You never know what you’ll stumble upon while wandering the streets of Paris with camera in hand. Hopefully a good picture, but more important, some great memories.

By Dana McMahan

Sophie pushed open an anonymous door on rue de Faubourg Saint Antoine and we stepped off the noisy street and into a peaceful, shaded alley leading into a Parisian courtyard that seemed to be from another century. I followed her, still a little flabbergasted at the nonchalance with which she strode right in. This was not the Paris I knew, the Paris of landmarks and elbow to elbow tourists. And that’s exactly what I hoped for when I booked my half-day photography workshop with Sophie Pasquet.

We have to back up for a moment. I’d decided with three weeks notice to visit Morocco, and limited by my miles as to where Delta could fly me, I had to fly into London and EasyJet it to Marrakech. When the agent asked where I’d like to fly home from, well, the answer was a no-brainer: Paris. Though I’ve visited the city half a dozen times — spending a week there just last year — I can never get enough, and took this opportunity to tack on a couple days in my favorite city.

Once the decision was made, I began to wonder how to fill my time on this, my first trip to Paris all alone. Of course I’ve visited the biggies, and even some of the more obscure sights (5 a.m. tour of Rungis anyone?). I’ve taken a biking tour, a Seine tour, walking tours and even a boulangerie tour. How might I see the city in a new way?

Well I’m an enthusiastic photographer, and I love capturing images of food, street scenes and architecture in Paris. I also know very little about the workings of my trusty Nikon D50, shooting using an automatic most of the time. So I decided to book myself into a photography workshop. I asked my friends for recommendations and searched online. The first one I found cost a thousand bucks for a day (that was my entire Morocco budget), and the second promised to teach me how to use Photoshop (umm, been there, done that, I wanted to learn to take pictures right the first time.) Then I found Sophie, with relatively reasonable prices and a professional, attractive website (yes, I judge on that). Happily for me she was available on my one full day in Paris, and I booked a four-hour, 150-euro workshop right away.

She asked me to send eight photos that I’ve taken for critique, and planned an itinerary for our four hours that would fit in all of my interests. “It looks like you have a good eye and you are not afraid of getting up early to get good pictures,” she said in an e-mail. So she planned a rendezvous at 8 a.m. at Marche d’Aligre, a street market in the 12th arrondisement, thankfully not overrun with tourists.

Her email sounded promising:

We could start at the Marché Aligre in the 12th arrondissement . . . We could then move on towards the Faubourg St Antoine known for its many old traditional wood furniture “artisans” (way before Ikea was invented!). We will find small alleys and courtyards that will make us feel like we stepped back in time . . . This is the old Paris tourists don’t get to see very much!

Then we could move on to Place de la Bastille and continue our walk in the Marais district for some classic architecture and street scenes. Along the way we will stop in a little café and will review the pictures you sent.

Sophie sent a nice PDF document with tips and tricks for photography, illustrated with gorgeous shots of Paris. I printed the map she sent with clear directions to meet her, and promptly stopped thinking about Paris — Morocco beckoned.

After my North African adventures was through, my excitement for the workshop renewed. I arose early to the rumble of trains at Gare de l‘Est outside my hotel and took the metro to the 12th. Arriving early, I wandered the market as the vendors unloaded and stepped into a small bar for coffee. As I sipped my much-needed café crème, I looked around and noticed everyone was drinking wine. It was 7:45 a.m. Perhaps they’d been up all night taking delivery of the produce and seafood now going up for sale outside.

I found the corner where I was meant to meet Sophie, and just as it turned eight I saw a friendly face. In perfect English she asked if I were Dana. After exchanging cordialities we got right down to work. The market was open for business and we strolled down the street, chatting about photography. I noticed a man sitting outside a bar drinking espresso, reading the paper and listening to his iPod. What a fantastically quintessential Parisian scene for the times.

“That can be your first photo,” Sophie urged. Stealthily I walked by, looking through my camera as if interested in a street sign. Click! I captured him and ran to show Sophie.

As we walked among the produce stalls she coached me. “Anticipate the image,” she advised. “If you see a customer at a stall, be ready for them to hand money to the merchant and take their food. Have the camera ready.” I practiced adjusting speed and exposure on fruits and vegetables, occasionally getting up the nerve to snap a customer or vendor. All around me a day in the life of a Parisian unfolded, scenes unremarkable to those shopping and selling, but experiences that I wanted to hold on to — exactly why I was taking this workshop.

After I’d taken sufficient photos of potatoes, carrots and artichokes, we made our way to a small café where I enjoyed my second coffee of the morning and a flaky croissant. Sophie pulled up the photos I’d sent earlier on her iPhone and critiqued each one — a surprisingly helpful exercise.

Restored with the caffeine and breakfast, we set out for the Bastille area. Along the way we stepped in and out of the busy boulevard and into quiet alleys and courtyards made up of apartments and artisan shops. It would never have occurred to me to just open these doors and stroll right in. We visited one courtyard of apartments that used to be a factory. It was a different world in here, with a kitty fast asleep in a bicycle basket. I clicked away, getting feedback and suggestions from Sophie at every step. With her input I began to study the scene more carefully and really notice (and appreciate) what I was looking at. These ordinary scenes represented some of the magical allure of Paris: a bike leaning against stairs, flowers cascading out of window boxes. It’s not just the blockbuster sights that make Paris what it is.

We continued on past the Bastille and into le Marais, a centuries-old village just pleading for a cocked-and-ready camera. We veered from busy main streets and onto tiny little streets tucked away behind doors or just hiding in plain sight — that is, until you really begin to look around you. I continued my photo spree, working on a violinist in Place des Vosges, archways, lampposts, café tables and beguiling street scenes like that of Rue de Tresor.

The cathedral bells around the city soon announced (along with my stomach) that noon had arrived. Sophie and I parked ourselves on a bench for a review. At her request, I wrote five things about photography I’d learned that morning on a notecard — a good idea since I was in such a rush to get back out and take more photos that I’d never have stopped to write them down myself. We parted with a hug and promises to send photos and I set back out, camera in tow, ready to capture my own secret side of Paris.

If you go:

Sophie Pasquet Photography

www.betterparisphotos.com

Private tours start at €150

The post Finding Paris’s Secret Corners From Behind A Camera appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

Forget the big names and put away the guidebook, for a taste of some of the best eats Paris has to offer, be ready to head underground.

By Dana McMahan

With Michelin-starred restaurants and legendary food purveyors competing for the gourmand’s attention on seemingly every corner, Paris offers some of the world’s most famous and best-known opportunities for Foodies. But for those searching for something a little more under the radar, it should come as no surprise then that the nascent “underground restaurant” scene that has been cropping up everywhere from Sydney to Vienna is alive and well in the capital of gourmet, offering those who are in the know an unforgettable dining experience unlike any they’ve had before.

On a trip to Paris last March, I dined on ten sumptuous courses at Hidden Kitchen, one such underground restaurant. Several months before my trip, I e-mailed Braden Perkins and Laura Adrian, the American couple who run Hidden Kitchen, hoping to obtain an elusive reservation. Luckily there was room for two available the week I was going to be in town, so they took down my e-mail address and told me they’d “be in touch.” I waited patiently for months but heard nothing until about a week before the big day when an e-mail arrived in my inbox containing directions to the restaurant along with a cryptic final set of instructions: “If anyone asks who you are, just say you’re friends of Laura’s coming over for a dinner party.”

Braden and Laura moved to Paris from Seattle after college, initially planning to stay for only a year — they have yet to return. Looking for an opportunity to share their love of food and to meet new friends, they decided to host weekly dinners in their home; dinners that eventually morphed into what is now Hidden Kitchen. Incidentally, their venture also provided an excuse for them to explore the abundance of food markets in Paris. When the celebrity food blogger Chocolate and Zucchini was invited over for a soft opening of the restaurant, the word was out, and Foodies from around the world were soon clamoring for a seat at this secret dinner club — myself included.

The night finally arrived and my friend and I set out from our rented apartment, making our way onto the wet, cobblestone streets with plenty of time to spare, fearful of getting lost and never finding the building. Carefully following the detailed instructions, we were there a short ten minutes later, the first of the guests to arrive. While we waited — complimentary ginger mimosas in hand — I couldn’t help but peek my head into the apartment’s tiny kitchen to see where the magic was happening. I recognized the feeling in the air immediately: my husband and I generate the same frantic energy when guests enter our own kitchen, particularly during those moments when we’re deep into dinner preparation and the pressure is at its zenith. Yet the energy I observed in their kitchen was a controlled energy — channeled into the multitude of details that go into making a spectacular dinner.

Assisted by an intern from Le Cordon Bleu and under the watchful eye of their dog, Tatie, the young couple proceeded to serve a succession of elegantly presented plates to the group of twelve guests who had managed to squeeze into a dining room not much larger than a standard walk-in closet. The candlelit space grew increasingly boisterous as we progressed from the amusing “Zucchini Fritter on Crème Fraiche with Cucumber Dill Lemonade Shot” to the surprising “Strawberry Shortcake with Black Peppercorn Semi-Freddo.” (You read that correctly, a pepper dessert; surprisingly good.) I can’t help to think that the swelling enthusiasm of the room was perhaps heightened a bit by the generous allotment of wine that accompanied each dish.

Unruffled, despite the feverish pace in the kitchen, Chef Braden found time to emerge from the kitchen to explain each dish before we dug in. Speaking in a quiet voice, we had to put our wine glasses down and strain our ears to hear what he was saying. Each interesting course pleased, peaking for me with the third: “Fava Beans Two Ways With Green Goddess Dressing and Arzak Egg.” The poached egg, so named for Spanish chef Juan Mari Arzak, was simmered in plastic wrap, lending it a flower shape. An avowed egg-hater, I felt compelled to try — far be it from me to commit a culinary transgression and refuse a plate. I was happily astonished to find it delicious, and have since added it to my own repertoire.

Ideally, I would have preferred dining with a more diverse mix of people, but Laura explained to me that they alternate nights between visiting Anglophones and Parisians (to relieve the locals from having to field questions from distracting tourists.) Though I grumbled inwardly a little about having to dine with a table of other Americans, the group was at least interesting. Across the table from me was a blogger from America with her husband and to my left sat two backpackers. Next to the backpackers was a newly engaged couple; he had recently proposed to her, surprising her with this trip to Paris, complete with a helicopter ride to the airport. “I thought I was getting a puppy,” she giggled. To my right was a producer from “The Amazing Race” along with his wife and some of their family members now living in Paris. They kept to themselves, probably fearful of a crowd of inebriated diners pleading for a spot on the show — I have no idea where he would get that idea.

Though I didn’t love the fish courses and would have preferred a table more mixed than ten other Americans, the night — and the rest of the meal — was otherwise brilliant. Even more than the allure of the illicit, dining in a Parisian apartment allowed me, at least for one evening, to indulge in a fantasy: a fantasy that this was my life, wining and dining in an intimate dining-room in my favorite city in the world.

Sometime after midnight, happily full and wine-muddled, we nibbled our petit-fours, sipped the last of our coffee, paid the “suggested contribution” of 70 euros, exchanged e-mail addresses with our new friends and set off for a nightcap at a neighborhood spot recommended to us by Braden and Laura. It wasn’t quite time to call it quits on our underground adventure in the Parisian food world.

The post A Night Out In Paris’s Underground Dining Scene appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.