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No matter which way you head, any trip through Paris will be a voyage of discovery. But choosing the Paris of your dreams is a bit like choosing a perfume or cologne. Do you prefer young and dashing, or elegant and worldly? Something sporty, or divinely glamorous? No matter -- beneath touristy Paris, historic Paris, fashion-conscious Paris, pretentious-bourgeois Paris, practical working-class Paris, or the legendary bohemian Paris, you will find your own Paris, and it will be vivid, exciting, unforgettable. Veterans know that Paris is a city of regal perspectives and ramshackle streets, of formal espaces vertes, or green open spaces, and quiet squares.
For the first-timer, there will always be several musts at the top of the list -- the Louvre, Notre-Dame, and the Eiffel Tower among them -- but a visit to Paris will never be quite as simple as a quick look at a few landmarks. Every quartier, or neighborhood, has its own personality and unsuspected treasures, and you should be ready to explore. Ultimately, your route will depend on your own preferences, stamina, and curiosity. The city can seem like a living art gallery: broad perspectives flashing from gold to pink to silver under scudding Impressionist clouds, a misty street straight out of Brassaï, a woman's abstracted stare over a glass of green liqueur at a Montmartre café. You can wander for hours without getting bored -- though not, perhaps, without getting lost.
By the time you have seen only a few neighborhoods, you should not only be culturally replete but downright exhausted -- and hungry, too. Again, take your cue from the Parisians and plan your next stop at a sidewalk café. Soyou've heard stories of a friend of a friend who paid $8 for a coffee at a famous café? Take it in stride. What you're paying for is time to linger, with the opportunity to watch the intricate drama of Parisian street life unfold.
You'll learn it's all so familiar and all so terribly?Parisian. Rillettes (preserved pork spread) and poilâne (the ubiquitous chewy sourdough bread from Poilâne bakery) and Beaujolais. The discreet hiss of the métro's rubber wheels and a waft of accordion music. The street sweeper guiding rags along the rain gutters with a twig broom. The coins in the saucer by the pissoir. The shriek of the espresso machine as it steams the milk for your café crème, the flip-lid sugar bowl on the zinc bar. The lovers buried in each others' necks along the banks of the Seine.
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