A Woman Alone

I really love travelling to Paris. For years, I waited to travel with a boyfriend, thinking this was the thing to do with the ultimate of romantic destinations. 
 On my 30th birthday, I finally gave up and took myself. Later I did travel with a boyfriend and if anything, it took the romance out of the city.  While my idea of a great time was hanging out at The Village Voice and drinking wine with A.S. Byatt, his was eating at overpriced restaurants on the Champs Elysee (and no, he was not picking up the tab) and checking out bars. I admit that when I'm on vacation, I'm on vacation and don't like to adhere to anyone else's timetables or moods. I certainly feel no obligation to do anything. My senses are in overload because I'm always overwhelmed simply at the fact that I'm in Paris. Everything ordinary is transformed: I'm waking up in Paris, I'm drinking coffee in Paris, I'm having sex in Paris and really, it's having sex with Paris... 
Eating alone in a restaurant in Paris is not easy. It requires a certain attitude and a lot of practice.  Luckily, I'm not shy about changing my table when I'm seated by the waiters' station or in the middle of the aisle or in the basement. At le Polidor, there's never been that problem, because everyone gets seated together. Big long family-like tables means sharing condiments as well as bread baskets and intimate conversations.  A waitress may insist you must order a 'pichet' rather than a single glass of wine but the only problem with imbibing is having to use the Turkish toilet. Of course, drink enough and you may not care.
I only got a window table once at Angelina's on rue Rivoli. At my favorite place for hot chocolate and eclairs, I'm often steered towards the back. I usually just smile and  esconce myself wherever I want along with all my packages. This is a very good time to go clueless.
Pizza Marzano off the Boulevard St. Michel is the perfect place for a pizza Americaine and a glass of wine along with a view of the Seine. I'm equally comfortable going with a book or chatting with adjoining tables. 
In the maze of tiny streets off the boulevard Saint-Michel, just above the Seine, there's a great assortment of affordable places to eat, all with a chalkboard outside the door, listing the prices for a "plat complet". This includes an appetizer--onion soup or some kind of salad, main course--poulet roti or duck a l'orange--and dessert which is usually creme caramel or some kind of cheese plate. You don't have to eat French; there are plenty of Greek restaurants, a great Swiss place for raclette and even a Tunisian bakery. And when I can't get a table I like, I just opt for take-out and eat in the garden of my hotel.
I've learned to go with my intuition when I'm seated at the crappiest table in an empty restaurant or when I'm abandoned by a waitress who disappears to flirt with a table full of businessmen.  
Because there's definitely that double standard in treatment. At lunchtime, it doesn't seem to be a big deal but dinner is definitely a couples thing. The French don't seem to know what to do with a woman alone.
Except for the obvious. There's always some guy following me back to my hotel; one trip it happened twice in a row. It was creepy and I didn't hesitate to tell him so.  Didn't I run into him the following trip? The fact he looked like Alan Cummings in Circle of Friends didn't help.
But it's when I'm alone that I meet other people. Fellow guests in the garden of my hotel where people gather for a glass of wine. The hotel chambermaids who update me on the state of their growing children and invite me into the kitchen for coffee. At Shakespeare and Company, I not only got an invite for tea but the offer of a place to stay. Shopkeepers are only too willing to bend my ear about the terrible economy--booksellers there are amazingly like the ones here. The Canadian owner of The Red Wheelbarrow on rue St. Paul had actually worked in Montreal with people I knew. When I got invited to help out with  an author event, I didn't feel alone; I felt like I was back home. 

When you're alone, you can flirt with firemen.

Places to eat Alone
Although I'm used to eating alone, I'm still not comfortable just anywhere. The following places are where I've felt perfectly at home.
Angelina's, 226, rue de Rivoli, 75001 Paris.
Le Procope, 13, rue de l'Ancienne-Comedie, 75006, Paris. 
Le Polidor, 41, rue Monsieur-Le-Prince, 75006 Paris. 
The Frog and Princess. This is admittedly a chain but I love the fish and chips and the ginger beer and have always felt at home, with both the waiters and the crowd, in any of their locations.   
Pizza Marzano, 2, Place St-Michel, 75006 Paris. This is a comfy family style restaurant where you can also get your pizza to go. I've often stopped by after a day of wandering the city and grabbed dinner to eat in the garden of my hotel.