Austin Interior Designer Amity Worrel took a week-long architectural tour through France, courtesy of Maison Janneau.

Every profession has its perks, and this spring I experienced one that felt particularly French: being invited to celebrate a successful project not with a plaque or a gift basket, but with a week-long architectural pilgrimage through Paris and beyond.

The invitation came from Maison Janneau, the storied French window and door manufacturer whose products we specified for a new-build project in Austin. Apparently, when the French appreciate your support, they don’t send a thank-you note. They invite you to France.

The group was an eclectic mix of Maison Janneau team members, architects from Austin and New York, and an architecture magazine editor. As the only interior designer, I found myself in an unfamiliar but fascinating position. 

While our professions overlap constantly, designers and architects rarely get the chance to spend extended time together away from project deadlines and construction meetings. Spending a week immersed in architecture with a group that was predominantly male and deeply focused on the built environment gave me a fresh perspective on how differently we often approach the same spaces.

The Cast of Characters

At times, our group felt less like accomplished design professionals and more like a collection of suspects gathered in an Agatha Christie novel. We’d find ourselves huddled around tables at dinner, leaning over drawings in libraries, or wandering through museums together, and I couldn’t help but wonder who would be missing the next morning if this were indeed a murder mystery.

Would it be the somewhat hapless interior designer, the one who insists on dressing to the nines for every occasion and has an unfortunate tendency to crack jokes at odd moments in search of attention? A likely victim, if we’re being honest. Or perhaps it would be the husband-and-wife architect duo, impeccably buttoned-up and just suspicious enough of the rest of us to seem like excellent suspects.

Then there was the handsome architect who carried the energy of everyone’s favorite slightly goofy uncle. Entirely unselfconscious in the most charming way possible, his enthusiasm for every building, object, and engineering detail kept him perpetually inches from trouble. He was so eager to explore and ask questions that the rest of us were never entirely convinced he wouldn’t accidentally start a fire, topple into a reflecting pool, or wander into an area marked “employees only.”

And somewhere among us was a remarkably kind magazine editor who quietly became the group’s caretaker. Midway through the trip, my persistent coughing evolved from a mild annoyance into something that was clearly concerning everyone around me. Without much fanfare, he appeared with Mucinex and checked in on me throughout the day. Perhaps he was simply protecting the group from listening to me cough through another museum tour, but I’d prefer to believe it was genuine concern. Either way, I was grateful.

The architecture, meanwhile, was extraordinary.

Day One: Aalto in the forest

Our first major stop was the extraordinary Maison Louis Carré, the only building in France designed by Alvar Aalto. Tucked into a wooded landscape outside Paris, the house feels remarkably contemporary despite being completed in the 1950s. Every detail, from the way light enters a room to the relationship between the furniture and the architecture, reveals a level of thoughtfulness that’s difficult to describe until you experience it firsthand. 

As an interior designer, I was captivated by how seamlessly the architecture and interiors were integrated. Nothing felt added later. Every surface, sightline, and material appeared to belong exactly where it was. It set the tone for the entire trip: design as a complete experience rather than a collection of individual decisions.

Day Two: Grandeur and treasure hunting

Paris has a way of making even ambitious architecture feel effortless, and nowhere was that more evident than at the Fondation Louis Vuitton. Designed by Frank Gehry, the building rises from the Bois de Boulogne like a ship made entirely of glass sails. From a distance it seems impossible; up close it feels even more improbable.

The afternoon took us to the legendary flea market, Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen, where we collectively lost all sense of time and self-control. If the Fondation represented architecture at its most ambitious, the flea market represented design at its most joyful. Every turn revealed another object someone desperately wanted to ship home.

Day Three: Ideas, icons, and a château

One of the unexpected pleasures of traveling with architects is discovering the buildings they revere. Our morning began at the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, where the soaring iron structure and luminous reading room demonstrated how engineering can become poetry. 

Later, we visited Villa Savoye. Standing inside a project I had studied in design history classes felt surreal. Some buildings are so influential they become almost mythical. Villa Savoye is one of them. That evening, we gathered at the Château de Nainville-les-Roches, where conversations stretched long into the evening. Design philosophies were debated, stories were exchanged, and friendships that had started as professional acquaintances deepened considerably.

Day Four: Modernity, and atmosphere

At La Samaritaine, we saw a remarkable example of how history and modernity can coexist gracefully. Later, the gardens of the Musée Albert-Kahn offered a quieter experience. Wandering through landscapes inspired by cultures around the world reminded me that design extends far beyond buildings. The shaping of atmosphere, movement, and emotion may be one of the most powerful forms of design there is.

Day Five: Craftsmanship, hospitality, and ice cream

The final portion of the journey brought us to Nantes, where we gained a deeper appreciation for the craftsmanship that had brought us together in the first place. The highlight was spending time with Henry Janneau, the window company’s owner. Despite the language barrier, his enthusiasm required no translation. After more than five decades with the company, he remains deeply engaged, deeply proud, and genuinely excited about introducing French craftsmanship to the American market. There was something incredibly charming about being personally guided through the company by a man who has dedicated 53 years to building it. He welcomed us with such warmth that by the end of the visit we all felt less like guests and more like honored friends.

And then there was the ice cream. Anyone who has traveled with me knows I have very few consistent rules in life, but one of them is simple: if ice cream is available, I am ordering it. Paris offered ample opportunities to demonstrate this commitment, but by Nantes my enthusiasm reached its peak when I discovered a locally famous gelato shop and managed to position myself first in line. Apparently enthusiasm is contagious. One by one, the rest of our group abandoned whatever dignity remained and joined the queue behind me. Moments later we were all standing together in a park clutching rapidly melting cones. It was difficult to reconcile the scene before me with the professional credentials of the people involved: architects, designers, editors, and executives, individuals responsible for significant projects and decades of expertise, frantically trying to eat ice cream before it dripped down their sleeves. We looked less like accomplished design professionals and more like a field trip of overgrown schoolchildren. It remains one of my favorite memories of the trip.

What I’ll Remember Most is the People

The architecture was extraordinary. The gardens were unforgettable. The flea markets tested everyone’s luggage limits. But what I’ll remember most are the people. Travel has a way of compressing relationships. In the span of a few days, strangers become companions, professional acquaintances become friends, and conversations move quickly beyond work.

I learned a tremendous amount from spending time with architects whose approach to design differs from my own. Interior designers often focus on how people inhabit a space: the textures, comfort, functionality, and emotional experience. Architects frequently begin with structure, form, systems, and larger conceptual frameworks. Neither perspective is better. Together, they create richer places.

I left feeling profoundly grateful: to Maison Janneau for their extraordinary hospitality, to Henry Janneau for welcoming us so generously, and to my fellow travelers for their humor, insight, patience, and companionship. For one remarkable week, I was invited into a world of beautiful buildings, fascinating people, thoughtful conversations, and more ice cream than any grown woman reasonably needs. I still don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m very glad I did.