Turns out that the best time to visit the City of Light — or almost anywhere — is in the off-season.

By Joanne Sasvari | Photos by Simon DesRochers
Last November I fell in love with Paris. Which was funny, because although I’d visited France’s capital city many times before, I was never really all that fond of it. I mean, sure, it’s beautiful and a great place to buy a decent croissant or Hermès scarf, but it was expensive and crowded and, well, a bit rude. I’d rather hop a train to Bordeaux or Lyon instead.
But in November, Paris is a different place. It’s dreamy, romantic and friendly, draped in soft mists and, in between showers, gentle sunshine. We meandered slowly about, window-shopping, popping into galleries and museums, stopping for a glass of wine here or some fresh Belon oysters there, exchanging bon mots with Parisians who happily shared their favourite places with us. Now I’m hopelessly smitten with this gracious place.
Seems it wasn’t Paris I didn’t love. It was what we tourists were doing to it.

Over Tourism
When people talk, as they do more and more often these days, about regenerative travel, one of the points that is often made is that tourism has to be sustainable for the people who actually live in a destination.
Tourism, of course, brings in much-needed, much-appreciated revenue, and most people are happy to welcome visitors and introduce them to the place where they live. But overtourism has made life miserable for the residents in some of the world’s most beautiful places.
Indeed, the onslaught of visitors has driven some destinations to take desperate measures.
Amsterdam, for instance, is telling “nuisance tourists” — mainly young weekenders looking for weed and prostitutes — to stay away. Last summer, despite the 40°C-plus heat, Athens was so overrun it had to cap visitors to the Acropolis at 20,000 a day. Barcelona was among the first cities to restrict short-term rentals in an attempt to control visitor numbers in peak season; this summer, frustrated protesters sprayed tourists with water guns and symbolically taped over hotel entrances and restaurant terraces.
But despite what some of the more strident anti-tourism graffiti may suggest, the solution isn’t to stay home. The solution is to travel more responsibly. And that means picking your time and your place.
That might mean looking to smaller, less well-known, less frequently visited communities, many of which are equally rich in cultural and culinary treasures. It might also mean travelling at different times of year, avoiding the busy weekends and summer months, planning your journey for the shoulder seasons of early spring and late fall.
For a destination, this reduces the burden in the busy summertime and ensures that people have jobs year round. But the benefit of off-season travel is even greater for visitors. The crowds are lighter, it’s easier to get into attractions and restaurants, things tend to be less expensive and, best of all, the people who live in a destination are actually happy to see you.
Doesn’t that sound like a lot more fun?
Which brings us back to Paris. This summer, some 15 million visitors were expected to hit town during the Olympic and Paralympic Games, more than twice the usual number in the peak months of July and August. (However, reports suggest numbers were actually much lower.)
Of course, Paris put on a good show. It is Paris, after all. The city used the opportunity to restore historic buildings like the Grand Palais (at a cost of US$500 million) and commission new art like the statues of women unveiled during the opening ceremonies. It also made the Games the greenest ever, encouraging low-carbon travel options, cleaning up the Seine and banning single-use plastics, among other initiatives.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder: Aside from their impact on the residents and the environment, just how authentic an experience would all those millions of wannabe Emilys in Paris have?

No Crowds, No Waiting
We landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport on a drizzly Monday morning and were quickly whisked to our cozy hotel across from the Luxembourg Gardens. Soon after, we were nibbling baguettes and sipping cafe au lait while our server chatted genially with us. I couldn’t help but compare it to the last time I was here, in June a few years back, when the trip from the airport through gridlocked traffic was both tedious and terrifying, and the servers were far too harassed to pass the time of day.
Over the next few days, we communed with Monet’s “Waterlilies” at the Orangerie without a single tourist thrusting a selfie stick into our sightline. We trekked through a downpour out to the antique mall at Clignancourt where the stall owners had plenty of time to tell us about their wares. We shopped for Longchamp bags at the Galeries Lafayette, where the windows were already festively decorated for the holidays and there were no long, roped-off lineups of people waiting to pay.
One quiet night, we stopped in at Le Willi’s Wine Bar near Odéon, where we leisurely sampled our way through the Rhône-heavy wine list, no need to rush so they could turn the table for a waiting guest. Another night, a friendly Parisian directed us to Les Papilles, a wine shop that serves prix-fixe family-style meals after hours (technically, a “cave à manger”), and joined the neighbourhood regulars dining on fragrant chicken stew from a copper pot. Browsing through the fancy designer shops of the Boul St-Germain, we paused for delicately briny — and perfectly in-season — oysters and elegant Sancerre at the teeny-tiny L’Huîtrerie Régis and didn’t have to wait even a minute for one of the seven tables. Another afternoon, we ducked out of a sudden downpour and into a tabac, a sort of café/bar/corner store, where the server poured us wine and cracked jokes with us like we were old friends.
Everywhere, we met Parisians who were delighted to tell us about their wonderful city. I was heartbroken to leave.
Now, I know it’s not always possible to travel in the off-seasons, especially if you have kids in school, but if you could, wouldn’t you rather?
