Paris has loads of public baths. Both luxurious spas and Arabian hammams. Here is a handful of Momondo-writer Louise Sandager’s personal favorites.

Mint tea and bath slippers

One of the best bath houses is Les Bains du Marais in rue des Blanc-Manteaux. When you walk into the lobby, you immediately feel yourself thrown into a gentleman’s study in colonial North Africa. Here there are thick, old Moroccan wooden panels, palm trees and tall glass cupboards with lotions and soaps rich in vitamins.

In the subterranean hammam you are equipped with a pair of well-fitting bath slippers and after five minutes you have forgotten all about parking problems and the early morning rush. Here you move lazily between the steam bath and the rest lounge, which is at bit cooler. If you pass by then book an appointment with Jama. A little, chubby Moroccan lady in a bathing suit, who is full of vitality. She’s in charge of gommage, the scrub, where the dead skin is rubbed of and every single infiltration is massaged away with a heavy brush. You are even rubbed between the toes and behind the ears.

Afterwards, there is steaming hot mint tea in the tea salon, where the neighborhood’s gays, artists and communication workers enjoy a healthy lunch amidst ladies in bath robes, saving their spa trip for the men’s only day.

Les Bains du Marais, 31, rue Blancs Manteaux. Metro: Rambuteau.

Happiness at Chunwa

Recently I had been working my garden for en entire weekend and my whole body was aching. I thought about going to Ronald, the American - and quite handsome - shiatsu-masseur at the elegant institute Carita in rue Faubourg Saint-Honoré. He has previously straightened me out.But then it so happened that I read about Les Portes de Bacopa. A big luxury flat on one of Paris’ most fashionable addresses. Transformed into a wellness-cave where stressed Parisians can take a time-out from there hectic lives.

I went there a Tuesday afternoon. Two floors op the wide staircase, where Madam Evelyne received me, as if I was a long awaited guest. Inside, behind the heavy door, I landed in the middle of the set for one of those French movies about Indo-China in the 50s. There was low Asian furniture, palm trees, birds’ chirping and a scent of Oriental incense.

In advance I had chosen my Massage Volupté, which in French means something like sensual enjoyment, and I didn’t regret it for at minute. As a stroke of good luck I got the young Korean Chunwa as my masseuse. She has recently been praised in the most flattering terms in a spa-supplement in the big, snobbish Parisian newspaper Le Figaro and honestly: It was an hour and a half of sheer pampering.

I lay there on a bed of luscious terry cloth, the floor covered with rose petals, while Chunwa kneaded every inch of my body. She’s a trained cosmetologist and has since, from her employer, received additional massage-training at private schools in Paris.

Les Portes de Bacopa, 45, avenue George V. Metro: George V.

100 euros for the cellulite

If you’re looking for real luxury, then try Espace Payot in rue Pierre Charron in the 8. arrondissement. It has in just a short time – and deservedly – become one of the hottest public baths in town.

1.200 square metres with everything a tired body can dream of. Here there’s a hammam and sauna, bubbling spa, hairdresser, manicure, pedicure and of course loads of masseurs ready to knead the muscles. For an additional 100 euros you can even have your cellulite rubbed.

It’s all first class surroundings and aesthetic and all that. But still, I think it’s almost comical when you have to pick from a menu whether you want to lie on crystals, have a spinal manipulation or be rolled in vanilla oil. Somehow, it feels slightly over the top. But luxurious none the less, of course.

Espace Payot, 62 rue Pierre Charron. Metro: George V.

Paris Tourist Office/David Lefranc 

It was never a conscious decision, but for some reason I always stayed out of the 13th arrondissement. I only went here if catching a movie on Place d’Italie or if I had to buy dried noodles or erotic drinking glasses in the Chinese area (the ones where you see naked women at the bottom when you pour alcohol in!).

The 13th arrondissement has no distinctive reputation. There are some ugly high-rises inhabited by thousands of Chinese immigrants and the hospital where Lady Diana passed away. But I’ve never bumped into anything memorable here.

Paris Tourist Office/David Lefranc

That is, until I discovered Butte aux Cailles. A tiny neighborhood in the 13th arr. concentrated around a few streets on a hill behind the metro station Corvisart. I’ve never felt so far from Paris inside of Paris. Narrow streets and town houses, small court yards with cabinetmaker’s workshops and bars with peeled paint on the walls and crochet curtains. Like a small village, where time hasn’t changed and you can still get sausage from Montbéllard with lentils and bacon for 8,50 Euros.

In Café du Commerce on rue Cinq Diamants, the waiter will make you a damn good cup of coffee with warm milk, and the chef suggests you try their terrine de boeuf. On Sunday afternoons there is a jazz concert with free admittance. But get there early, since the café is no bigger than a living room.     


By Louise Sandager, extract from the travel guide PARIS mon amour!, published by Gyldendal.

There are days where everything just falls into place. Like the Saturday morning not long ago when I had invited my husband to a surprise lunch at Chez Janou. I’d read about the place: Lovely terrace and good olives, down-to-earth atmosphere and small fried fish like in Marseilles. We just had to try it.

The restaurant was humbly placed on a corner behind Place de Vosges and our spirits were raised already when we saw the front. Sort of like a garden pavilion with green twining plants, sunblind, colored lamps and lots of people closely seated drinking rose wine in the sun.

Photo Helle Moos

We got the last table outside. The waiter, a big, happy strapping fellow, was joking with everybody and before we knew it we were chatting away with the American archaeology professor and his assistant at the table next to ours on one side and the two young Parisian women on the other side.

All around, people were commenting on each others food, toasting, smiling and laughing. A wholly uncomplicated atmosphere, which is otherwise rare in Paris.
Vi had sword fish on skewers with lemon rice, the special of the day, and even the chef must have been an easygoing man, because, oh, it was so light and delicious. Simple, honest food.

Inside, a fine old bistro with mosaics on the floor, yellow walls and shelves full of good wine emerged. So even on a winters day, it’s nice to be Chez Janou.

Chez Janou, 2, rue Roger-Verlomme, 3. arr. Metro: Chemin-Vert

By Louise Sandager, extract from the travel guide PARIS mon amour!, published by Gyldendal.

Paris is home to the world’s largest amount of movie theaters within one city. Huge multiplexes where Hollywood blockbusters can be seen on gigantic screens and tiny art house theaters where you can rediscover old movies. Any week of the year, 200 different films are shown in this cinema city.

If you want to go for a drink or a stroll on the waterfront before or after the film experience, go to MK2 at the Villette bassin. One of the city’s most wonderful movie houses is located here, in a centenarian warehouse with a café terrace on the quay.The building is an experience in itself.  Ancient iron and modern glass panes decorated with painted words like amour, democratie, femmes and verité.

This is where I saw a dead body for the first time in my life. He was lying on the sidewalk as the police was sketching him on the ground and people were rushing by. Just like in the movies. Later, I read that he had been stabbed in a drug encounter. But just to reassure you: I’ve been there many times without seeing any dead people!

On summer nights, hanging out along the floodgates all the way from the 10th arrondissement, arriving early, sipping a green mint sirop, watching the boats go by.

The theater mainly shows European films, so this is not the place to catch the latest Rambo flick. MK2 on the Seine is very quality conscious – or snobbish, if you will - and a short film is often screened before the actual movie. And there are lots of great French, Spanish, British and more exotic films to be discovered here.

The wine that is being served in the restaurant and the bar has been selected by the director Claude Chabrol. I don’t know whether he is a wine connoisseur. But it’s fine.

By Louise Sandager, exctract from her book PARIS mon amour!, published by Gyldendal.

Go further: Watch movie in the old-style DDR Kino International in Berlin.

Dear traveller, dreamer, vagabond, backpacker and luxury animal,

Welcome to a new momondo.

With tens of thousands of visitors every day and international media calling us the best aggregator for searching far and wide, we now have the courage – read self confidence – to believe that we can also be among the best travel guides on the web.

From this day on we’ll focus exclusively on that urban life, that pulse, those contrasts that make big cities such a thrill to plunge into. We’ll go for the secrets, the little bistro in the backyard, the smell of a local dish, a stunning new museum or a funny hairdresser with a vivid taste. We’ll find you that little personal hotel you always dreamed of, or the bar where you can have your bike repaired while drinking anise liqueur. But don’t even think of finding the opening hours of the Eiffel Tower. Those you’ll have to find somewhere else.

For this new site, momondo has handpicked writers, journalists and outstanding bloggers to deliver daily tips from all over Europe and New York. These are people who live, eat, work and kiss in the big cities.

We hope you’ll like this new site. That you’ll use us. Read us. Laugh and feel.
And please, do not forget to write us back when you yourself have found a perfect place out there. Then we’ll go momondo together.

Louise Sandager, Travel Editor