Two weeks ago, Steve and I were in Paris. In the springtime. With buds starting to appear on the trees. Visiting our friends.
What can I tell you about Paris? I can tell you that one couple we know love it so much they go back there every single year on their anniversary. I can tell you that a lot of people warned me that they hated Paris on their first visit but "got it" after that. I can tell you that my reaction to it wasn't particularly strong either way; I utterly loved both Prague and Copenhagen, but Paris made me give a Gallic shrug.
But that might be because we were trying to cram an extremely large city into just three-and-a-bit days. I would have loved to have spent whole days exploring just one area (the seedy ones; the crazy 80s one); I would have loved to have slowed down and taken thousands of photos; I would have loved to have spent a month crashing in my friends' spare bedroom and wandering the city on my own (or with Steve, of course, but, as patient as he is of my photography, I think that might have made him reach breaking point).
Still, we managed to cram a lot in. We, at the very least, walked past all of the main tourist sites - the Arc de Triomphe; the Eiffel Tower; Sacré-Cœur; Notre Dame. We stood in very long queues and visited the Catacombs and a Cartier-Bresson exhibition at the Centre Pompidou. We passed through Jardin du Luxembourg and ambled along the Promenade Plantée (where naturally a ballerina was doing stretches). We drank lots of wine and just about mastered the Metro and watched thousands of people on rollerskates zipping through the city at dusk. We giggled at the fish in the aquarium.
And I did take 400 photos. But I've picked out only my favourite... oh... thirty-odd to share with you today:
Picture of Steve and me at the Wall of Love (on our fifth anniversary) by our friend, Bruce.