Postcards from Paris

There’s a magic in Paris that enthralls and invigorates me in a way few cities ever have. ✨ 

Perhaps it’s the cobblestones, richly steeped in history and weathered by the footsteps of explorers, change-makers and storytellers past. Perhaps it’s the buildings dating back to centuries known to me solely through books and housing an awe-inducing wealth of history that’s equal parts humbling and bewildering – each imposing in presence yet casually situated among modernity. Perhaps it’s the stunning Belle Époque architecture that tempts me to photograph it, then stops me simply to take it in, to absorb every detail in all of its grand splendor.

Or could it be that indescribable joie de vivre that seems to permeate the city even in its seemingly characteristic gray winter days? The sound of accordions, of laughter, of deep conversation, of casual greetings, of doors creaking open and gently shutting close, the clinking of coffee cups and wine glasses, the buzz of a brasserie in the middle of the day, the swish-and-swoosh of the streets after a quick downpour, cloaked in the warmth of those who walk through it focused and undisturbed.

Perhaps it’s the ease in getting lost (in the best way) – of starting off a stroll on a well-known street only to be beckoned by a seemingly secret one, an alley tucked away as if waiting to be curiously and carefully discovered. Or the way each block has its own personality, its own distinct charm, each represented proudly and boldly by those who get to call it home. It’s the appeal of visiting Paris only to have it, ultimately, visit me – guiding, informing, wrapping itself around me and imprinting itself on me the way an old friend does: full of memories and full of potential for a story that continues to write itself.

Or could it be that it not-so-subtly reminds me of a Buenos Aires of the past, in all of its best and all of its traditional jaunts to the boulangerie, to the fromagerie, to the butcher, to the friends at the café next door? Or of a New York of the always, with all of its vibrancy and lights and culture? Perhaps, but inarguably, its magic is singularly, spectacularly Paris.

Certainly, present times are far from reflecting la vie en rose, but there is a certain quality that makes everything in Paris feel just a little bit rosier, a little more upbeat, a little more promising and ever that more hopeful. It’s a city to which I hope to return, each time lingering a little longer, each time leaving just a little bit of myself marked into its tapestry, and from which I hope to continue to return just a little more bright-eyed, slightly more enchantée.

Below, a few of my personal postcards from my most recent Paris visit (all photos my own)…