While sitting on the plane to Charles-De-Gaulle Airport last August, I found myself restless. I desperately wanted to sleep, knowing that my jet lag tends to be unforgiving, but my mind’s chatter was relentless, spiraling between sadness, fear, anger, confusion, and guilt. How could I be feeling such negative emotions while on my way to the most beautiful city in the world — let alone one of the most iconic and timeless hotels? All I could think was, “I can’t believe I’m going to experience this alone.”
As a freelance travel writer, I’m no stranger to traveling alone. However, this trip, in particular, was a special one. Though it might seem silly, I had looked forward to my golden birthday my entire life. I just knew 28 was going to be a big year, and through a series of synchronistic and seemingly divine events, I managed to secure an epic trip to France — all expenses paid. Thanks to my job, I was able to book a press trip on a river cruise through the South of France with a plus one, meaning my best friend was going to be able to join, a rare treat on international press trips. On top of that, I had won a raffle at a Dorchester media event and scored two free nights in a suite at Hôtel Plaza Athénée. It was the dream trip, and it was all happening during my golden birthday.
However, knowing this trip was on the horizon was the only thing getting me through a dark summer. Maybe it was because my Saturn had just returned, or maybe it was a delayed depression, but the months leading up to my birthday trip were some of the most emotionally and mentally tasking of my life. I felt like I was on auto-pilot, facing demons that I thought I had conquered long ago, only to realize they had come back with a vengeance. I found myself actually living for my birthday trip, thinking that everything would be okay if I could just make it to Paris. Then, nine days before we were supposed to leave, a cosmically cruel twist of fate got in the way, and my friend decided it was best for her to cancel.
Given the short notice, finding another plus-one was pretty much impossible, and I begrudgingly and bitterly accepted the inevitable. I was going to be celebrating my golden birthday alone, but considering it would be in Paris at Hôtel Plaza Athénée, who would take my woes seriously? This sentiment played on repeat throughout my head, as friends condescendingly promised, “You’ll have your Eat, Pray, Love moment.” The only problem was, that wasn’t the moment I needed.
I needed connection, companionship, and to feel securely held and loved during a dark time. I wanted to be reminded that no matter what I had going on inside my head, my external support system was there to help me until I could help myself. Instead, I found myself in the back of a cab on a cloudy August day, alone, staring blankly out the window at the Arc de Triomphe. After checking in at the grandiose lobby, I was escorted up to my suite and greeted by golden yellow drapes, Versaille-esque furnishings, crystal chandeliers, and a bed fit for two. Though I didn’t have the iconic Carrie Bradshaw view of the Eiffel Tower, I couldn’t deny just how lucky I was to stay in such a breathtaking space, especially for free. Nonetheless, my lack of gratitude caused guilt, as my mental chatter teetered between “This is all a waste without someone to share it with” and “Get it together, bitch! You’re in Paris!” Something they don’t tell you when you become a travel writer is that the high of luxury hotels, fancy meals, and free plane rides wears off. That said, don’t expect sympathy from others — because your life looks amazing! What more could you want? Better yet, how spoiled must you be to even utter a complaint?
After throwing my suitcase in the closet, I decided to walk to a nearby bistro for lunch, where I enjoyed beef carpaccio, a burrata salad, and two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc. Then, the jet lag hit. I walked through the hotel to find the elevator, and maybe it was my drowsiness or the two glasses of wine, but I looked up and found myself in awe of the delicate details. From golden sconces to intricate crown moldings to glistening chandeliers, I was struck with the realization that this property was an actual work of art. But alas, my newfound excitement and appreciation were no match for my jet lag, and after sluggishly walking to my room and slipping on the hotel robe, I crawled between the softest sheets my skin had ever touched and dozed into oblivion until dinner time.
In addition to the free suite, my raffle prize also included dinner and breakfast on both nights, so once I awoke, I got dressed up and took myself downstairs for dinner in La Cour Jardin. The courtyard looked like something straight out of a Luca Guadagnino film. Vibrant green vines covered every inch of the walls, while the signature red awnings and umbrellas offered a contrasting pop of color. They sat me at a booth big enough to fit four people, with a couple sitting to my left, and a group of six sitting to my right. Though I was incredibly used to dining alone, the ambient setting, nearby laughter, and epic menu made my lack of company sting. I kicked things off with a glass of Sancerre, conversing with the waiter each time he came by. I knew that I’d ordered too much food, but I wanted to try as many dishes as I could. I indulged in goat cheese-stuffed artichokes, tuna tartare, lobster, and fresh bread before calling it a night and walking to the Eiffel Tower for its evening show.
As I walked the streets of Paris by myself, I was struck with an invigorating sensation — one I hadn’t felt for the first 12 hours of my trip. I found a front-row spot right along the Seine, and at 10 p.m., the biggest smile crept onto my face as the tower sparkled. There was something magical about having this moment to myself. It was as if I knew this would be a core memory, one that I shared with no one but myself. I mulled over this thought on the walk back to my hotel, finding my attitude toward my isolation changing. Though being alone can be lonely, it can also be incredibly freeing. While company is vital, compromise can be suffocating, and in a place like Paris, you deserve to breathe.
I slept quite soundly that night, and when the dawn came, I was ready to tackle the day — my way. I ate breakfast in the main dining room at Jean Imbert au Plaza Athénée and was blown away by the golden walls, elaborate candelabras, and arched mirrors. I sipped my cappuccino, ate my eggs Benedict, and took a raspberry-filled croissant to go. The rest of my last day in Paris was spent exploring. I walked (a lot), visiting the Petit Palais, Musée de l'Orangerie, and Tuileries Gardens. Once I had worked up an appetite, I shared a cigarette with a stranger at a charming bistro and filled up on escargot and frog legs.
While scrolling through Instagram on the way back to Hôtel Plaza Athénée, I saw that a woman whom I’d met at a recent media event was also in Paris. In a random yet delightful turn of events, I invited her to be my plus-one for dinner. Despite being on her honeymoon, she said yes. Being able to give someone else that experience made me glow, and though I’d had a wonderful day on my own, being in her presence made me realize just how much I’d craved conversation and company. After dinner, we walked to the Eiffel Tower with her husband, standing in the same spot I had the night before, and I settled into the gratitude of sharing this moment with others.
If this trip taught me anything, it’s that solo travel is a beautiful, expansive, and sometimes somber thing. There is a time and place for it, with pros and cons on both sides of the coin. Learning to be your own favorite company can help, but to deny the need for human connection is both prideful and pitiful, and while I walked away better for it, I won’t diminish the painful parts of growth. Though it wasn’t what I had planned, spending a weekend alone at Hôtel Plaza Athénée was exactly what I needed to come back to myself. It was exactly what I needed to remember that I am my own unwavering ally, companion, and advocate.
And most importantly, I’ll always have Paris.