I once met a flight attendant who amazed me by recounting how she slept easily on her Boston-Asia routes, in between attending to customers.  When she arrived at her destination, she said, she usually spent the day shopping or sightseeing. Part of me didn’t believe her and part of me wanted to strangle her.

I have only explored my destinations the day of arrival after sleeping for hours; usually, I wake up after dark — at seven p.m. or midnight or two in the morning.  Pancakes at three a.m.?  I have done that, at Wailana Coffee House in Waikiki and at Jonathan’s in Tokyo.  In Paris, there are only a few places open after midnight, most of them brasseries alsaciennes, and I never go to them when jet-lagged because at three a.m. I want breakfast and not a mound of choucroute garnie (sauerkraut with sausage).

The good news about being wide awake at three a.m. in Paris is you can get out and walk.  Window shop the luxury stores on rue Saint-Honoré, wander around the maze of le Marais, stroll along the Seine.  You won’t be alone.  This city, like New York, never sleeps.  But it is insomniac in a mellower way — sometimes, when you’re out after midnight and the air is doux, the mood on the streets is so surreal that it can feel like you’re back in bed, dreaming about walking in Paris.

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