‘$30k-a-day nightmare’: Sad sight at world-famous restaurant
This Instagram icon made famous by a hot Netflix show was once the go-to place for tourists. Then it all suddenly changed.
A famous restaurant that’s usually swarmed by influencers thanks to its appearance on hot shows like Gossip Girl and Emily In Paris is losing $30,000 a day in what’s being described as an Olympic-sized nightmare.
“It’s catastrophic,” says Marcianna Borowicz, the manager of Chez Julien, a cool culinary institution in the usually-bustling Parisian suburb of Marais.
The Instagrammable French bistro is nestled on a cobblestoned corner overlooking the Seine and, until recently, served up steak frites and champagne to at least 300 customers a day. This week, though, things have taken a turn.
As the Olympic opening ceremony looms, business is only at 20 per cent. At best, just 50 patrons per day are strolling past the now-redundant red velvet rope at the entrance. Staff themselves feel they are being force-fed a Michelin-starred crap sandwich.
“I feel like Will Smith in that movie with the dog,” Ms Borowicz says, referring to I Am Legend, the dystopian thriller about the last remaining survivor of a plague that wipes out New York City.
Slightly maudlin? Perhaps. But accurate? One may describe the current atmosphere in the area as très èstrange.
Local retailers along the Seine - which is being billed as the centrepiece of Friday’s opening ceremony - say the business boon they were promised during the Olympics hasn’t played out.
It’s 7pm on this Wednesday evening. The sun’s still out and the heat is hanging around. Usually, the blush pink seats that line the footpath along Rue du Pont Louis-Philippe would be filled by customers enjoying afternoon beverages.
Ms Borowicz, a Paris resident for 20 years who has worked throughout the city’s hospitality industry, takes her pick of the empty tables. She plops down and peers out through the wire fencing that runs for kilometres around her restaurant - a security barricade that was established along the Seine as Olympic preparation intensified. Some locals have started referring to it as the “jail cage”.
Police guard the checkpoint entries and demand to see QR codes from pedestrians before granting access. Most people who approach are turned away. Many have started avoiding the area entirely.
Three landline telephones wait patiently on the marble-topped table next to Ms Borowicz. None of them are ringing.
“Usually we’d be getting calls all day,” she says of the reservation hotlines.
There’s also a distinct lack of Emily In Paris fans taking selfies. The photo-frenzy had become a daily occurrence for the restaurant since it first appeared in the frothy Netflix series.
With nothing else to do, Ms Borowicz pulls out a calculator and tallies the restaurant’s financial loss: $30,000 per day. She has had to cut staff from 20 to four. It has been like this for a week.
“There’s no end in sight,” she says.
“We were told the Olympics would be amazing - that we’d have people coming here to Paris. And now, what’s happened? It’s very sad because we prepared for the fans … and now, look? It’s not the same summer excitement.”
According to the Paris tourism board, about 11.5 million tourists are expected in the city during the Olympics - a figure that’s down from an initial projection of 15 million.
Air France-KLM this week blamed the Olympics for battering its profits in the most recent quarter, with a loss of $217 million. The Franco-Dutch airline had projected a dip in revenues and passenger traffic, predicting tourists would avoid the city during the sporting event.
Many residents and local media are pointing fingers at the tedious security hurdles, expensive tickets and transport issues.
“Parisians quit,” Ms Borowicz says of the locals who have fled the city. “They left Paris because they don’t want to stay here in the Olympics because the traffic is terrible. We don’t have the Parisians and we don’t have the tourists.”
Across the road from Chez Julien, neighbouring restaurant Louis Philippe sits inside the security zone, encased in fencing.
“Everything is bad. It’s a nightmare,” says the restaurant director Jonathan Prevost.
He’d usually have more than 200 customers a day. Yesterday, he served only 10 people. He has also had to reduce staff.
Back at Chez Julien, a family of four takes a seat. They’re visiting from San Francisco, but have planned to leave before the opening ceremony.
“We skipped the Olympics intentionally,” says Josef Ruef, 53, San Francisco. “We figured it’d be mobbed. But it’s not mobbed. All the places we’ve been have been less busy than you’d usually expect in summer.”
That’s when a loud chant begins to disturb the quiet streets. A woman marches up to the police at the fenced checkpoint outside Chez Julien and screams at them in French.
One of the restaurant’s waiters translates her cries.
“For one month we can’t see the Seine for the Parisian!”
Police eventually escort her away.
Ms Borowicz strolls inside her empty bistro as a lone waiter lights candlesticks that stand elegantly on the empty tables.
White Flag, the downbeat Dido hit from 2003 about a woman refusing to surrender and give up her tumultuous relationship, taunts the staff from the stereo speakers.
Ms Borowicz sighs.
“I feel like I’m the only person in Paris.”
Facebook: @hellojamesweir