There are many things to do in Paris after 11pm. You could get Gallicly drunk on hip Rue Oberkampf, ogle expensive breasts at the unhip Moulin Rouge or snooze with Proust in your hotel room. Or you could head to the city's newest museum.
The Palais de Tokyo re-opened last month with artwork more modern than Pop Idols and cool opening hours - noon until midnight every day. Its young directors, Nicolas Bourriaud and Jérome Sans, say they want to encourage people to visit in the same way they go out to dinner or a movie. Late hours allow the visitor 'to take time to appreciate the works without all the noise of a busy day. Evening calm is perfect for concentration'.
I'm with Nic and Jérome on that. When on the tourist trail I always look out for late museum openings, after-dinner tours or nocturnal walks, as I find night-time tourism more peaceful and less crowded than daytime sightseeing. And I hate getting up early.
Looking at my Paris guidebook, I was surprised to discover that many of its landmarks are open long after dark. The Arc de Triomphe closes at 10.30pm, the Eiffel Tower at 11pm (midnight in summer). Even the venerable old Louvre opens until 9.45pm on Mondays and Wednesdays, while the Pompidou Centre welcomes visitors until 9pm. And one museum is open until 2am, which sounds excessive until you hear its name - Le Musée de l'Erotisme. I was set. I could get up after lunch and still be a vulture of culture.
I started out on my first day's tour at 7pm. Arriving at the Pompidou Centre the queues were small, a fraction of the daytime melee. I reached the fourth-floor gallery by 7.30pm. Gone were the tour groups and families. My fellow art-lovers were mainly young couples dressed in black with interesting hair. I felt relaxed. There was plenty of space and seemingly more time to view the impressive collection (from Matisse to Warhol). Perhaps humans move at a different pace after dark, but we seemed happily slow.
After a quick (mainly alcoholic) dinner I headed west to the Arc de Triomphe. I arrived at 9.45pm to find, once again, a tiny queue. There are 284 steps to the top - far easier to negotiate after a bottle of red wine. Soon I was at the summit, my Bordeaux belly protecting me from the cold night air. Again most of the 20 or so visitors were under 30. There was a Japanese couple taking photographs with a tiny flash, three German lads sneakily sipping beers in a corner, and a couple of French snoggers. We all nodded at each other, comrades of the night looking over our city, which somehow seemed smaller, more intimate in the darkness. 'I thought there'd be more neon,' said an American man, who'd obviously been expecting Paris, Vegas.
'It's just like Blackpool!' giggled an English girl, gazing towards the Eiffel Tower. The arch closed shortly before 10.30pm and I decided to head to Pigalle for another drink, to garner enough courage to investigate the Erotic Museum after midnight.
As it turned out, it was tame. Rather than the hordes of drunken men I'd been expecting, there were six couples, all earnestly reading the descriptions of nineteenth-century Montmartre brothels with the dedication of history students approaching finals. The museum was far from sleazy - more Ritz than Raymond's Revue Bar, with white marble floors, gold banisters, silky spotlighting and jaunty Cuban music.
There were some dubious paintings (artistically rather than morally speaking), and confronting a Javanese fertility symbol after midnight is never easy, but on the whole it was an intriguing, if not entirely titillating experience. My favourite piece was a wire figure of a reclining woman, along which you had to pass a metal loop without touching the wire. As you threaded the loop, a woman's voice started moaning sugges tively until, at the end of the wire, she climaxed. Unfortunately my hand started shaking becaue of my laughter and the poor woman never got beyond a whimper.
The next day, I slept in until early afternoon, then met some Parisian friends. 'I thought you were seeing Paris,' Anthony chided me. I explained that I was seeing Paris, but only after 8pm.
On Saturdays it can take more than an hour to get a ticket for the Eiffel Tower during daylight hours. At 9.15pm it took 13 minutes. Again my nocturnal companions were mainly young couples. I met one family, the Shaws from Luton, on the second level. Sandra Shaw said she had come at night 'to avoid the crowds and give the kids more of an adventure'.
Certainly, zipping up in the lift to the 1,000ft summit is more exhilarating at night. Again, there's a space-age feel to it, as the shimmering city spreads before you. Despite there being fewer people at the tower, the lifts are still crammed, but you spend less time waiting for them. At the top, the view from the glassed-in deck seemed unreal - as if we were in the cockpit of a 747 about to land on Montmartre.
My final late-night destination was the Palais de Tokyo, the original inspiration for my nocturnal visiting spree. I was especially keen (and a little sceptical) to see whether the directors' ambitions for their museum to be like a 'cornershop or all-night pharmacy' had been realised. Arriving at 10.30pm it definitely seemed more crowded than my local Costcutter.
The museum itself resembles a large, crumbling disused factory. In fact, the architects inherited a building site - a half-built cinema museum - and decided to change little. The result is surprisingly successful. The unfinished interior suggests playful transition and impermanence, complemented by much of the art - comical video installations, ceiling-high Japanese posters and disturbing human figures bleeding profusely on to the floor. Much is avant-garde and probably better appreciated at such a late hour, after a few drinks.
The exhibits encourage interaction, which people seemed happy to do (perhaps inhibitions recede at night). There was a giant wastepaper basket into which you could throw newspapers (a scary exhibit for a journalist), video games and a noticeboard to scribble on. People reclined in an eclectically furnished lounge area (an installation designed by a different artist each month).
After a while I began to feel as if I was at a late-night club for grown-up children. Plucking up courage I sat down at the white grand piano in the lounge and played a tune. No one stopped me. The security guards even clapped. All too soon it was closing time. As I left the museum a church bell rang out midnight. I stood, listening to the final chimes, thinking not for the first time in my life that Paris is my kind of town.
Factfile
Palais de Tokyo: 13 avenue du Président Wilson, 75116 Paris (00 33 1 47 23 54 01). Open Tuesday-Sunday, noon-midnight; admission ¿5 (£3.05).
Eiffel Tower: (00 33 1 44 11 23 23). Open daily, 9.30am-11pm (9am-midnight 14 June-31 August). Admission ¿9.90 (£6.05) to the top.
Arc de Triomphe: (00 33 1 55 37 73 77). Open 10am-10.30pm (9.30am-11pm April-September). Admission ¿6.50 (£3.70).
Pompidou Centre: Place Georges-Pompidou, 75191 Paris (00 33 1 44 78 12 33). Open daily (except Tuesdays) 11am-10pm (museum closes 9pm). Admission ¿5.50 (£3.36).
Museum of Eroticism: 72 Boulevard de Clichy, 75018 Paris (00 33 1 42 58 28 73). Admission ¿6 (£3.66).
Jim Keeble travelled with Eurostar (08705 186 186). Return fares from £79 standard class and £135 first class.
Paris Tourist Office, 127 avenue des Champs-Elysées, 75008 Paris (00 33 8 92 68 31 12) French Government Tourist Office information line: 09068 244 123 (60p a minute).
