Bonjour, Friends!

Last weekend, we made our way over to Place de la République, where the city sets up a collection of games and activities for families. What struck me most wasn't just that these games exist (vintage wooden toys, oversized chess sets, old-school ring toss) but that people actually showed up despite the cold.

Families bundled in scarves and wool coats, kids with red cheeks, parents laughing as they tried to master some forgotten game from their own childhood. It's one of those small civic gestures that gets at something essential about this place: public space used for public joy, no admission fee, no app to download, just show up and play.

After working up an appetite in the square, we ducked into Bouillon République for dinner. If you're not familiar with bouillons, they're Paris's answer to affordable dining. Belle époque-style brasseries serving hearty, no-frills French classics at prices that won't make you wince.

The food isn't going to change your life, but it's decent, filling, and exactly what you want after an hour in the cold. More importantly, the low price tag gives you permission to be adventurous. Always wondered what tête de veau tastes like? Here's your chance. Curious about andouillette? Go for it. You're not risking much. The real trick is arriving early enough to skip the inevitable queue. Do that, and you've got yourself a proper Parisian experience without the tourist markup.

I put together a map of the best Paris bouillons. It covers the historic icons and the quiet neighborhood spots where you can still get a classic meal for a few Euros. Keep it on your phone for the next time you want to eat well without the pretense.

Then this week, winter finally showed up. Paris got a rare blanket of snow, the kind that transforms the city into something quieter and softer. I grabbed my camera and headed down to Canal Saint-Martin, where the snow clung to the iron footbridges and dusted the bare plane trees lining the water.

Impromptu bonhommes de neige (snowmen) started popping up everywhere, from tiny lopsided ones to ambitious multi-tiered giants. The snowball fights were spectacular. Everyone seemed to remember that winter can be beautiful when you stop resisting it.

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Paris is a city that rarely sees a true winter blanket. Most years, we get a light dusting that vanishes before the morning coffee is finished. I recently found myself wondering about the history of snowfall here and decided to look into the archives to see if the city had ever truly been buried. My research led me back to a single date that still stands as a legend in Parisian history.

On March 3, 1946, the city woke up to a record-breaking snowfall. While accounts vary slightly between thirty and forty centimeters, most historical records from the Parc Montsouris station cite the higher end of that range. To put that in perspective, that is about sixteen inches of heavy powder covering the boulevards and monuments. This was just after the war, and the images from that day are incredible. The city was so quiet that the usual roar of traffic was replaced by the sound of skis on fresh powder.

The most iconic scenes took place on the city's natural slopes. People were actually skiing down the steep stairs of Montmartre and even using the gardens of the Trocadéro as a makeshift downhill run with the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop. It was a moment of pure, post-war joy where the city came to a complete standstill. Because there were no snowplows or salt trucks prepared for such a massive event, the army had to be called in to help clear the streets.

Today, even five centimeters of snow can bring the metro to a halt and send the city into a minor panic. Looking back at 1946 shows that the city's relationship with the cold remains one of surprise and wonder. It is fascinating to see how, beneath the grit and the daily rush, Paris still knows how to turn into a quiet, white wonderland when nature decides to show off.

If you need a soundtrack for the impromptu bonhommes de neige popping up across the city, look no further than Chantal Goya and her 1970s winter classic.

The song is a playful piece of vintage French kitsch about the simple joy of a snowball fight and the fleeting magic of a world turned white. It captures the sweetness of a snow-covered Paris without taking itself too seriously.