I’ll admit I am somewhat of a closeted Francophile. Or more accurately, a Parisophile. When I flew to Paris last November for the first time, I was worried that the city would not, could not live up to the inflated expectations in my head. Could any city live up to so much hype?
Turned out, it could.
Paris is so beautiful that the constant grey rain that fell during my stay served only to increase the romance, like the melancholy beauty of an aging starlet.
I left Paris with 300 photos, a sixty Euro jar of foie gras and an abiding appreciation for The City of Light.
Figures in Stone