Paris. I knew it long before I met it but I did not recognize it when I saw it. Paris was the first place I visited after Romanians regained the freedom to travel. The first shot of Western fragrance after the grey smell of the Communism. In 1993, a friend who had “fled” to Paris made me an official invitation. I had to wait 3 weeks for my visa, waiting in line at the French Embassy. I flew on one the only 3 Airbuses purchased by our democratic government and here I was on the CDG airport, the on the road to our place to stay, in La Defence. I was struck by the first images of Paris, that ressembled more an American city with sky-scrappers and modern architecture. I was struck because this place did not look – at least for the moment – like the one that I had known from movies and books. My confusion was dispelled the very next day when, equipped with a map, a subway subscription, two Nikon F 800s and 4 boxes of Fuji film I started my great adventure in the “City of Lights”. I was searching for my everlasting Paris. The Paris of Cartier-Bresson, Brassai and Doisneau.