THE Poetry OF Paris

AT CHEVAL BLANC PARIS, TIME SLOWS, SENSES AWAKEN, AND THE SEINE CARRIES IT ALL AWAY.

- By Misbaah Mansuri

Paris was frozen in winter stillness as I slipped into the black car waiting outside Gare du Nord. The city, shrouded in its golden hush, felt paused—like it was waiting for me to notice it. We drove in silence, the Seine flickering outside my window, and I knew, instinctively, that the next few days would move to a slower rhythm.

Cheval Blanc Paris reveals itself not with grandeur, but with quiet certainty. Housed in the historic Samaritaine building, it stands like a whispered promise—intimate, elegant, and unlike anything else in the city. The welcome was soft-spoken and seamless. My name was murmured, my luggage already disappeared. Even the air was scented—Parisian Chic, a fragrance designed exclusively for the hotel by François Demachy. It was subtle, but intentional. Like everything here.

My suite, overlooking the Seine, unfolded like a private poem. Muted tones of ivory and warm gold let the view speak for itself. The bed was draped in Dior linens, the pistachio cookies on the table too delicate to disturb. And then there was the bathroom: an ode to ritual. A marble tub positioned for long, silent soaks while riverboats passed in the distance. Dior elixirs lined the counter—amber bottles shaped like sculpture, each filled with something fragrant, restorative, rare.