Anyone who has been within five feet of me knows, in detail, how I feel about France. And my antagonism has only increased in the past 10 years since my last visit. Prior to that I would visit regularly. Not only is my bestie a Frenchie, but my sister also studied in the Sorbonne, so I spent much of my twenties, when the UK was part of the European Union, hopping on and off trains, planes and boats to our European neighbour. I always experienced a degree of hostility from the natives, especially outside of Paris, and occasionally on the Metro. I’ve travelled across the country over the years, visiting most of the major cities and spent my hen week road tripping from Calais to Deauville and Trouville and then to Giverny and finally on to Paris. At that point in my life I wasn’t a hijabi, but was a brown woman travelling with a cohort of mostly black, brown and one white female companions, most of whom spoke French, two of whom were natives.

The French have a superiority complex, and whilst it can be a harmless quirk on the street level, it has the potential to be very harmful when implemented as national policy. Occasionally I encountered a French person (usually a white woman) and had the audacity to ask a question in English, they would respond in a scathing French “tu ne parles pas français” like the school mistress of a monastery rather than the barista of a continental café. My French is, and was always limited, however I was surrounded by Francophiles who happily responded on my behalf. And to be fair, I do think it’s important to at least try and speak the native tongue of a country one is visiting, by preparing a few stock phrases including, excuse me, please, thank you and of course, “Desolé, je ne parle pas français”

So, earlier this month, when my husband presented me with two tickets to Paris, I had to hide my trepidation behind a wide smile. Had my anti-French rhetoric calmed down in the past 12 months enough for him to think France was a safe space for Muslims? Had he not read the recent article in Al Jazeera highlighting Frances state-sponsored Islamophobia and the subsequent violence that followed? Did my husband even love me? Why was he sending me into the belly of the beast and disguising it as a romantic getaway?

In all seriousness, France has policies, locally and nationally, that are hostile to Muslims, especially Muslim women. The Ban on Religious Symbols in Schools (2004) prevents Muslim girls from wearing headscarves. Whilst the French claim that this is to foster a neutral public space, the law has been primarily pushed through on the basis of women and girls wearing hijab, something France has a long history of trying to ban. Frances obsession with what Muslim women wear is documented through the years of colonisation of Muslim lands, from the North African states of Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia, to Syria and Lebanon. In 2010 there was a national ban on full-face veils, another discriminatory and targeted legislation on Muslim women. Having lived through Covid-19, and the subsequent face covers that caused absolutely no harm or crisis of identification, I don’t need delve further into explaining why this was also rooted in anti-Muslim sentiments. France also has workplace regulations that allow employers to restrict religious practices if they conflict with the proper functioning of the workplace. Again this law specifically targets Muslims, who pray five times a day, and allows companies to refuse to hire Muslim women if they wear hijab. France also has local Burkini bans, that are not national law, but are implemented by some towns on public beaches. Every single one of these laws is about controlling, primarily, women’s bodies and their choices.

As a Muslim woman who wears hijab, France is pretty much at the bottom of places I would want to travel to and more importantly, spend my money in. I masked my disappointment well though as my husband was really excited about our first ever trip without our children and had drawn up an itinerary which I had to admit, was remarkably un-French. Maybe we could make this work after all. As someone who loves to travel, I also appreciate the importance of how and where I spend my money. Since the genocide in Gaza (you didn’t think I wasn’t going to mention it, did you?) I’m even more conscious of what I’m funding and do my best to avoid things on the BDS banned list. As far as travel goes, I like to visit Muslim countries. That is not to suggest for a moment that they aren’t complicit in their own ways, and I think almost very single one of them is, but they also have complected histories rooted in colonialism and subsequent power struggles, very much aided by money from imperial powers. As a Muslim, I like to visit mosques and hear the azaan, scour markets and purchase local goods, explore museums and galleries that have not been filled with looted goods by colonisers and subsume a culture that feels both distant and extremely close. I love walking through the streets of lands that hold my history and of the intrepid travellers, and the wonder seekers that came before me. Paris no longer excited me, but low expectations can sometimes lead to surprising discoveries.

We set off from the Gare du Nord station and stopped off for leisurely coffee/tea breaks more times than we needed. Our first stop was Notre Dame, I was really curious about the Cathedral post fire and loved the area surrendering it, including Pont de l’Archevêché (the love lock bridge) and of course the Shakespeare and Company bookshop, a place that I would regularly frequent in my previous visits. The queue for Notre Dame was immerse, and neither of us was willing to sacrifice two or three hours of our day in Paris to see the inside of the Cathedral, so instead we made the best of the sunshine and admired the gothic architecture and engineering of the 12th century building from its exterior. Next we decided to walk over to the Shakespeare and Company bookshop, and this time I insisted on queuing. Experiences depend so much on the phase you find yourself in life. For all my previous visits I was single, with my girlfriends and had a disposable income that allowed me to very rarely consider the consequences of my purchases. Now as an unemployed student, mother and homeowner I was very unimpressed with the prices I was presented with. I wanted to buy something simply because I was in the iconic building but I couldn’t really justify the eye-watering prices. For example We Are Not Numbers by Ahmed Alnaouq, which is around £14.99 in the UK was $24.99 euros. One Day, Everyone Will Have Always Been Against This by Omar El Akkad was also around $20.00 euros, around £10’s more expensive than in the UK. I left empty handed.

The best thing about Paris is how diverse it is. Throughout the day we met so many lovely people who greeted us with, Salut, Bonjour and Salaams. There are also more than a handful of halal eateries. We decided to stop at a Turkish place with a view of Notre Dame for lunch. Maybe it was from all the walking we had done, but we both polished off our food. We walked across one of the many bridges with artists selling books and paintings and decided to stop again for some ice cream at La Tour d’Argent. I’m not an ice cream enthusiast, but even I had to admit that it was delicious. Our next stop was the Arab Institute, which is somewhere I had never visited before. My husband had booked us tickets for Trésors sauvés de Gaza. 5000 ans d’histoire (Treasures saved from Gaza, 500 years of history) which I was very excited about. I should have known better. As soon as we walked in there was an introduction to the exhibition referring to October the 7th as a “terrorist attack” Triggered, I held my breath and carried on reading and found that the exhibition was funded in part by the British Council. This was not going to be a happy place for me.

Two things that really struck me were, firstly, the only reference to Islam and Muslims in the exhibition were at the back of the small gallery in the form of tomb stones with Arabic inscriptions. I’d seen these in collections from the UK, Egypt and Morocco and the only insight they offered was that Muslims died here. Nothing else in the exhibition said anything about how those Muslims had also lived. Secondly, and what I found incredibly disturbing, was that all these artefacts had been “rescued” from Gaza. There were pieces that belonged to the floors of ruined buildings that must have weighed well over a tonne. There were marble columns and granite headstones. Everything would have needed permission to leave Gaza, whether via air, land or sea. The British Council and its French and Arab partners must have worked with the colonisers of Palestine to negotiate the release of these items, no doubt arguing their preservation was essential to learning about human history, and where best to move these “important artefacts” than to museums in the lands of the colonisers! But even worse than that, and something that still makes me feel angry at myself for participating in this façade is, that these people worked so hard to move these incredibly heavy items out of Gaza, but they have been silent about getting food; flour, baby formula, medicines, into Gaza as it is forcibly and deliberately staved by the Israeli colonisers. Obviously I don’t recommend this exhibition and fully regret paying to see it.

After yet another coffee/tea break we decided to head to the Paris mosque to pray (and seek forgiveness for that awful exhibition). The Grand Mosque of Paris is stunning. The building on the outside compliments the architecture of its Paris surroundings whilst inside you’re transported to a North African haven. The courtyard with its fountain, the gardens with their impeccable planting and the café and restaurant serving award winning cuisines. Everything was perfect. We stopped for a while and looked at all the non-Muslims exploring the space and talked about how important it would have been in Islamic history to have mosques like this one that provided a space for travellers to rest on their journeys. Before leaving we decided to pop into the mosque shop and buy gifts for family. All the books were in French, but we bought some art, perfumes, honey and natural soaps.

As our day in Paris drew to a close we decided to stop for dinner. We had a couple of options that were recommended by friends but as we walked along Boulevard de Sébastopol we came across a halal Uyghur restaurant, Krorän restaurant Ouïghour. As soon as we walked-in a lady welcomed us with “salaams” and although we were still contemplating whether or not to stop here, her warmth convinced us. Neither of us was especially hungry, from all the snacking, but we were very tired from all the walking (over 32,000 steps by the end of the day). We still had a few hours until our train back so we decided to share a main and starters. When I say this food was exceptional I’m not exaggerating. The kebab skewer starters were delicious, they didn’t taste like anything I had tried before, not Pakistani, Turkish, Arab or Moroccan. They had a really unique but flavoursome taste. For our main I ordered noddle’s with chicken in a broth and again it was incredible. The flavours were so well balanced and incomparable to other noodle dishes I’ve had. This was my first experience of Uyghur cuisine, and it has left a lasting impression.

Before leaving Paris we stopped off at a final boulangerie to pick up macarons for our children and more pastries for us. We stopped at a place called Maison Bayat on Rue du Faubourg. Again, it was incredible. Let’s hand it to the French (immigrants?) they certainly know their way around food.

I have to confess I surprised myself at how much I enjoyed Paris. Before going I was adamant that I didn’t want to visit France (and most of main land Europe) but subsequently I’ve had a complete change of heart. It will never be first on my list of places to visit but I can’t deny that Paris is a beautiful city full of amazing people from all over the world. Maybe its because the areas we visited were so cosmopolitan and melting pots of various cultures, maybe it was the incredible food and the perfect weather. Or maybe it was because of the absence of our children 👀, who knows. I think the important thing for anyone who travels is to recognise the privilege of making such journeys, especially given the impact of travel on the environment, and remember the power each of us has as consumers and to spend our money wisely and consciously avoiding, as far as we can, harm to people across the globe.