Carol spent 10 days in Paris (April 1–10, 2026) doing absolutely everything at full speed: fine dining at Alain Ducasse and Langosteria, an Andrea Bocelli concert, flea market hunting at 7:30 am, the Musée d’Orsay, Giverny by bike, a spiritual detour to Lourdes, the Alaïa & Dior exhibit, and a thorough sweep of Chloé, Chanel, and Hermès. She left cultured, fed, spiritually recalibrated, and three shopping bags heavier. Score: Carol 1, Paris 0.
A 10-day dispatch from a woman who came, saw, and shopped.
The Journey Begins
Manila → Singapore → Paris → Chaos
She didn’t just go to Paris. She arrived. After the obligatory Manila–Singapore–Paris marathon (approximately one viewing of Succession, two glasses of Champagne, and zero apologies for the lie-flat seat), Carol touched down on April 1st – April Fools’ Day – which Paris treated not as a joke but as a personal challenge. The city greeted her with 57°F and patchy rain, as if to say: “Prove you deserve me.” She unpacked at the Pullman Paris Tour Eiffel, looked out at the Iron Lady glittering in the drizzle, and thought, challenge accepted.
Eat, Pray, Spend
Let’s talk about what Carol actually did in Paris, which is to say: everything, at full throttle, walking on clouds, specifically, On Clouds.
The cultural itinerary read like someone gave a Vogue editor unlimited credit and a Google Maps subscription. There was Café Marly (because obviously), the operatic grandeur of Tosca, and — the crown jewel — an Andrea Bocelli concert that reportedly caused Carol to produce actual tears, which she would describe as “allergies” and nobody believed. There was La Halle aux Grains, Alain Ducasse’s cathedral to French grain and ambition, where the food arrived like it had something to prove. It did. It won.
Langosteria happened. Bar Les Ambassadeurs at Hôtel de Crillon happened — because if you’re going to drink in Paris, you drink in a room that once hosted Marie Antoinette’s social calendar. Lou Lou at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs delivered Easter Sunday lunch with the kind of effortless chicness that makes you rethink every brunch you’ve ever had in your life.
Early Morning at a Flea Market
On Saturday, while lesser tourists were sleeping in, Carol was at the Porte de Vanves flea market at 7:30 am — seven in the morning, in Paris, in the rain, hunting for treasure like a woman who has a spreadsheet for her vintage finds and is not ashamed of it. This is the behavior of someone who is deeply serious about beauty. Respect.
Later that morning, Alex Bernas was performing live. Because, of course, there was a live performance before 11 am.
Art, Fashion, and the Holy Trinity
The Azzedine Alaïa and Christian Dior exhibit confirmed what Carol already knew: fashion is not frivolous; it is civilization. Matisse, Renoir, Monet — yes, all of them, in the flesh, plural — were consumed like a multi-course meal at the Musée d’Orsay, which also deserves its own paragraph for being the most beautiful train station-turned-art museum on earth and for making Carol feel things she usually reserves for weekly excom meetings.
Giverny was a full-day affair — train to Vernon, biked to Monet’s actual garden, which turned out to look exactly like the paintings (shocking, thrilling, deeply worth it), followed by dinner at Sushi Marché because the French and the Japanese have a mutual understanding about perfection that the rest of us are still catching up to.
The shopping portion of the program — Chloé, Chanel, Hermès, Figaret, Kujten — shall not be itemized here for legal and spousal reasons, but know that it was thorough, it was intentional, and it was magnificent.
Lourdes: The Spiritual Reset
Between the Ducasse dinners and the Dior exhibits, Carol took herself to Lourdes, a detour that was equal parts pilgrimage and perspective. Because that is the thing about Carol: she can hold a Chanel bag in one hand and grace in the other, and she will not apologize for either.
Au Revoir, Paris (You Were Barely Ready)
Notre Dame. Les Ombres. Café des Invalides. And Monsieur Bleu for a final dinner — seated outside, the Eiffel Tower glittering in the backyard like it had been placed there specifically for this occasion. Then, on April 10th, the bags were zipped (heroically), the Champagne was finished (efficiently), and Carol flew home: cultured, fed, spiritually recalibrated, and at least three shopping bags heavier.
Paris got ten days of Carol. Carol got everything she came for.
The score: Carol 1, Paris 0 — but Paris is already planning its comeback.
Merci infiniment to a generous friend, who hosted, organized, herded, and made all of this possible. Every great Paris trip needs a great accomplice.
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