Last December, I tried my luck at a new scheme called "Paris greeter", whose volunteers take you on an intimate tour of Paris. The original idea behind the initiative was to fight the city's unfriendly image. I applied and was ignored. How typical I thought - but it seems that I had probably just been unlucky since I later received a dozen emails all enthusing about the Paris greeter association, praising its professionalism and friendliness.
However, at the time, in order to salve my city's honour, I offered myself to Guardian readers as their very own Paris greeter. Among the 73 applicants who wrote to me, explaining in a few words why they would like to go on a tour with moi, I picked Aisling Q, a young Irish woman. She wrote: "Paris captured the hearts of Samuel Beckett and James Joyce, my literary heroes. As an Irish woman learning French, I am longing to discover the beauty of modern Paris for myself. Then, I hope, I can tell you why it is the most beautiful city in the world." Her words, like those of her literary heroes won me over.
We agreed to wait until the beginning of July, in Samuel Beckett's own words, "les beaux jours". A month before our Saturday tour, I sent Aisling a questionnaire: how well did she know Paris? Was she a shopping addict, a museum lover, or a keen walker? Did she like croissants, cinema and flea markets? None of the above?
Aisling had been to Paris only once, climbed up the Eiffel Tower and that was about it. She seemed open to everything and was a keen cyclist. The day before we met, I browsed through L'Officiel, the 35 cent weekly bible to what's on in Paris, selected a large array of activities, events and exhibitions and hoped for fair weather. Aisling liked cycling? Easy, we would cycle everywhere by Vélib, the free bicycle scheme that has changed the face of Paris since its creation in July 2007.
We met near her hotel at 12am, Au petit fer à cheval, a café that has a 1930s bar in the shape of a horse-shoe (fer à cheval). I scanned the faces. "Salut!" said a tall 32-year-old woman smiling at me with a red flower in her hair. She had brought Le Monde with her and had already ordered a "petit noir". She told me bravely, finding her words, that we should speak no other language but French during the trip, which she had started learning at school and then in francophone Africa while working for a medical NGO as a biology graduate. Now training to become a doctor, she is planning to work in Toulouse this summer and perhaps return to Mali in a couple of years.
The decision was taken to cycle up north through the unfashionable but colourful areas of République, Barbès and Clignancourt to Les Puces de St Ouen, the place where the concept of flea markets (puces) was first invented in the late 1880s. We got a Vélib day pass for a token €1 and set off north. I gave Aisling a few tips about choosing a Vélib and then about cycling in Paris: always beware of the unruly Parisians, assert your presence by (almost constantly) ringing your bell. In Saint Ouen, Aisling bought 1960s advertising key rings, all with a different shape and slogan. Cycling had heightened our appetite, so we chose to stand at the zinc bar of typical Brasserie Paul Bert (20, rue Paul Bert) for a quick and extremely good value €6 lunch of marinated salmon with potato gratin.
Back in the saddle, we pedalled north to Montmartre and the Sacré-Coeur basilica for an all-encompassing view of Paris, before freewheeling down to le Moulin Rouge and from there to Opéra, Place Vendôme and Le Louvre pyramid. Showing no trace of fatigue, Aisling was keen to go on cycling. We glided past boulevard St Germain up to the St Louis Island where I declared cycling truce. We had reached the Berthillon stand, the best ice-cream in Paris, time for a mango sorbet I thought.
There was little time for meditation though. From one feast of the palate to another: Aisling wanted to buy cheese to bring back to her family in Ireland. I took her to Fromagerie Laurent Dubois, Place Maubert, where she chose a camembert for immediate consumption and a Corsican goat cheese to keep. Keen to perfect her French in a friendly and painless manner, Aisling thought she could brush up by reading French comics. Luckily, we were in the comic strip strip, just near Paris's oldest bookshop selling graphic novels, Album. With Marjane Sartrapi's Persepolis and Jean Tardi's sleek historical comic strip classics under her arm, Aisling was ready for more culture. Nothing easier in the heart of the Latin Quarter. We had just time to catch the 6pm screening of Alexander Mackendrick's The Ladykillers, a 1955 gem of British cinema, at the famous art-house theatre, Action Ecoles - a film that is next to impossible to see on a big screen in Britain. Then, after the screening, and on my recommendation, Aisling went to bakery Kayser, rue Monge, to get a €4 poulet and tomates confites baguette sandwich which she savoured in her room with a glass of wine.
Our Paris tour could have ended with a glass of Gigondas but it didn't. We met again the following morning at café Panis, opposite Notre-Dame for a petit crème and pain au chocolat. Undaunted by Parisian traffic and having mastered the art of Vélib, with her pass still valid for another 12 hours, Aisling wanted to make the most of it. I showed her the way to another flea-market: les Puces de Vanves. I saw her off, and waved good-bye as her silhouette, vanished effortlessly, ascending Rue St Jacques.
I don't know whether Paris enchanted Aisling but I certainly never tired of seeing the city I love through her eyes. Outsiders always make you see things for the first time, and make you question what you held as certainties. I don't know whether I was a good greeter but Aisling certainly was a great visitor.
Aisling Quiery
It was the little things only a Parisian could know that made the tour so special, like how to enjoy un café et croissant for half the price (sit at the counter rather than at a table), where to find the best boulangerie in St-Germain-des-Pres (Rue Monge of course) and the best ice-cream (hint - look for the long queues) and how to avoid the embarrassment of your fresh camembert stinking out Eurostar on the way home (get it vacuum wrapped at the fromagerie). C'est vrai, I was a Parisian for a day. I just hope that, like a true Parisian, I won't be able to stay away for long.
Getting there
Aisling and Agnes travelled with Eurostar from London St Pancras to Paris Gare du Nord. Tickets from £59 return per person. eurostar.com
Paris hotel: Little Palace Hotel, 4 Rue Salmon De Caus Cnr 100, Paris, 75003 booked via hotels.com £125 per person for a single room.
London hotel: Holiday Inn, Kings Cross/Bloomsbury. Rooms from £93 per night holidayinn.com
