What can I say about Paris that I haven’t already said? Are you sick of hearing me sing its praises? (I don’t blame you!) I will say that I expected Paris to be many things last week: cold, dark, rainy, still reeling from the terror attacks a few weeks ago, scared, on edge, different. It wasn’t any of those things. It drizzled exactly once, a quick shower not even worthy of digging out my umbrella. I found the same Paris I’d left in May: unseasonably warm and bright, welcoming, insouciant, defiant, alive. I noticed more tricolores hanging from balconies and hung in shop windows, more signs declaring “Fluctant Nec Mergitur,” and yes, more French soldiers with large guns, pacing in front of monuments, standing sentry in front of synagogues in le Marais, and more security guards requesting to check my bag entering shops and museums. But Paris itself? Paris was the same, if not quieter and calmer, for the off-season lack of tourist and crowds. It was beautiful, and I loved every second of it, as I always have and I always will.
I hung out with Süsk, ate my weight in baguettes and butter, went to three museums (the Louvre, Rodin, and Carnavalet), wrote my ass off and finished a chapter that had been giving me a headache for weeks, explored new neighborhoods, walked an average of 25k steps (roughly 15km) each day, and only cried in public three times (all happy occasions, I promise, like seeing the Eiffel Tower again). I have so many photos to share with you! I’ll go easy on the words, because really, you’ve heard me say it all before. En bref, Paris is perfect.