Paris, encore une fois.

Every time I look down on this timeless town,
Whether blue or gray be her skies,
Whether loud be her cheers, or whether soft be her tears,
More and more do I realize that...

I love Paris in the spring time
I love Paris in the fall
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles

I love Paris every moment
Every moment of the year
I love Paris, why oh why do I love Paris?
Because my love is here

It's the Doris Day's version, the one Cole Porter preferred (or so it has been said) that is playing in my head over and over whilst I type. I've been to Paris in February, June and September, which pretty much covers every season. Like Doris Day, Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra or Patti LuPone and many others non-musicians before me, I love Paris. Even when it drizzles. And trust me, it did.

There's some sort of magic to walk the boulevards in the cold, buy some books and find a warm place to have café au lait et pain aux raisins... Or to cross the Jardin des Tuileries to visit some exhibitions at Jeu de Paume et à l'Hôtel de Sully with a shy sun trying to make it through.



Or just to return to your all favourite bistrot, only to find out that it remains the same. Taking the risk to sound like a broken old record, I love Paris. Specially if my love is there.