Back from a weekend in Prague

It's surreal to have woken up in Prague this morning and now, this afternoon, be sitting in Paris's Jardin du Luxembourg, relaxing after the early afternoon plane ride back to Paris and a mid- afternoon run to the jardin.

A week ago, I was concerned that I was beginning to loose touch with my observations of Parisian life and culture. A weekend away has surely solved the issue because as I sit here, on the steps in front of the garden's central circle, I'm absolutely aware as to what makes Paris just so Paris.

How effortless Parisians make dressing well seem—how tall and thin the men are, how natural yet refined the women seem. How well they hold themselves; how calm their mannerisms appear to be. How springtime ushers in an absurd amount of couples, yet how romantic it seems to sit together, peacefully on the green chairs in front of the fountain.

How many families take their young ones out—how no child will ever be caught in sports shorts or sneakers. How the tourists stick out like a sore thumb- those attempting to dress well, yet somehow lacking the Parisian touch for pairing a blazer with loafers, a white cotton dress with heeled sandals. 

And how calm the atmosphere remains, even as swarms of people crowd the garden's grounds.

The trees seemed to have bloomed over this past weekend; from here, the hedge of leaves looks as if they could have been taken from an impressionist painting. Paris is beautiful, not just the central area as Prague had been, but everywhere. I'm aware Paris has been made to look this way, carefully planned out so as to project this beauty. But it doesn't bother me. 

Springtime is gorgeous in Paris. 

It’s good to be back.