Welcome (again) to Paris

Each time I land here, take the RER into the city, drag my suitcases up the stairs at my metro stop and out onto the street, I smell it.

Paris.

It's a mix of damp river algae with dry, sun-baked stone. Trees fully leafed and beginning to toss their seeds to the air. A hint of baking bread. A bit of crepe caramelizing, of duck skin, roasting crisp. The singed puffs of moto exhaust. Acrid whiffs of piss. And the slightest smidge of steel, oxidizing into rust.

This city. My city.

A city in a slow, beautiful decay ever since Haussmann's razing and rebuild of the in mid-late 1800's. Yes - it's Le Tour Eiffel, beautiful, the city of light. But it's also what I see out my window as I write to you - a patchwork of additions, steel on stone plastered over. The façades kept up, the plumbing slowly decaying. The window-shutters of the building across from me a little more rotten, every floor you look up.

It's a strange accretion - a place built to look classic and timeless, as old as Rome even - but whose clothes don't quite fit the bones they're hung on.

But like a great scarf, one thing ties it all together, makes it all somehow work.

Art.

This is a city and culture in which art - and artists - are something people respect, value, and spend time appreciating. It's not just the Louvre or Orsay (though Van Gogh will bring me to my knees every time) - it's small galleries in every neighborhood. Art of every medium. Sculptors and fashion designers. Painters and photographers. Two blocks from my house is a small club just for poets to come and read, and every time I pass by, it's packed. Nearly every time I'm out walking, I'll hear live music from somewhere.

The French - like everyone - have their share of problems. But one of their strengths is that they haven't forgotten the power of art to help them make sense of the world. The cultural heroes here are musicians and activists and graffiti artists, not tech bros and reality stars.

And that, I think more than anything, is what grounds me here. Yes, it's a place that's slowly decaying, slowly losing the war against time, just like me. But it's also somewhere that says against that creeping abyss, "merde man, just make something that matters, something beautiful, something that will last. These short, fleeting days are all you've got."

And so I begin.

With lots of love, -Steven

p.s. The best thing I saw all week was this short video by the always-fantastic Minute Earth. So it turns out... trees can see?

Photo: Timeless. Museé du Orsay, Steven Skoczen, 2024.