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When I think of Paris - accordion sounds from small bistros echo in my ears; as do the Folies Bergère dancers’ screams; the sound of jazz played in clubs sways like flutters of smoke. To paraphrase writer Henry Miller’s wellknown observation: the streets of Paris are filled with song, and stone seems capable of speaking.
 I close my eyes. Outside a small moon-lit café sits Remarque’s hero Dr. Ravik drinking calvados. Another sleepless night. Torn between a life of toil in a foreign country and woes of love, he looks up towards the Arc de Triomphe. This 50-metre tall triumphal arch, one of the city’s landmarks, was completed in 1836. Its sides show several scores of victories of Napoleon’s army, while underneath is the tomb of the unknown soldier from World War I.
 Ceasing my musings involving heroes from favourite novels of my youth, my attention focuses, through a play of light, on Gustave Eiffel’s Tower, a unique feat of architecture of the industrial age, constructed in distant 1889. Boldly I conquer the expansive Elysian Fields as I listen to the birdsong from the Boulogne Forest, and cover in large strides the Avenue of Elysian Fields to reach the heart of Paris - the Place de la Concorde. It was at this square that more than 1,200 people were executed during the Bourgeois Revolution, including the royal couple. Where the guillotine once stood rises the obelisk of Ramses II from Luxor that the Ottoman viceroy of Egypt, Mehmet Ali, presented as a gift to France in 1830. Lovers gather in front of the square’s splendid fountain...
When I think of Paris - I feel its scents, scents that are difficult to describe, but which no other city in the world has. Impressionists’ paintings depicting vague forms shoot through my memory. Monet’s city in pastel haze. The petrified movement of Degas’ ballerinas. The sizzling Can Can dancers springing from Toulouse-Lautrec’ posters.
 Paris is a one-of-a-kind so is The Louvre. That the glass pyramid outside the world’s best known museum, as set out by Dan Brown’s bestseller the Da Vinci’s Code, hides the Holy Grail, is a figment of imagination. The truth is that this former royal palace holds the richest collection of objets d’art in the world. As I begin to move through this labyrinth of art, I enter the majestic vastness of the Louvre on the wings of the ancient winged goddess of victory -- the Nike of Samothrace. The Egyptian scribe does not look me in the eye – he has placed his trust in Champollion, and Cupid and Psyche wave to me. Leonardo’s Mona Lisa smiles enigmatically, while the Virgin and Child with Saint Anne are just outside the cave. A magic light radiates from Rembrandt’s paintings. Rubens’ fleshy women are positioning themselves within the gaudy frames. I board Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa and sail to where I enjoy being most – among the Impressionists.
 As I think of Paris - the many diverse flavours of cheese come to me, coupled with the sounds of slow baguette crunching and sips of red wine. In the lofts, artists from different countries discuss the eternal questions of ethics and aesthetics, as famous French cuisine specialties are prepared at Montmartre, overlooking the city.
As I sit on the steps of the world’s most famous Bohemian quarter, I feel its inimitable atmosphere. I experience a singular feeling among the multitude of small café umbrellas and easels of street artists. In the midst of this everyday open-air exhibition, I listen to the hoarse voice of a street musician as he performs Brel’s chansons, and as I do so the nearby snowy-white Sacré-Coeur Basilica glitters in the sun.
 The terrifying and grotesque gargoyles look on from the roof of the Notre Dame Cathedral, as I return to the foot of the city’s most famous Gothic-style church on the Île de la Cité island. Ignoring them, I enter. With a weary step Hugo’s Quasimodo climbs the bell tower. I descend to the basement where remains of houses date back two millennia. Time passes quickly as I tour the rich treasury. The sun’s rays enriched by many colours of stained glass write out the history of the French capital on the church’s 13th century stone walls and floors.
 The city was founded in the mid-3rd century BC around a Celtic fort called Lutetia, first mentioned in Julius Caesar’s VI Book of The Gallic Wars. When the Romans approached the fort in 52 BC, the Parisi, a Celtic tribe after which the city was named, burnt down Lutetia and all the bridges. The Romans, who were on a hill today known as the Hill of Saint Genevieve on the left bank of the Seine River, proceeded to build a new city with a thermae, forum and amphitheater. In Roman Gaul, this city came to be known as Civitas Parisiorum, or Parisia.
In the course of two millennia, the city has been built and rebuilt by rulers and military commanders, artists and adventurers – each one leaving a mark of his own. It was such a combination that produced the metropolis as we know it today. Over the centuries, Paris has undergone changes but held its own; it remained the unfinished dream of all artistic souls and a symbol of love for all dreamers in the world. Attracted by its beauty and turbulent history, some 30 million tourists visit Paris each year, making it one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world.
 I move towards the Place des Invalides square at the centre of which stands the church of Louis XIV, its sun-lit golden dome glittering. This is where the remains of Napoleon Bonaparte, brought here in 1840 from St. Helena island, were laid to rest. They are in a glass-covered circular crypt within a monumental, red-marble sarcophagus. Not far from there, in the Rodin Museum, is the sculptor’s majestic work – The Thinker, who is trying to penetrate the essence of existence.
When I think of Paris - lavish images of the Golden Age of French history come alive. The Sun King dancing on the gilded Baroque stage. Marie Antoinette struggling to make up her mind which delight to choose. Josephine walking through beds of roses in Malmaison Park.
 A beautiful 17th-century castle, Versailles, not far from the city, opens its gates, as one of the world’s most beautiful gardens receives me into its embrace. This seat of French monarchy, from the rule of Louis XIV in 1682 to the Revolution in 1789, was the most luxurious palace in Europe.
When one says City of Lights, everyone knows he means the French capital, so as I think of Paris today, millions of flickering lights in the spring night come before my eyes. The Seine River, deeply embedded into the city’s ‘genetic code’, flows lazily, connecting it with Burgundy on the one end and the English Channel on the other. With the advance of night, in my mind I board one of the riverboats. Next to me the ghost of Prevert slowly recites the immortal verses: ‘The Seine is like a person, sometimes it runs and moves with haste, always quickening its step as dusk...’ The ship slowly sails along the river that begins to step up its flow. Seen from the river, the city glimmers with captivating charm.
| According to the summer timetable, Jat Airways flies from Belgrade to Paris every day at 9:20 a.m. From the City of Lights, the return flight is at 1:00 p.m. An additional flight from Belgrade is to be introduced from June 16 through September 15 at 1:55 p.m. on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, while the return flight from Paris is planned at 5:25 p.m. | | 
