Paris exudes romance. You just can’t help it. The candle lit restaurants, small cafes, and even the sites are tinged with warm feelings. First glimpses of Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, and Sacre Coeur let you know you are in this special place and the bustle in the streets give you a sense of being anonymous that lends to leisurely strolls and warm embraces.
This is one place that being with a girl was better than slumming it with your college buddy. My second time around with Kristin was much better and found out truly how Paris is indeed the city of love. Having arrived in town on a night train from Amsterdam, early in the morning, we ventured off to the St. Michael Hotel in the Sorbonne district only to find it fully booked. Just across the street was a more dilapidated one but it had rooms free and we just wanted to get rid of our backpacks at that point. And that the rooms with private bath were the same price as those without across the street, we jumped at it. Of course, it was on the top floor, probably the fifth or something ridiculous like that, and in Europe they don’t count the first floor! And with no elevators, we trudged up flight after flight of stairs until we came upon this tiny little room, with an even smaller private bath. The bed stuck out right away, bowing like a hammock. We just had to laugh, and try it out. But of all our rooms, we probably spent more time in there than any. We spent a week in Paris, and though we saw the major sights, we finally took some time for each other too, the sun glistening through the balconied window on our big bowed bed.