Paris is a city where not much happens before 11am on weekdays. Shops are slow to open, people don’t mosey their way into work until late, and the city seems to move in a lethargic manner until the espresso that’s been collectively consumed shocks it into motion. Let me repeat – this is just on weekdays. Weekends are another animal entirely. In fact, on Sundays the world seems to shut down. It’s a rare occasion that you will encounter a grocery store, pharmacy, or even restaurant that’s open. And if they are, it’s likely they’ll be closed by 1pm.
It takes some getting used to, to be sure. But eventually, you realize the beauty of it: even if you have procrastinated your way through the whole week, come Sunday you’re off the hook! You can’t get anything done, even if you (theoretically) wanted to! Sundays are for sleeping in, Baileys and coffee, rising with the sun (it generally makes an appearance around 3pm), and long lazy walks. C’est la vie!