It’s unfathomable, something out of a novel or a painting; the sweet scent of baked goods seething out of the pastisseries aligning every street corner, the iridescent street lights illuminating the broken cobblestones that line the streets, the soft murmur of a single, muted Violin and an accordian that deftly hum their melancholy tune, the endless cycle of people brushing hands while stepping in sync down the beaten path, the people singing loudly to the masses or reading a book calmly to themselves while sipping pinot noir that came from the vineyards merely twenty miles outside the city, and the beautiful buildings constructed anywhere between the 1300’s and the 1700’s. Paris. The city of love derives its title from the overwhelming passion and inspiration that envelops you every single time you explore its streets.

On my travels, I have never felt as enticed, inspired, or refreshed with newfound perspective as how France left me feeling in June of 2017. You cannot say you’ve seen true beauty until you’ve stood either at the top of the Eiffel tower and taken in the breathtaking site of the city, all 360 degrees of it, or until you’ve marveled at the twinkling and shimmering lights of the tower and the city at night amidst the fountains on Trocadero square.

I have never felt as validated as I felt when I was surrounded by the language and the food of the French, the paintings, sculpture, and monuments of the greats, and the busy bustle of the metro, RER, and bus system transporting citizens and tourists alike around the city. There is love all over the city, and no, I’m not referring to the couples holding hands and posing while taking cute wedding photos along the banks of the river Seine, but I am referring to how the city made me feel when I got to dance around it as if I were an innocent eight-year-old in a candy store.

The pace of life was steady and slow. To the French, time is a fluid construct, there are not waiters coming to your table bombarding you with questions about how enjoyable your meal is prior to you even having the chance to pick up a fork, instead, you flag them down whenever you are contented enough in your dinner conversations to exit.

There is no desire for speed, convenience, or efficiency in the way we define those terms in the context of an American culture. Never did I feel rushed or stressed amidst the Parisian scene, I merely wanted to relax and contemplate all that the world has to offer me. Forevermore, regardless of how many times I step foot in Charles-De-Gaulle airport, will I be irrevocably and hopelessly in love with the dazzling iridescent lights of that city, and all that lies within it...well, perhaps everything except the catacombs.