Lavie Maison｜Eiffel Dominique

Thirty-five square metres on a quiet stretch of the 7e, with the top of the Tour Eiffel visible if you lean the right way from the window.

Inside: air conditioning for the August heat, a proper kitchen with oven and dishwasher, wine glasses waiting on the shelf. A workspace by the window if the morning demands it, blackout curtains if it doesn't.

Gros-Caillou is the village-inside-Paris everyone hopes to find. Rue Cler starts a few streets away — the cheesemongers, the flower stall, the café tables that spill onto the pavement by ten.

Built for two, though the travel cot means a small third is welcome. What you'll remember is the walk home each night, the tower lit up, the key already in your pocket. L'équipe is a message away if you need us.

Step out and rue Cler is right there — the pedestrianised market street where the fromager wraps comté in wax paper, the fishmonger hoses down the pavement around ten, and the café terraces catch the morning sun before the tour groups find them. Turn the other way and the gold dome of les Invalides closes the perspective, absurdly close, framed between two rows of Haussmann stone.

For coffee, skip the tourist trail and go to Malongo on rue Cler — a plain zinc counter, an espresso at 1,80€, and the local rhythm of postmen, gardiens and 7e widows nodding to each other over the morning Figaro. Order it au comptoir; sitting down doubles the price and halves the point.