Curving streets seem to wrap around buildings with wrought iron embellished windows and doors in a city of romantic spaces and magnificent churches. The ornate churches are markers for the sprawling historical metropolitan bustle that is Paris. There’s no place on earth like it. Old and contemporary, it’s a city that gives avant garde its credibility, and yet so much of its ambience is steeped in history. The yin and yang of contemporary and traditional aspects of the city blends perfectly in the tapestry of the metropolis. The emotions of visitors and the pride of Parisians are woven continually into the jewel of Europe. Paris is seductive that way.    

A street vendor works quickly to produce delicious crepes slathered with Nutella, while eager patrons look longingly at the ones at the front of the queue who now allow the high caloric confection to drip recklessly from their mouths. Love oozes from every bite. But the vendors are only a slight competitor to the countless cafes that dot the landscape of St. Germaine. Tiny, pricy shops invite a tourist to spend more than the vacation budget allows, and compel the buyers to shriek and coo at such delightfully beautiful treasures.  A dog-friendly city, Paris is home to streetwise pooches who strut proudly alongside their owners, darting in and out of shops and cafes. Paris embraces the creative juices of designers, artists and musicians, poets and writers. A person with a passion to create could get lost in its allure, absorbed in the invitation to get out of their crayon box and soar into imagination. Paris is seductive in that way.

In the underground of the metro, people wait patiently for the prompt subway trains to transport the shoppers, tourists and workers to points throughout the city. Long walks from one stop to a connecting train are worth it if anyone wants to get to a destination quickly. Trains are reliable unlike French lovers who flaunt their haute couture in cafe windows, but disappoint their partners with too much self-adoration. Reading at a quiet table, a handsome man wearing a scarf to reject the cold wind blowing in May is unaware of a tourist who looks longingly and lovingly at his chiseled hair and just right rounded chin.  The tourist imagined herself sitting across the table from him, discussing some mundane topic, like where to find a nice shirt, no, a fabulous shirt. They are after all in Paris. From the mundane topic, he turns to plans to visit Normandy by train. The express train will do. Perhaps a day trip will allow time to visit friends and enjoy the fresher air, cleansed of smoke and gasoline fumes. He touches her hand, looks into her expectant eyes, and without speaking another word,  their mutual language of love the sole communicator, plans are made to enjoy their pairing, their enchantment, their inevitable journey to ecstasy. Paris is the point of departure, but also their return destination. Like a fragrance one is drawn to breathe in over and over, Paris calls me into its mysteriously enchanting arms. Paris is seductive in that way.