Paris

If, like me, you’re closed-minded when visiting a city, you want the quintessential, stereotypical experience that goes with it: haggling in a Marrakech souk, drinking espresso on a crisp Autumn morning in Rome, or perhaps a car bomb in Tel Aviv. So, when a trip to Paris is on the cards, I want to crank up the French-ness so far that the tables outside of the cafes shake and the mirrored walls in the bistros begin to distort. Let’s think Serge Gainsbourg, really strong fags, small glasses of red wine, black rollnecks, and cars made of corrugated tin. Need I say more. With my stay booked at La Reserve, I…