There’s nothing more supreme in Paris than the ordinary. The tucked away cafes with wrought iron fencing. Elegant, mature women walking their petite dogs. A scruffy man dripping with masculinity and Euro chic walking with intention, a burning cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
My last stay there involved a twelve bed dorm and while the stroll to my hostel along the Seine held charm for me, it’s not quite the same as struggling with a bag of groceries just purchased at the market until I”m standing at a chipped wooden door with a brass knocker, where I insert a key listening for all cylinders to connect and push it’s crafted weight open to a set of creaky wooden stairs that I climb, alternating between balancing a bag of food and my swollen feet, when I turn a key yet again to enter a flat. One that’s been shut up all day and smells like garlic, soap and wine.
With Roomorama, I got to do just that. Fantasize for a moment that I’m a resident of the 11th arrondissement, an active neighborhood of cafes, stunning architecture and the mundane.
Sometimes I miss the mundane, yet in Paris it’s usually anything but. It was nice to have access to a flat. It was nice to sit down across from a local and talk about his world.
I’m not going to tell you that Roomorama offers rock bottom, backpacker prices, because they don’t.
What they give you is an experience. That sentiment may sound like a brochure, but that’s the only way I can describe it.
See, travel is composed of a series of windows in a building and these windows interconnect, form patterns as much as they veer into nonsensical encounters. The best way to view this building is to stand at a street corner and select a window, any one of them, and once you do – it all makes sense. Places you stay, people you meet.. they are all those tiny windows. Just peer in.