Paris, je t'aime

The sky over Paris is a cozy shade of pastel blue, scarcely marred by grey.

It was raining hard when you set out for the day, the brooding skies drenching the city with a sullen ferocity. Your feet were soaked by the time you stumbled into the falafel joint just before noon, backpack a sodden mess as you descended the steps of Saint-Paul station a few hours later.

The rain had lightened up as you leaned over the edge of the Arc de Triomphe, eyes enraptured by the view down the expansive Champs-Elysées. It had stopped completely when you stepped out of a café onto a crooked back street, the taste of fromage and mushrooms lingering on your lips. But the heavens above were no less bleak than they had been all day.

But that grey is but a faded memory as you sit this evening atop the hill of Belleville, a quickly receding cloudmass behind you. In its place is the azure expanse before you, a sweeping landscape dominated by two magnificent centerpieces. Above, the shimmering sun; golden as ever, imbuing the sky around it with a luminous hue. And below the slowly sinking orb, the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower; perfectly symmetrical and unflinchingly modern—eminent and black against the shining canvas behind.

You recognize other structures; the colorful Centre Pompidou here, the top of Notre Dame there, the Tour Montparnasse. But your eye seldom lingers on them, seldom dallies anywhere before returning to the Tour Eiffel. Maybe it is because the hill is too short, perhaps it is the copse of trees cutting off Sacre-Coeur and La Défense to the southwest—but from your perch it seems that nothing can rival the tower’s quiet beauty. Taller than anything in this Parisian sunset, dark as the sun is bright, proud and majestic—the tower stands, and you watch.

It is your first time in this city—your first time in Europe—but even so, something feels…right. Shivering in the crisp air, you look about you. A handful of Parisians have gathered on the hill, entranced as you are on the scene before, faces resplendent in the light.

As the sun breathes its last and darkness gathers over the City of Light, the quiet spell is broken. Everyone goes their separate way, fanning out into the quickening Parisian night. No words are shared, but words need not be said—there is a palpable understanding that you have all just witnessed something special.

Your own path leads south, down the Rue Belleville, back into the vibrant amalgam of Paris’s second Chinatown. And as you pass by the wine bars and the Asian supermarkets, sharing the cobblestones with people from a dozen nations, you realize that this city has stolen your heart.

I can’t tell you exactly when I fell in love with Paris. I can hardly tell you why. On the surface, the answer seems simple. Paris is a vast metropolis with incredible cuisine, culture, architecture, history and diversity; all that a man wants in the world, he can find in Paris. But London has all this too, on an even larger scale. And though I consider that city the greatest in the world, it never entranced me like its French counterpart. No, there’s something unique about Paris that captivated me.

If I had to guess, I’d say it is Paris’s character that I really am drawn to. It’s something you feel when you walk through the city, past Lebanese sandwich shops in the shadow of towering monuments, through tree-lined boulevards and quiet gardens. It’s there in the calculated manner Paris showcases its beauty—Louvre flowing into the Tuileries which border the Place de la Concorde which is the beginning of the Champs-Elysees… The people too are part of it, denizens of all colors and creeds who share that proud Parisian manner and flash quiet smiles when they squeeze through the swiftly closing doors of a departing Metro train.

A city’s character is like a human’s personality. It is an amorphous, unquantifiable thing, easy to describe but difficult to define—something you need to experience to truly understand. So I can tell you that my favorite things about Paris are its venerable grace, diverse charm, and innately cultured manner. That I cherish the sense of perpetuity you feel when you stroll through this ancient city, one that has emerged largely unscathed from history’s trials. I cannot, however, combine those parts into an explanation of the character I love—there is so much that words cannot capture. Go to Paris, and you’ll (hopefully) understand what I’m trying to convey. Maybe you’ll fall in love with the place, too.

Rain or shine, war or peace, fifteenth century or twenty-first, Paris endures. Paris stands, marvelously grandiose, magnificently proud; a city like no other.

Paris, je t’aime.