The first time I came to Paris

Something about Paris seems to inexplicably grip my heart and breathe new life. The heartbeat of this city is the people, groups of tourists in every small space, bustling along to take in everything they possibly can. Being one of these people I meander through the many streets barely having time to experience anything, greedy to see everything. An assault to the senses from every side, croissants, coffee freshly brewed, the men in black all huddled around their morning coffee, protecting their precious dark liquid as they read their papers. The immaculate lady, so fashionable, so chic hurries by on her way to some famous name store. Even the names that are not famous seem to have some class. Sierra, Bethanié, Pierre Boisset, Vivaldi.
A busy street and crazy cars rush by, not a moment to spare, things to do, places to be, hurry, hurry. But then the rush is no more again, another coffee shop, Les Philosophes, sounds like a place to relax, sounds sophisticated. Onward again, but a moment to rest on the bridge. I gaze at this magnificent city along the banks of the Seine. Chic apartments hundreds of years old. A lady stands guard over the river cast in stone, motionless she stands observing the boatloads of tourists below. Notre Dame Cathedral behind her she seems to be watchful of the city. The large cranes and new glass buildings seem somehow out of place among the ancient apartments and spectacular masses of stone.

A screech of tires and my thoughts are interrupted. A mother and daughter on bicycles, mother strictly explaining to her young one where to stop, how to start, where to ride, to keep her safe from those crazy cars.

An old lady drags a Chihuahua on a leash, the unwilling dog mans best friend?

I interrupt my walk for a cup of coffee at the Café Panis on Rue Legrange. Entering the glass doors I notice Café Panis etched in a darker stone on the marbled floor. The cracks in the floor seem to show that the Café has been here for some time. The pressed ceilings are gently lit to reveal intricate floral designs. Settling at the table which I am certain has seen many customers over the years I marvel at the sights and sounds of the city outside. People passing by clutching their guidebooks, some venturing in, others scurrying along to new adventures. A group of Japanese tourists are briefly seen, cameras in hand, hurrying to the next photo opportunity.

My daydream is disturbed by the noisy chatter of people, I can hear French and German, perhaps some Spanish and then an American, rather loud, his voice briefly interrupted by the hiss of the espresso machine, there it is again, this time interrupted by a loud cackle of a lady enjoying someone’s joke. A waiter smartly dressed in black trousers, elegant white shirt, undercoat and bowtie brings me my espresso, my required daily caffeine intake. The café is now quite full and new customers are greeted with a cheerful ‘Bonjour’ by the smartly dressed waiter. The hearty laughter of one lady is distinctive above the now constant chatter of the customers. I glance at the clock on the wall and notice that it is frozen at 6h30, a time in the past much like most of the décor in Café Panis, a time when the books on the shelves were less weathered, a time when the tables were new and a time when the crack in the floor was not there.

My coffee now finished I was back in the streets, more places to be, more people to see, so much more of Paris.