris.)

Final Thoughts!

On this trip, it just worked out that I flew to London and came home on Eurostar — and this combo actually ended up great. I was happy that my trip was relatively inexpensive on the flight out, even if it took twice as long as the train would have. I feel like it’s much easier to absorb a little aggravation on your outbound trip, because you’re still excited about your vacation and going a little out of your way to save money doesn’t feel that bad.

And I am so glad that I took the train on the way home. By then, I had collected a ton of stuff (mostly English-language books), and I was relieved not to have to jump through any luggage-related hoops going home on EasyJet. Also I love St. Pancras — I actually got there an hour early to get a relaxed sandwich at Joe & the Juice and a couple final books at Hatchard’s. Also, because I’d just spent three exhausting days in London, I was ready to sleep in my own bed and just wanted to get home as quickly and easily as possible. Eurostar is great for that.

A couple things are clear: Eurostar is faster and easier — but it is often expensive. Flying is probably cheaper — but it’s twice as long and subject to plenty of fees if you’re traveling heavy. (Flying is also considerably worse for the environment than traveling by train.)

So, to wrap up: The best way to travel from London to Paris is by Eurostar. Unless it’s too expensive, in which case, a flight will do.