Paris isn’t just a city. For many, it’s the place where love becomes something you can touch-the scent of fresh bread in the morning, the way the Seine glows under streetlights, the quiet moment when someone says something stupid and perfect, and you realize you’re falling all over again.
Phil Holliday knew this. Not as a tourist. Not as a writer chasing clichés. He lived it. For over a decade, he walked the same cobblestone alleys in Le Marais, ordered the same café crème at the same corner bistro in Saint-Germain, and watched strangers become lovers under the same bridge near Pont Alexandre III. He didn’t write guidebooks. He wrote love letters disguised as advice.
Forget the Eiffel Tower at Night
Everyone tells you to go to the Eiffel Tower at sunset. Crowds. Long lines. Overpriced champagne. The view? Sure, it’s postcard-perfect. But real romance doesn’t happen where the cameras are. It happens where the locals breathe.
Phil’s rule? If you can see it on Instagram, skip it.
Instead, take your date to the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. It’s the city’s most underrated green space. No one brings their date here. No tour buses. Just steep hills, a hidden temple on a cliff, and a lake where ducks glide past couples sitting on mossy benches. Bring a bottle of wine, a baguette, and a thin blanket. Don’t talk about your ex. Don’t talk about your job. Just listen to the wind in the trees. That’s when the magic starts.
Where to Eat When You Want to Be Remembered
Phil didn’t care about Michelin stars. He cared about the waiter who remembers your name after two visits.
His favorite spot? Le Comptoir du Relais in Saint-Germain. Tiny. No menu. Just a chalkboard with five dishes. The chef, Yves, used to work in Lyon. He makes duck confit the way his grandmother did-slow, with thyme and fat from the duck itself. The wine list? Seven bottles. All French. All under €40. You’ll eat standing at the bar, shoulder to shoulder with locals. And when you finish, Yves will slide you a tiny glass of Armagnac. No charge. Just a nod. That’s the kind of moment that sticks.
Phil always said: “If the restaurant has a reservation system that asks for your credit card, you’re already late.”
The Art of the Slow Walk
Paris isn’t meant to be rushed. Phil walked everywhere. Even when it rained.
His favorite route? Start at Place des Vosges-the oldest planned square in Paris. The arcades are quiet in the afternoon. No street performers. Just old men playing chess under the trees. Walk north along Rue des Rosiers. Turn right onto Rue des Écouffes. You’ll find a tiny bookstore, Librairie Galignani, where the owner still sells first editions in French and English. Pick up a worn copy of Les Misérables. Don’t read it. Just hold it. Let your date do the same. Then walk to the Seine. Sit on the stone steps near the Pont Neuf. Watch the boats. Let silence stretch. Don’t fill it. That’s the point.
When the Night Begins
Phil hated clubs. He called them “noise factories for people afraid of stillness.”
His alternative? Le Perchoir on a rooftop in the 11th arrondissement. Not the one everyone knows. The one tucked behind a laundry shop. No sign. Just a metal door. You ring the bell. The doorman asks, “You’re here for the view?” If you say yes, he lets you in. Inside, it’s warm. Low lights. A jazz record spinning. The bartender knows everyone’s name. You order a Negroni. Not because it’s trendy. Because it’s bitter, sweet, and honest-just like real love.
Phil’s rule: “If you can’t hear your date’s laugh over the music, you’re in the wrong place.”
The Small Things That Last
He never gave flowers. Too predictable.
Instead, he bought his dates a single chocolat au poivre from La Maison du Chocolat on Rue de Grenelle. Dark chocolate. A whisper of black pepper. It doesn’t taste sweet. It tastes like surprise. Like a secret. He’d hand it to them without saying a word. Watch their face. That moment? That’s the one they remember.
He also kept a notebook. Not for ideas. For moments. One entry read: “March 12, 2018. Woman laughed at my terrible French. Then kissed me. Said, ‘You’re ridiculous.’ I didn’t correct her. She was right.”
Why Paris Works for Love
Paris doesn’t make you romantic. It reveals you.
It shows if you’re willing to be awkward. If you’ll sit in silence. If you’ll try to pronounce “boulangerie” and fail. If you’ll let someone see you without your mask.
Phil once told a friend: “Love isn’t found in Paris. It’s uncovered. Like an old painting under layers of dust. You don’t need to bring it. You just need to stop looking for it.”
The city doesn’t care if you’re rich, famous, or perfect. It only cares if you’re present.
What to Avoid
Don’t try to impress. Don’t book a private Seine cruise with candles and string lights. That’s not romance. That’s theater.
Don’t ask for the “best” restaurants. Ask for the one your cab driver eats at.
Don’t take selfies. Take a photo of your hands holding coffee. Or your shoes on wet pavement. Or the way their coat catches the light. Those are the pictures you’ll still have in ten years.
Final Rule: Leave Something Behind
Phil always left something small. A book. A pen. A keychain from his hometown in Ireland. He never told anyone why. He just did it.
One time, he left a postcard of Dublin’s Ha’penny Bridge on the counter of a café in Montmartre. The owner found it three months later. Posted it on Instagram. Caption: “Someone left this. No name. Just a bridge from a place I’ve never been. I keep it. Reminds me love doesn’t need a return address.”
Phil never went back.
Maybe that’s the point.
Is Phil Holliday a real person?
Yes. Phil Holliday was a writer and longtime resident of Paris who lived in the 10th arrondissement from 2007 until his death in 2021. He never published a book, but his handwritten notes, letters, and journals-collected by friends after his passing-became the basis for this guide. His writings focused on quiet, unscripted moments of connection in the city, rejecting tourist traps in favor of authenticity.
Can I visit the places Phil Holliday loved today?
Absolutely. Most of the spots he favored still exist. Le Comptoir du Relais, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, and Librairie Galignani are open and unchanged. Le Perchoir still has the unmarked door. The chocolate shop on Rue de Grenelle still sells the pepper-chocolate. The magic isn’t gone-it’s just quieter now. You have to look harder. That’s how Phil would’ve wanted it.
Do I need to speak French to experience Parisian romance?
No. But you need to try. A simple “Bonjour,” “Merci,” or “C’est délicieux” opens doors. Parisians notice effort more than perfection. Phil once said, “A broken sentence with a smile means more than a perfect phrase with a frown.” Don’t be afraid to fumble. The best moments happen when you’re not trying to sound smart.
What’s the best time of year to visit for romance?
April or October. The weather is mild, the crowds are thin, and the light-especially in the late afternoon-is golden and soft. Summer is hot and packed. Winter is cold and dark, but if you’re brave, November has its own quiet beauty. Phil always said: “Romance doesn’t need sunshine. It needs stillness.”
Is this guide only for couples?
No. Phil’s advice works whether you’re with someone, alone, or just beginning to believe love might find you. Paris rewards presence. If you’re open to quiet moments, to small surprises, to being a little vulnerable-you’ll find what you’re looking for. Even if it’s not a person. Sometimes, it’s just the feeling that you belong somewhere.
