PARIS IS… by SIOBHÁIN SPEAR

 Paris is the swirling madness surrounding the calm of the Seine; it’s the je ne sais quoi that runs through city veins.

Paris is red lipstick with a spritz of French parfum; its a seductive ooh-la-la whose whisper echoes through a room.

Paris is arches and bridges and cobble-stoned streets; it’s Romanesque architecture boasting ornate feats.

Paris is the Notre-Dame, but it’s also don’t give a damn – unless you speak en Français; it’s a reserved politeness delivered in a distinctly Parisian way.

Paris is the Eiffel Tower, but it’s also ‘I fell for you‘; it’s whimsically romantic but it’s cliché, too.

Paris is the Arc de Triomphe, but it’s also triumphantly ironic; it pays tribute to the dead, yet Champs-Élysée‘s more iconic.

Paris is croissants, baguettes and boulangeries; it’s Croque Monsieur but also Crème Brülée.

Paris is bicycles, scooters and European trains; it’s an overcrowded subway, but no-one complains.

Paris is museums and galleries and fashionable boutiques; it’s aspiring artists, models and haute social cliques.

Paris is a city sealed with a passionate French kiss; it’s rose-tinted reminiscence and a dreamer’s ‘What if…?’

This is Paris – Paris to me.

         by SIOBHÁIN SPEAR