A Sybaritic Weekend Break in Paris with Sweett Apartments & Hotels
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Sweett Apartment Paris View
Seeking a respite from the everyday drizzle of London, we decided that only a weekend in Paris, ensconced in the sybaritic embrace of a Sweett Apartment, would lift us out of the doldrums. Thus, we crossed the Channel, lured by the siren call of café life and the promise of existential wellness, Parisian-style.
We had opted for a gloriously modern flat, perched like a chic heron on the historic Île Saint-Louis, its windows offering a panoramic spectacle of the Seine. Upon arrival, a gentleman of impeccable charm and enigmatic smile presented us with the keys, a box of chocolates that whispered of untold pleasures, and a bottle of Laurent-Perrier Champagne, a liquid poem in effervescent form.
The flat, a testament to contemporary Parisian opulence, boasted marble surfaces that gleamed like polished ice, two bijou bathrooms fit for a small Roman emperor, a resin bath promising oceanic tranquility, and Eastern Mediterranean mirrors strategically placed to multiply the sheer fabulousness of the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows, soaring to double-height ceilings, transformed the Seine into a living masterpiece. Photos, those humble attempts at capturing grandeur, simply couldn’t do justice to the in-situ experience. The décor, a meticulously curated fusion of old-world Parisian charm and über-luxe modern design, was a designer's dream, a palette of dark wood, black marble, and earthy tones, contrasted with exquisite cream Parisian stone walls, creamy marble floors, and splashes of colour from red and green chairs, and taupe carpets. Chocolate beams, ceilings, and cupboard doors added a touch of decadent drama. Underfloor heating, with subtle uplighting, created a romantic ambiance, evoking the image of a French courtesan's love nest, generously funded by a Russian billionaire with a penchant for the theatrical.
The Île Saint-Louis, a haven of serene tranquility, stood in stark contrast to the bustling, delightfully chaotic Right Bank. We swiftly settled in, uncorking the Laurent-Perrier while serenading ourselves with French café lounge music from Spotify, the Seine our backdrop. A quick foray to the local Carrefour, a treasure trove of essentials and, crucially, Schtroumpf sweets for our discerning young daughter, preceded our evening's adventure.
Le Paris Paris, so good they named it twice, offered a culinary sonnet, a symphony of flavours nestled beside the vibrant St. Germain shopping district. After the final, exquisite course, we drifted through the Sixth Arrondissement. The air, thick with the scent of blossoming linden and freshly baked pastries, hummed with a quiet elegance. We absorbed the visual poetry of Haussmannian facades, the effortless chic woven into the very cobblestones. And, just a whisper away from our flat, the newly restored Notre Dame stood, a beacon of history, its stones glowing softly in the twilight.
The next morning, I ventured forth, a pastry pilgrim in search of the perfect croissant, a quest easily accomplished, given Paris’s abundance of edible masterpieces. Breakfast, enjoyed with a Seine-side view, was a tableau of Parisian awakening.
Our wanderings took us to familiar haunts, including the Cimetière du Montparnasse, where my family history lay etched in stone. A chat with the amiable guardian, a ham and cheese baguette savoured on a park bench, and a leisurely perusal of bookshops, Bon Marché, Le Grand Épicerie, and a pastry shop boasting macarons and éclairs of epic proportions, filled our afternoon.
Exhausted but exhilarated, we retreated to our flat, where a Netflix fireplace flickered romantically, French café lounge music filled the air, and the Seine shimmered outside our windows.
Then, disaster struck, a comedy of errors worthy of a Feydeau farce: I grabbed the wrong key, our flat key and house key being identical, a cosmic jest. A moment of panic, swiftly extinguished by Sweett's concierge, who remotely unlocked our door with a flourish of 5-star efficiency—service fit for the inept.
Dinner at L’Ilot Vâches, a charming bistro on Rue des Deux Ponts, was a visual and gustatory delight, with beams, stone walls, candles, fairy lights, colourful artworks, and an abundance of cow sculptures, a whimsical touch.
Saturday’s exploration of the Right Bank led us to the Place de la Bastille, where my great-great-uncle, Marie-Jean Hérault de Séchelles, met his dramatic end, sharing the guillotine with Georges Danton and Camille Desmoulins. His parting words, “Show them we know how to die,” a testament to his dramatic flair and disdain for Danton.
We then ambled through the Marais, before indulging in a sumptuous lunch at L’Ile au Fous, next door to our flat. Onion soup gratinée (the finest I have ever savoured), steak tartare, and a croque monsieur, all executed with exquisite finesse.
Our Parisian sojourn, a delightful blend of refined indulgence and whimsical exploration, led us back to the Sixth Arrondissement, a literary haven where bookshops beckoned with promises of forgotten tales and freshly printed treasures. Here, we embarked on a pastry pilgrimage, a delectable odyssey through the city's countless patisseries. Each stop was a revelation, a testament to the Parisian mastery of the sweet arts—truly, one cannot err when indulging in such sublime creations.
But the true highlight, a journey into the extraordinary, was Deyrolle, nestled in the Rue du Bac in the Seventh Arrondissement. This institution, a sanctuary of natural sciences and pedagogy, is a portal to another realm. Stepping inside is akin to traversing time, a whimsical voyage into a fantasy landscape conjured from the depths of Tim Burton's imagination. Since 1831, Deyrolle has captivated visitors with its exquisite collection of butterflies, polar bears, tigers, elephants, and an array of exotic flora and fauna. It is a cabinet of curiosities, a living museum, an experience unlike any other. Imagine a whimsical fusion of Swift's 'Gulliver's Travels' and Verne's 'Around the World in Eighty Days,' a place where the fantastical becomes tangible.
Weekend breaks, those fleeting moments of bliss, always leave one yearning for more. Our departure, a mad dash from Pont Marie to Châtelet (a subterranean trek through hot, narrow tunnels, a lesson learned: Châtelet Les Halles is the wiser choice for Gare du Nord), was a fittingly chaotic end.
The Gare du Nord, with its light-filled waiting hall, spacious seating and pleasant street views, was a welcome contrast to its cramped, airless London counterpart.
Sweett Apartments are the quintessential Parisian experience, offering the privacy and luxury of a celebrity hideaway, at a fraction of the cost. Live like a local, albeit a local with impeccable taste and a penchant for the finer things.
