Paris is a city commissioned by beauty, ordained by history, and adorned with charm. You can write a poem about Paris and many have, particularly about Paris in the rain. In fact many have written a lot more than poems. They wrote entire novels dedicated to and inspired by this grande dame of cities. The city itself is a wondrous beauty and an absolute joy at which to marvel. It is art masquerading as everyday architecture. Paris is the emphatic and emblematic thesis on the city as an art form.
Paris, even in your memory, occupies so many senses. Paris does not age — it is aptly compared to French cheese, wine, and people — it only grows more distinct. This city is a symphony of noise so palpable you can taste it and a mosaic of colours so stunning you can smell it. Paris is an ode to what the city was meant to be; that is not to say that Paris is what the city should be. Paris captures so many ideals — some contrary — and shuffles them together in this deck of cards. Then you play a game with Paris just to see the hand you’ve been dealt.