Paris has two faces

"whether blue or gray be her skies, whether loud be her cheers or whether soft be her tears [...] I love Paris" Ella Fitzgerald, I love Paris

"I walked down your streets, alone and cold like a lost child, and then you took me in your arms" Enrico Macias, Paris tu m'as pris dans tes bras
"I walk down your streets which step on my feet" Souad Massi & Marc Lavoine, Paris Paris

"Oh but the sky of Paris cannot remain too cruel, it quickly seeks forgiveness by offering the island a rainbow" Edith Piaf, Sous le ciel de Paris

They all sang for Paris, a city that serenades visiting love birds while crushing resident vagabonds.

On my first visit I could not bring myself to like Paris! I could only feel the harshness of life in this place, the rush in the metro where people would give you the cold shoulder. Paris to me was like a person with perfect features but no warmth, plastic surgery beauty. I was impressed, that I cannot deny, I had a great time and the greatest host, I felt like I finally saw Paris which everyone was raving about. I concluded that maybe I preferred more imperfect yet lively beauties, same as I liked attractive guys with imperfect features. And so I went, telling my friends and my mom who adores Paris: yes beautiful city...but I'd never live there; insisting all the while that I definitely preferred the more chaotic cities of Spain (at the time I was spending winter in Alicante for work), I quote a dear friend saying "si, Madrid es más cutre pero nos gusta más" cutre is slang for low quality.

The second time I went to Paris I had to board a plane there after a long journey on the road, I thought I'd spend a day there, encouraged by a friend who absolutely loved the city -and by the colorful Paris in Ratatouille- to seek reconciliation with the city of lights.

Once again, I discover that our own mood and expectations as well as the weather set the scene for how we enjoy a place and how we remember it later on. In contrast to the cold wind scratching my skin in February, sunny mornings and breezy nights welcomed me in August (sorry Ella I tend to disagree, I love Paris only in the summer). Having been on the verge of a breakup in my first visit (luckily things worked out after that) and then simply enjoying my single student life in the second visit also made a difference.

After a week of hopping on and off trains in Central Europe with my backpack as sole companion, traveling on a tight budget to cover the maximum ground, I arrive in Paris to enjoy French delicacies on sidewalk cafes with a good café au lait in the company of a unique character. My friend whom I met in Paris had a big gossip's tongue and an artist's eye, a combination guaranteed to make you laugh your heart out while appreciating the details of fashion and life in the beautiful city. A companion so filled with positive energy that you'd say yes to crepes in the morning before your flight and end up expectedly missing the flight (most expensive crepes I ate, 90 euros).

I had covered the Paris essentials in my previous trip (I owe that to my great host and his friend, who planned all the sightseeing to fit into my weekend away from work even better than the lonely planet folks). This trip I just strolled along the Seine warmed by the familiarity that one feels when he remembers a place. As I watch the movie Paris je t'aime later on that summer, I feel this is a city I remember vividly, even if it's still one I wouldn't live in.

One place I'll always miss and would really want to go back to just sitting to read the papers, have a quiche and then strawberry macarons, I'd sit there and smile back at passersby in the only cheerful district of town: Le Marais. The quartier is characterized by shops that look like wooden doll houses, extravagant fashion and the general air of creativity that gay neighborhoods sometimes have.

Another favorite is the Ile Saint Louis for whom Edith Piaf has sang, and which will always have in my mind the color of caramel and the flavor of crunchy pecan (the ice cream place there has a dark green facade you won't miss it, it's where the bridge ends, it'd be a sin not to make a stop there).

Another spot which I would love to go back to but only with a loved one is the Pont des Arts, a wooden bridge where young Parisiens and adoptive Parisiens picnic. It'd be a waste to go to such a romantic spot on my own again.

Watching the sun setting on Notre Dame from across the bridge is very picturesque, and even though I did not feel the church's warmth on my first visit (specially as I compared it with Sacré Coeur's peace and hushed lights), in my second visit I weaved endless tales around it. It occurs to me now that perhaps I particularly like Sacré Coeur perched up Montmartre, the highest point of the city, because I have come to feel more sanctity in places that isolate themselves from the vicious world below in order to reach out to the sky, maybe I like it for no other reason but my love for heights and the view they provide? Or, maybe as much as I deny it, it is somehow connected to the fact that I studied in one of the schools founded under the Sacred Heart Society. Who knows, all I know is that I would've liked to light a candle on my second visit and had no time to.

Even though I felt somehow morose when I first visited the Louvre and got lost in the vast ancient Egyptian pavilions (that day I discovered a sense of patriotism I didn't know I had), my second visit, which was merely a visit to the grounds of the Louvre was just magical. I felt like an 8 year old on the rented red bike, forming part of a giant snake of bicycles which twisted and turned around the lights on the ground, with the glass pyramid in the background and a still starry night enveloping us, I felt like part of a movie -perhaps E.T.- and expect the front wheel of my bike to point to the sky any minute.

I have admit, as cheesy as it sounds, that I do like it when the Tour Eiffel starts twinkling. Having bought fruits and cheese in a grocery store in the posh neighborhood behind the Tower, I sit on the grass contemplating it, and marvel at this heap of iron bars which managed to symbolize everything chic in our consumerist societies. I notice that I do not have the obligatory Paris photo with Eiffel in the background and dismiss the thought, as I remember I have a cooler photo, with a dear friend and I standing at the very top of the tower pointing to the flag of Egypt, according to which Cairo stood 3217 km away in that direction. Back then those miles brought sadness and perhaps guilt, as I had left behind at home a partner and had to spend the winter working in Spain. I now silently thank God for not worrying about anyone as I rush off to the Southern Hemisphere twice in alternate months; detachment is too appealing...

I leave without paying a second visit to the Quartier Latin, I prefer to keep the memory of going there with one of my best friends intact -I still burst out laughing when I remember how the waiter at the pizzeria -who was clearly not Italian- spoke French with an Italian accent.

I go back to Madrid with black and white postcards in my backpack, a Tour de France T-shirt, an inexplicable craving for macarons, and reconciliation in my heart, humming Paroles et Paroles on the way back (I sang this at the Dalida tribute museum Karaoke, and was happy to know that my R roulé was absolutely charming and not unrefined as commonly thought).

Photo: Gargoyle at Notre Dame watching the city change over the years - according to Disney his name is Hugo (Photo by Jason Vic)

Note:
Songs: Sous le ciel de Paris - Edith Piaf; Paris tu m'a pris dans tes bras - Enrico Macias; Paris Paris - Souad Massi and Marc Lavoine; I love Paris - Ella Fitzgerald
Movie: Paris je t'aime, a movie that starts with the Parisian snail map (basically the different sections or arrondissements), and then zooms in on each of them to give a short movie, touching stories weaved by great masters of European cinema

Read: the smell of the métro posted my friend on his blog