Day One, in Paris

The trains whistle in the crisp morning air as announcements echo across the platforms in a language I cannot yet understand. The smell of freshly baked pastries coming from a boulangerie, waft towards me and I’m drawn in to delight in my first real French croissant. The buttery lightness explodes in my mouth. Meeting up with a French man on a train platform at Gare Du Nord, Paris, all seems very romantic and dreamy. Well for me, it was more than that. It changed my life. We start by climbing the endless stone steps to the Scare Coeur in beautiful Montmarte, to gain a better view over this gorgeous city. The artist’s corner is a flurry of activity and laughter, beers clinking over lunch that will more than likely extend into the late hours of the afternoon. The artists are swift and professional, rolling their paintings up with a flourish. I wonder how many millions of framed Montmartre portraits there are in the world, reminding their proud owners of that one time they visited Paris. Everywhere you looked there was beauty. Even as it started to lightly rain, it was everywhere. It was in the dripping lamps in the long rows of pollarded trees lining every boulevard. It was in the curvy stalks of lights above the Métro entrances, beckoning you into the busy system below. It was in the benches waiting for lovers by the flowing River Seine. It was in the Eiffel Tower, so ominous from a distance and yet so sensuously curvy up close, sparkling at night. As night fell over Paris, we walked along Le Seine winding our way towards the iconic tower. The sound of wine glasses clinking and happy chatter floated across the water. The impressive strobe of light rotated around the axis of the tower, much the same way as it does in a lighthouse, guiding boats to shore. It seemed a way of connecting everyone in Paris, guiding them home. When the light show flickered to life and lit up the iron lady, I too understood for centuries why people continued to fall under the spell of Paris. It was romance – personified.

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