Paris, je t'aime.

Paris is a muse. A blank canvas on which you paint what you like. Picasso abstracted it. Hemmingway romanced it. Recently, 18 directors filmed their own take on the it.

The city is yours for the taking. For the some it's a way to escape the pace of New York and play chess in the afternoons. Others see as it as more posh than Melbourne, or more exciting than British Columbia. Somewhere without husbands or parents or cares.

To me it was sleeping late, riding the tube and an endless alleyway of art galleries.

Here are a few photos from the trip:

I didn't go inside.

La fille dans la veste rouge.

This is a desk.

Art.

Sky blue sky.

Nineteen Eighty Six.

The greenest building in all of France.

Perfect.

One day, we're going to move to Paris, I promise.

The four most important things my first 24 hours in France have taught me:

Stay thin: Paris hates fatties. Elevators are tiny, hallways are thin and it turns out XXXL is a size that only exists at Old Navy.

Keep it clean: Parisians will always be better dressed than you. The key to keeping your self esteem in check is staying as well groomed as possible. Never leave the house without showering. If possible, shower twice.

Pack chapstick: You must kiss each person you meet on both cheeks. Even strangers and especially enemies.

Give up on the gay-dar: Most Parisian men are fashion forward, affectionate and hyper-stylized. Without North American skate shoes, unkept hair and the inability to dance, it's impossible to make a call between gay and Euro-sexual. 

I have more rules to learn this afternoon in Amsterdam. Until then, bon soir.