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A Night in Paris, A Night in Love

 

A Night in Paris, A Night in Love
 

I arrived in Paris the way any woman would, fashionably late, or in other words exactly an hour and 43 minutes delayed. My stomach was churning from the turbulent flight but my energy was as strong as ever. Having developed a natural passion for French opera, my heart immediately longed for a night at the Palais Garnier.

So off in a Rolls I went, with makeup and all, like Cinderella living her fairytale fantasy moment.

My mother once told me, if Paris is a woman, she would be bedazzled with jewelry like the lights of the Champs Elysee, hair like the Seine and wearing high heels as tall the Eiffel.

And today, I am that woman. Mademoiselle Hoskins, an American in Paris gracing the staircase of le Garnier, my vintage Dior gown cascading down the grand entrance.

From up there, the stage came to life before my eyes. Men and women sang their hearts out, echoing through the gold leaf gilded chambers that held a thousand years of tradition, culture and history.

A glass of Dom Perignon in one hand, and a rose macaron in the other, I admired gracefully from the box offices high above.

I guess I never understood why Paris was the City of Lights, or the fashion capital, or even a culinary heaven. You have to truly experience Paris to understand that.

Back in the Shangri-La Hotel Paris, La Suite Imperiale was waiting on the fifth floor, adorned with fifty freshly delivered roses, and its five-hundred count Egyptian linen. Through the windows, a street was dimly lit, lined with perfectly trimmed trees and countless stars illuminating the midnight sky.

They call it Paris.

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