Paris est une fête
Many people ask me, why I love living in Paris. The acrid smell of urine and poo litter the pavements close to walls, lampposts, or any area with a pole for that matter. It is only eight in the morning.
Yet at the same time, the musician at the end of the street commences his set with a rendition on an accordion of Shostakovich’s Valse n°2 . The Haussmann and nineteenth-century state buildings side by side with Post-modern buildings are eclectic. The French rhythm to time is appreciative as it is a tad on the decadent side. There is soul. A street vendor and a passer-by banter on the street, one defending the honour of his honey produce and the other questioning the exorbitant prices. Pedestrians and commuters alike, elbowing and yelling at tourists for blocking the path during peak hour. Some with fading makeup and bloodshot eyes go straight from the club to work.
Essentially, this is Paris. It is simply splendid, memories of the city will stay with you no matter where life takes you next. It’ll make sure that you need come back.
