Ca Plane Pour Moi

21st December 2007

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Paris stinks. That was my first impression – well before the book Perfume made the olfactory-essence de Paris a cause celebre. To my young yet un-smoked nostrils this was a smelly town: the Gitanes, the garlic breath, the open pissoir, the onion necklaces of cycling touts, the rising summer funk of the drains mixed with those blasts of sulfurous Metro air expelled brusquely from deep below through grates perfect for lifting the dresses of unsuspecting damsels.

The Guerilla Traveler does Paris, a city of dreams and romance, strange smells and stranger people.
Paris stinks. That was my first impression – well before the book Perfume mad ...

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