Inside Paris’s Tiniest Flat: One Man’s 134‑Step Daily Trek

When you think of Paris, images of grand boulevards, towering Haussmannian facades and lofty apartments often come to mind. Imagine, instead, a space so modest you could fit a small dining table, a bed, and a modest wardrobe inside a single room barely larger than a studio in a suburb. That’s exactly where Julien Boulanger lives – a 13‑square‑metre (about 140 sq ft) studio perched on the 12th floor of an old building in the 11th arrondissement.

There’s no catch, no hidden loft, no secret balcony. The only thing separating Julien from the street is a set of 134 concrete steps, and a stubborn, decades‑old decision by the building’s owners to forgo installing a lift. Every morning, before the city’s cafés even crack open, Julien grabs his reusable bag, slides a pair of shoes onto his feet and starts the climb. It’s a ritual he’s performed for more than three years, and it’s become as much a part of his life as the espresso he drinks on the tiny balcony that looks out over Rue de Charonne.

“It’s a little exhausting, sure,” Julien admits with a grin, “but it’s also a reminder that I’m moving, that I’m not just a couch‑potato watching the world from a screen.” He jokes that the stairs are his personal gym – a place where he can fit in a quick set of squats or lunges while waiting for the elevator that will never arrive. In fact, he’s even installed a small pull‑up bar on a narrow landing, turning a necessary inconvenience into an unexpected perk.

Living in such a compact space forces a kind of minimalism that Julien says he never imagined he’d embrace. “I have to be selective about everything I bring in,” he explains. “A bookshelf? No, I keep a few favorite titles on a wall‑mounted shelf. A TV? I watch on my laptop. It feels liberating – less stuff, more focus.” He’s also learned the art of strategic grocery trips. A weekly market run means lugging a basket of fresh baguettes, cheese, and a few vegetables up those stairs, a feat that occasionally leaves his legs trembling. Yet he wouldn’t trade it for a larger apartment with an elevator. “There’s something honest about the effort,” he says. “When I sit down on my fold‑out sofa, I know I earned it.”

Neighbors often stop by to chat, drawn by the humming of his compact kitchen where a single‑burner stove does most of the cooking. The building’s creaky wooden floors and the faint scent of coffee drifting from his tiny kitchen have become a small comfort to the block. “People think it’s crazy, but they also admire the simplicity,” Julien notes. “It’s a conversation starter. Everyone wants to know how you make it work.”

For tourists, Julien’s studio offers a glimpse into a side of Paris most guidebooks ignore – the lived‑in reality of a city where space is at a premium and the romance of narrow staircases is part of everyday life. He sometimes rents the apartment out on short‑term platforms, letting visitors experience the climb and the view from a modest balcony that looks out over the same rooftops that inspired countless painters.

So, should you book a night in Julien’s micro‑apartment? If you’re up for a little cardio before breakfast and enjoy the idea of “less is more,” the answer is a resounding yes. As Julien puts it, “In a city that’s always trying to be bigger, I like being a little smaller – and climbing those 134 steps reminds me that I’m still moving forward.”