Now that the holidays are gone (perhaps they took the train from France again, the one that used to bring them when we were, some of us, still children?), many are probably starting to think about the next escape, the next break from routine, that special place where they can recharge, enjoy, and explore. With thoughts of the world’s special places, I bring you this question:

What is the most beautiful city in the world?
Tokyo? Chefchaouen? Paris? Barcelona? New York? Rome? London?

There is no single most beautiful city in the world—or at least not one to suit everyone’s tastes. Every city has its light and shadow, its sparkle and darker corners, neighborhoods with homes built by visionary architects, filled with museums and palaces that have stood the test of time—and also areas where it’s better not to walk alone late at night, where wearing jewelry might not be wise, and where one should be careful not to disturb someone who found a warm spot near a manhole or on a bench.

Here are a few special places for me:

Milan fascinated me with how inclusive and cosmopolitan it felt, a mix of grand, dizzyingly beautiful architecture and office buildings that could just as easily be in New York, Paris-La Défense, parts of Asia, or London. A certain elegance blended with their visible “dolce far niente” street attitude. Or at least that’s how I perceived it during my two quick visits there.

New York impressed and overwhelmed me, much like my first 12-hour mountain climb. This city is intense, fast, tireless, fascinating, surprising, full of opportunities but also restrictive, modern yet dirty, radiant yet shadowy in places. A land of extremes I loved so deeply it physically hurt—and it will always have a special place in my emotional memory.

Dubai and Abu Dhabi captivated me—it’s astonishing what people have created in a place that didn’t promise much. I had good experiences in both, though I recall my first time in Dubai back in 2008 feeling like some locals looked at me as if seeing through my clothes. The heat didn’t scare me, not even in August. But I’m like a lizard—happiest in the sun.

In Naples, Florida, I saw the most beautiful sunrise and sunset of my life. I had a room with a terrace facing the ocean, sleeping outside, lightly, afraid I might miss the daily spectacle the sun performed.

Hong Kong was one of the friendliest places to me. There’s a kind of positive energy I felt there in every pore. I felt my mind worked best in that place, as if everything I had ever learned was suddenly laid out before me. On a different note, I remember a dinner at the Mandarin Oriental hotel restaurant. They served snails first. I couldn’t grip the snail with the tongs—it flew across the table. The waiter, standing discreetly to the side, caught it, smiled, and said it happens all the time, not to worry. The heat was stifling every time I visited, but who’s afraid of heat in a place where it feels like all the good feng shui has gathered?

Singapore is one of the places I particularly loved—perhaps also because of some dear, special projects I had there. I went twice with Cartier, for the Cartier Women’s Initiative, where the two entrepreneurs I coached won the grand prize, and later while studying at INSEAD. I returned for my birthday one year. It’s a country where I walked carefree with my purse swinging—knowing nothing would happen. That sense of safety is precious, especially when traveling alone. The place is lush, surprising, warm, client-friendly, extremely clean, and orderly.

Marina Bay Sands is one of the city’s most stunning buildings, in the Lion City. On the rooftop, there’s a pool and several restaurants offering a dizzying view of the Gardens by the Bay.

Other places that impressed me in Singapore include Sentosa Island, Universal Studios, and the Botanical Garden. That’s where I saw a carnivorous plant for the first time in my life.

But…

Paris is, for me, the most beautiful city in the world.

I knew it before visiting, from when I was living in the present, with no real past, but feeling I had a whole life ahead. Paris lived in my imagination thanks to my French teachers and the books they recommended. Before I ever went to Paris, I had read about 30 novels by Balzac, many by Zola, and imagined Saint Germain through the eyes of Proust, Simone de Beauvoir, Sartre, Montmartre as painted by Modigliani and Toulouse Lautrec. I imagined the scents of Guerlain, Chanel, Dior, Madame Rochas, Yves Saint Laurent perfumes (I didn’t know many designers then). As a child, I received some foreign magazines that I read and reread, carefully so I wouldn’t damage the pages. I still remember an article about some 20-year-olds (which felt so far off—since I was still in high school) who opened a flower shop and talked about how they did it, how much they loved working there. The pictures inspired me—smiling, confident, free, energetic. A world I longed to know, to see. I read then in French and English. I was fascinated by my elegant, refined French teacher—one of the few who ever believed in me. I was also lucky to meet a French professor who was like an encyclopedia—my model of culture, someone I still aspire to emulate.

My first visit to Paris was in the summer of 1990. I often think of my first Parisian breakfast on Rue de Rivoli, in a place where someone was playing a piece from Un Homme et Une Femme, a movie I had declared (yes, at 20, young and naive) as the film of my life; and the unmatched dessert called La palette du peintre, which made me blush because it was the largest and most surprising at our table (I was with my French host family and some of their friends).
Since then, I’ve been to Paris perhaps a hundred times—or more. I didn’t count. But I know it’s not enough. It never will be. Wherever you go in that city, you’ll find something to admire. Some might say it’s dirty or unsafe. I choose to see what I love. I see the cultural capital of the world through my lens, and give it the aura I believe it deserves.

Here are some things that bring me joy:

  • Sitting at the bar on the first floor of Galeries Lafayette, champagne in hand, people-watching—alone yet surrounded by so many;
  • Strolling through Centre Georges Pompidou;
  • Sitting on a bench in Jardin du Luxembourg;
  • Having lunch in the sun at a terrace serving salade au chèvre chaud (there’s a good one near Alma Marceau, close to the YSL Museum);
  • Visiting Musée des Arts Décoratifs;
  • Tea or coffee (gourmand or not) at Café de Flore or Aux Deux Magots, after a visit to the nearby bookstore;
  • Marvelling at the beauty of the Opera, the buildings, the parks;
  • Admiring the beautifully arranged window displays—no one designs shop windows quite like the French;
  • Walking on the bridges over the Seine, searching for the bouquinistes I’d read about so many times;
  • Reading on a terrace and pausing to observe people, to enjoy every second.

Just writing all of this makes me miss Paris so much it hurts. I want to pack my bags and go.

Beyond my personal love for this city, I recognize there are many other beautiful places, and that we can feel good in many places—perhaps especially at home. After all, wherever we feel good is our “home.” Or, as Shakespeare wrote: “There is a world elsewhere.”

Where is your world?

via: Forbes