Paris is without a doubt one of the world's most beautiful cities, with it's gorgeous architecture extending outside the immediate center of the city, due to strict building codes which made it illegal to build to a lower common denominator.
What might have made builders recoil in horror provides eye candy today for the city's residents as well as tourists flocking to the city.
the streets of Paris
And of course the royal structure's from yesteryear, those society invested all their time in resources in creating, stand tall and proud. The Opera House, stunning visually on the outside, is ten times more more magnificent when you enter within.
outside the Opera House
the ceiling of the Opera House
vaulted ceilings of the Opera House hallways
Opera- beautiful and opulent
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Paris along the Seine river
this goes on for kilometers
gorgeous
Video: The Gorgeous Buildings of Paris France
Video: the architecture streets of Paris
The Cathedral of Montmarte
balconies and windowsills adorned with flowers
Hope you make it a point to visit Paris. Eye candy for the senses and soul!
Paris- the world's romance capital and one of its most beautiful cities. Walk anywhere near the expansive city center and take a deep breath of appreciation for the gorgeous architecture and artistic sculptures rising throughout the area.
For most Parisians it's merely the daily background, but being from a graffiti intensive, desecrated city; I find the public art inspiring.
Residents and tourists alike pack the banks of the Seine River on this summer day, basking in the sun, enjoying the cook-outs, and live music from performers hoping to make a few Euros practicing their craft.
decorated bridge across the Seine
Any area of Paris is accessible from the center within twenty-five minutes via a highly efficient metro line. Finding your desired location after exiting the station is a touch trickier as the streets zig and zag, change names, and do their best to cloak their identities- remnants of the city's ancient past.
But even getting lost in this beautiful town isn't so bad, just stop in at any of the cafes which line the streets, sit down at a table outside and sip on a coffee or a glass of wine- served ubiquitously throughout the city.
one of my favorite painting ever at the Orsay Museum- Van Gogh
Just sit back, relax, and watch the world go by. If doing so were an Olympic event, Parisians would win the gold.
Two of the planet’s greatest museums, the Orsay and the Louvre house a gravity defying percentage of humanity’s masterpieces, and are situated a mere mile apart. Go enjoy whenever you like, just make sure to buy tickets online to avoid the Louvre's snake-like two hour line.
the entrance to the Louvre courtyard- Paris
Tourists of past years have complained of Parisians being "snooty," pretending not to understand pleas for help in English, as only the "superior" language of French should be spoken within the confines of the city. While I didn't experience this (at least I don't think so) evidence of such a psychology remains in the Louvre, as the details of most any individual works of art are described only in French, making for a less enjoyable experience.
Cathedral of Notre Dame
Visit the Hunchback at the Cathedral of Notre Dame, its medieval towers and gargoyles flying high into the Paris skyline. They've been watching, guarding the city for centuries, and no one is sure when, in classic Parisian fashion they'll organize a strike, get up, and finally walk off the job.
Gargoyle looks over Paris from Cathedral of Notre Dame
Nearby shysters ply their trade, attempting to lure tourists into a con-game, some variation of Three Card Monte. Once they dig into a sucker they try hold on as long as they can, extracting as much money as possible in the process. Euros only flow one way as even if you guess right, you'll never get paid.
Want a little night-life? Head out to the Montmarte district where the famed Moulin Rouge and other cabarets line the streets. It feels a touch rougher compared to the Champs de Elysee, a little more gritty, a little more flavorful.
Moulin Rouge
the courtyard of a local museum of Monmarte - only in Paris
playing ping pong at Parisan park
For all it's style and grace, Paris shows scars of recent trauma; soldiers with sub-machine guns keeping watch on the city streets and in public squares, a sight unimaginable when I visited as a child; a sad reminder of recent terrorist activity.
But through its storied history, this great city has experienced far worse, ranging from Revolution, the guillotine, Hitler, and mimes; and once again, via humanity's impulse to create something better, to grow, to live a peaceful and fruitful life, these wounds will eventually heal. The human spirit will overcome and persevere.
Paris remains a city full of culture, beauty, intellect, and magnificent architecture and one which should be near the top of any travelers list to visit.
I lack the endurance necessary to run around museums. I'm simply not fit enough.
True, I am able to run for miles without tiring, but this doesn't help me one iota inside the cavernous art exhibits of Europe. I lack what medical doctors refer to as "Museum Fitness."
So now I'm by the pyramid entrance of The Louvre, gazing from the outside at the planet's most prestigious museum; for art lovers a visit to which is comparable to the the biggest sporting event on the planet, a game they refer to as the "Whatchamacallit" as their memory is solely devoted to the works of Leonardo, Donatello, and Raphael; names which only serve to remind me to pick-up a pizza on the way home.
the pyramid entrance to the Louvre + her courtyard
Standing outside these hallowed halls, I feel like a football player on Superbowl Sunday- it's the biggest game of my life, but for some reason the adrenaline just isn't flowing.
Immediately I start altering my physiology, jumping up and down, doing breathing exercises, envisioning myself paying rapt attention to each piece of historic and stunning art, fully absorbing their meaning and significance. If I thought I could pass the mandatory doping tests of the AAL (Art Appreciation League) I'd pop some Adderall.
I sprint out of the Louvre locker room out of my mind, totally psyched, pounding my chest as I burst through a red, white, and blue banner held up by security, .
And for the first 20 minutes, I really am absorbing everything, rapt attention, taking in the centuries of cultural heritage, these masterpieces which have survived to enlighten us what life was like back in the Middle Ages- ("harsh.")
magnificent art- the Mona Lisa. A portal to another world
But after a half-hour my attention starts to wane. I need a pep talk from Coach Da Vinci so I go and gaze at one of the greatest paintings ever produced- The Mona Lisa. Her lightly smiling countenance drawing me in as it does millions of art lovers every year. It truly is a magnificent piece and I understand why estimates of its net-worth are 1.5 billion; it also makes me wish i had the artistic talent to counterfeit such masterpieces.
"Mona Lisa, for sale cheap. Check it out. I got Rembrandts too if that's what you want. 99.9% off. I'm practically giving them away- a million dollars a piece."
I head back out into the famed corridors of the Louvre with a bit more steam, and gazing up at photo after photos of Jesus and his Mom (Did he really just call them photos??) I find my life-force abating.
I start to feel dizzy, almost drunk- what any medical doctor will tell you is a sure sign of "Gallery Syndrome."
Bravely, I discount the bodily signs, waving them off as delusions of the mind. A guard with obviously no medical training sees me swaying and curtly questions if I'm drunk.
"It's just a sprain," I retort.
I see the green-lit human figure- the exit sign, doing my best to ignore the siren song echoing in the hallways. Looking around, everyone else appears to have had their ears plugged with wax.
I take several more steps forward, nodding my head approvingly at this stunning artwork which has withstood the test of time, an attempt to fake myself out into absorbing more of it.
But I'm at my physical limit and now the symptoms can no longer be ignored. I start retching, the first signs of serious onset of the disease. According to medical textbooks I have but twenty minutes before I'm dead.
I race towards the exit, following the pointed direction of the green figures, my only allies in escaping this gorgeous, treasure laden dungeon. A poisoned dart misses me by inches. I speed up my pace, guards yell, "No running!"
My head is spinning as I sprint past the Egyptian exhibit which curiously, according to the Paris Guardian, has recent new additions to its collections- two day old mummified bodies of art patrons who succumbed to Gallery Syndrome.
I slide out of the Louvre and into the fresh air. It takes 15 minutes before I fully regain my senses, as on site medical staff treats other hapless visitors (mostly Americans.)
I'm chided by a nurse for my lack of Museum Fitness. "You really have to develop a stronger regimen," she suggests, handing me stack of art history books.
Borrowing from the playbook of American medicine and college students alike, I ask for a prescription to Adderall instead.
I rise and exit out of the Louvre courtyard, and looking back briefly at my near death experience I have but one thought, "Man, that artwork was tremendously impressive."
My Mom told me when I was a baby, I would spit it up when they tried to feed it to me. Later, my father, incredulous that his son could possibly have an aversion to such a staple, who, despite being an MIT physicist, isn’t intellectually capable of understanding that a different reality of the world besides his own could exist, used to try to sneak cheese and butter into sandwiches he made for me, which were instantly spit onto the ground and thrown into the garbage.
It only stopped after I called the authorities to complain about a poisoning attempt.
ewww! Gross!
I go out of my way to avoid cheese. I was once starting a relationship with a really beautiful girl and was invited over to her house for lunch for the first time, and was caught picking out the cheese of turkey sandwich she gave me. I should have warned her, my actions were ... not welcomed.
So, now I am in Paris, with my wonderful AirBnb host, Naomi, who is excited about acquainting me with French culture, which, for all its beauty, for a country which has given the world everything from crepes to The Louvre, has a major flaw- it's love affair with 'fromage' (cheese.)
True fact: On "blue cheese" France actively cultivates mold for "taste;" it is considered a delicacy. No wonder this is where the nihilist movement began.
And Naomi, thinking herself kind, tells me, nay, brags to me with wide dilated eyes that she will have a "platter of French cheese prepared for me which I can sample to my hearts content." She gives me a huge and generous smile.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
When I tell her that cheese isn't exactly my cup of tea, she's in absolute disbelief, she's never heard such a thing, she takes it upon herself to attempt to assimilate me to French culture and society.
When her pleas for sanity fail, she blackmails me to try her cheese by threatening to turn me into authorities as a terrorist.
Below you'll see the results.
After a long mostly sleepless flight to Paris, I board the airport bus to the city as suggested by Google- my feeble, tired mind already under the direction of the world's future robotic overlords.
In literally the blink of the eye, neural pathways start to fire absent computer instruction; it's the usual male trip-wire, a beautiful woman; sitting alone in the front. The bus has plenty of open seats, but my choice is obvious.
As I sit, I look down and see a small ring around her wedding finger, it's not a rock but it's still a deterrent, plus I'm worn out, I take a deep breath and try to close my eyes- not working. We continue on in silence.
"Is that a Wi-Fi sign?" she asks me nicely, pointing to the bus's window.
"Indeed it is," I reply.
Ice broken, I start to joke around with her. I'm struck by her warm and easy laugh. Approaching my destination, I know I have to make haste. Depending what time her friend is arriving, we might explore the city together.
As I try to get my bearings a British woman who exited the bus behind me gets my attention, "Nice chat-up lines," she compliments out of nowhere. Though slightly bewildered, I smile, maybe there's a greater likelihood of hearing from Nata than I've estimated.
An hour later I receive a text inviting me to meet near the Eiffel Tower (created by famed French architect Frank Tower.)
Our adventure begins.
She's so easy, she smiles, she laughs, she giggles, she's so free, she's the definition of feminine.
There is such a joy in her. It bubbles out unforced, so easily. The more time I spend with her, the sexier she becomes.
Her freedom and joy invigorates the masculine energy. In fact, it's inspirational. There is nothing more I wish to do then to serve and protect her, to allow her the freedom and space to express her feminine.
Apelsin!
And when the storms come, and they do arrive I learn quickly, you just stand strongly in the wind and not let the gusts blow you away, not move you from your center. The feminine continually tests the masculine. But once the storm is weathered, as quickly as the dark clouds arrived, her almost blinding sunshine appears once again.
And I'm attracted like a bee to a bright flower, like a metal shield to this magnet of femininity. I have difficulty extracting myself from her presence, from letting her go.
Maybe it's just her natural state, maybe it's the romantic city of Paris that helps bring it to the surface, maybe it's a combination, but this effervescent joy, this natural free-spirit, flirty, the easy going nature, all of which comprise what I consider to be the feminine, makes her utterly irresistible.
And even now, writing this from a thousand miles away, I wish she was here in my arms, so I could feel her essence, squeeze her, look into her bright sparkling eyes, and hear her warm bubbly laugh.
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