Paris: Black History Walking Tour & African Lunch

5.00

(132 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

Ever wondered what Paris feels like when you listen for voices that don’t always make it into the guidebooks? That’s what I was thinking as we met up at Les Deux Magots — honestly, I’d walked past it before but never sat inside. Our guide (I wish I remembered her name, she had this gentle way of pausing so you could actually take things in) started us off with croissants and stories about Black writers who found home here. The coffee was hot, and there was this buttery smell that just lingered while we listened. It felt like being let in on something quietly important.

We wandered through Saint-Germain to Présence Africaine — a bookstore that’s more like a living archive. The owner nodded as we came in, and our guide explained how writers from Senegal or Martinique would gather here after hours. I picked up a book with the cover half-faded; couldn’t read much French but still felt the weight of all those conversations stacked on the shelves. Then La Rhumerie — rum glasses clinking even at noon, laughter spilling out from a table in the back. The walls smelled faintly sweet and sharp at the same time.

Pigalle was next, which I always thought of as nightlife and neon signs, but she pointed out old jazz clubs where Josephine Baker once sang (and apparently danced until sunrise). There’s something about hearing music history while dodging scooters on narrow sidewalks that makes it stick. By the time we reached La Goutte d’Or, everything felt louder — market stalls shouting prices in Wolof and French, bright fabrics everywhere. One woman selling mangoes winked at me when I tried to ask for “un kilo” with my accent (she gave me two instead).

The day ended around a big table in an African restaurant — hands reaching for shared plates, everyone swapping what surprised them most. Someone asked if this was really all one city; our guide just smiled and said Paris is always more than one story at a time. I still think about that view from the corner seat by the window — rain starting up outside, steam rising off spicy rice, everyone talking over each other just a little too loudly.