June 1: France - Paris (Vendredi)

What can be said about Paris? Paris, Paris, Paris. A name that speaks for itself. A name that has come to mean so much for so many different people. A city that manages to love itself without any hint of vanity. A city that manages to appreciate its suitors, lovers and friends. A city that has a warmth, a human side, a streak that is rough, tough sometimes brutal, and yet always finds time for a smile, even half a wink if you look close enough. Paris is a city that is in continuous evolution. Streets and Boulevards are named after those who were once part of her life; now gone, still appreciated and never forgottern. You get the impression that this is why Paris will always be one of the world's greatest cities; nothing is cast in stone here, nothing is set in its ways. Paris is free and she will always be free because she is always herself and she knows who she is.

The sheer size and scale of this city is breathtaking. The thought and deliberate care that must've gone into the planning of this place is almost as amazing to comprehend. What wonderful minds thought up such wonderful dreams and visions to add to this spellbinding collage of architectural beauty and grandeur. The creation of art and beauty is everywhere in abundance. If the fruits of any would-be artist is penuary and scratching a living from a garret, then why not enjoy the experience in somewhere like Paris; there can be no better place. Everywhere you look Muse is ready to whisper something to you. You begin to sense an awareness here that the true essence of any artist is to create something beautiful, to add something, to advance on an idea, to make something last forever... and how do you do that? How can you make your own work, ideals and ideas stand up and last that long to become timeless? The answer is yours to find in Paris.

Just as beautiful are the women. Even more-so, if you care to be biased. Every shade, every shape, every colour. Stop wherever you like, on any street and take time to watch the women walk by. You could never waste any second doing this. The women here are like dark chocolate - soft, smooth, edible and far more alluring to the palette than the milk variety. One bite and you know what sensations would melt in your mouth. Clicking heels chatter over cobblestoned Rues and Boulevards. Giggles and laughter rise up from the shadows of narrow, empty squares and coil themselves upwards like the corkscrew staircases in each of these small apartment blocks. The facades of which reach up with such severity you wouldn't have time to spell vertigo. Every man should experience Paris at least once in his life, just as every woman should experience diamonds.



Friday evening and I'm sat in a cafe just off Rue Rambuteau waiting for a friend to arrive. It's just gone eight and the dripping drizzle has made the pavestones outside the Forum des Halles shine with the wet. The red neon sign of the Cafe Au Pere Tranquille reflects on the floor with the puddles there. People and pigeons are passing by. Everybody is cooing. The coolness of tonight's air is kind, perfumed by the sweet smell of pipe tobacco, smoked from a table behind me. Three women walk past this cafe. All three belong to three different groups. All three walk the same direction. All three wear identical pink scarves. The bells of Notre Dame Cathedrale are slowly drifting up the Seine. In another hour darkness will come to this part of the Latin Quarter. And by that time the Seine will no longer be the colour of absinthe.