The View From Our Bridge

Most people who visit Paris regularly have a favorite bridge. For my husband and me, setting foot on Pont Neuf is like having Paris say, "Welcome back."

The majestic Pont Alexandre III, with its stunning gold-tipped columns, is more beautiful than our bridge; Pont Royal, gateway to the Tuileries Gardens and the Louvre Museum (for Left Bankers like us) is better located for visiting the major attractions; and Pont des Artes, one of the few pedestrian bridges in the city, may be crossed without dodging traffic.

But for us, Pont Neuf is not just for crossing. It's a destination in itself. It's our place for lingering and soaking up the feel of the city. It's where we people-watch and drink in the river views, and sit on a stone bench carved into a turret and plan our next move -- and then decide not to move at all, because we can't think of any place we'd rather be.

Initiated by Henry III in 1578 and inaugurated by Henry IV in 1607, Pont Neuf, or "New Bridge," is now the oldest standing bridge in Paris, and the longest. Its twelve arches span the widest part of the Seine, cutting across the tip of Ile de la Cite at midpoint. It is also the first stone bridge; earlier bridges were constructed of wood or cast-iron.

But the statistic I find most essential is, it was the first bridge built without houses and shops on it, blocking the river views. Kudos to whichever Henry issued that decree. Without it, we would be deprived of one of today's most stirring Paris sights -- the panoramic view from our bridge.

When we must move from our turret seat, any direction we choose takes us to a place we love. Just fifty yards from the bustle of the bridge, on Ile de la Cite, is the bucolic Place Dauphine. This triangular square is a vestige of seventeenth century village life in the heart of the city. British illustrator Ronald Searle sketched it more than fifty years ago. It looks the same today, an example of how the things I love most about Paris never change.

I like to watch Place Dauphine wake up. Arriving in early morning, I claim a bench under an ancient tree and enjoy the solitude and stillness of a new day. The first sign of life is a man walking his dog. Before tending to the business at hand, he stops at the boulangerie for a baguette, breaking off pieces to eat as he walks. Gradually, the cafes come to life as men in long white aprons turn up chairs and spread tablecloths. In a while, an artist strolls in. After carefully considering light and angles, she sets up her easel and, minutes into her work, is oblivious to the increasing activity around her. I, too, immersed in the serenity of life on this square, have to remind myself that I am in the hub of a great city.

My husband, who doesn't share my enthusiasm for dawn patrol, joins me later for breakfast, and we plan our day. I leave Place Dauphine without regret because I know we'll be back. We've made a reservation for dinner at Restaurant Paul, on the Place. Boasting no star ratings, appearing on no prestigious lists, this landmark bistro, where tables are shared and only French is spoken, is a quintessential Paris experience. The friendliness of the staff alone would keep me coming back. On our first visit, the waitress resorted to charades to prevent me from ordering a dish she suspected I might not like. There wasn't much I recognized on the French-only menu, so I ordered the veau, which I knew was veal. Our waitress vehemently pointed to her head to let me know what part of the calf they were serving that evening.

Leaving Place Dauphine, we cross the bridge to the Right Bank. The massive Samaritaine department store complex, dead ahead, flags flapping on its roof, beckons us once again to come to the top of Building Two for a heart-stopping view of the city. It's fabulous and its free, and there is no better way to begin a visit to Paris.

Knowing we'll be having a hearty dinner at Restaurant Paul, we decide to just snack as we go for our midday meal. At lunchtime we are well into the Marais. This is the place for citizens of the world who long for a taste of home. We are tempted by the succulent offerings in the windows of Chinese take-out shops, and enticed by the wealth of Moroccan and Turkish delights displayed but, never needing a break from French food ourselves, we stop instead at La Tartine on rue de Rivoli.

Without knowing the history of this rundown Marais institution, we would have walked right on by. The ambience, inside and out, is clearly in the minus category. But from all accounts, this was the place to have a tartine.This is simply an open-faced sandwich on baguette, my favorite being one spread with butter and topped with jambon, that unique dry-textured French ham. A tartine may be spread with cheese, dried sausage or pate, though even a humble petit pain spread with butter and jam qualifies. But only in Paris, where the butter is Normandy's finest and the jam is made from the harvest of a boutique vineyard in the Loire Valley. Does a Manhattan "buttered roll to go," spread with fat-free margarine and generic jelly, qualify as a tartine? Even when served open-faced? I think not.

Later in the day, after watching the street players on the lovely Place des Vosges and browsing the fashionable boutiques and galleries that now fill this trendy quartier, we stop at another Marais institution, Mariage Freres, the renowned tea importers on rue du Bourg-Tibourg. Founded in 1854, this combination tea boutique and tasting salon stocks hundreds of varieties from around the world. We watch as merchants, following the directions of their knowledgeable customers, combine several flavors to create custom blends. The possibilities are limitless. Nirvana for tea lovers, it is a bit overwhelming for us, and we retreat to the back room, where an elegant high tea is served. The glazed fruit tarts and buttery scones make a perfect mid-afternoon pickup. Unlike La Tartine. where one eats and runs, the plant-and-wicker filled ambience of Mariage Freres invites one to linger.

It's a trek back to our bridge and we've been on the go since breakfast, but we will have the perfect place to rest when we get there. Halfway across Pont Neuf, down a flight of stone steps, is Square du Vert-Galant. In a city of magnificent parks, the little-known Vert Galant is an unexpected island of solitude where one may find refuge from the noises of the surrounding city. We unwind in this lovely oasis, restored by the hushed environment. The views are stunning in every direction. Gazing straight ahead from this extreme tip of Ile de la Cite, we have a full view of Pont des Artes, with the Louvre on the Right Bank and the Institut de France on the Left. The graceful span of Pont Neuf is above us and, should we forget that this tranquil pocket of green is in the middle of Paris, in the distance is the tip of the Eiffel Tower to remind us. We would like to stay longer but it is late afternoon now, and another old haunt is calling.

We leave the park and head for Taverne Henri IV, which sits on the edge of Place Dauphine. Though named for the popular monarch, at this venerable neighborhood bistro a vin, it's wine that is king. There is a wide selection, much of it purchased in bulk from small domaines and bottled by the owner. Mellowing out on a soothing country red, we have come full circle from where we started our day. And we have dinner at Restaurant Paul to look forward to.

On the way back to our hotel, we take one last look at the view from our bridge. The star-lit evening sky is mirrored in the river below. Passing bateaux mouches cast a brilliant light on the banks of the Seine, setting ablaze the museums and monuments in their path. The City of Light is putting on a dazzling show, and we have front-row seats.