Parisian Charm

On Wednesday night, I came home late from my Zumba class at Théâtre du Renard. Tired and sore from the last Tina Turner jam sesh, I parked my Vélib and typed the code to the front door of my immeuble.

As I walked into the hall, I was stopped by this:

One of my neighbors had removed his old windows and replaced them with new, plastic-framed, undoubtedly double-paned versions.

Where part of me was jealous of the heat-insulating additions to his apartment (surely he would be warmer than me!), another part of me felt so sad...soon, windows like this won't exist at all...

Instead of walking up the five flights of stairs to my apartment, I tip-toed around my building, careful not to wake the neighbors, and photographed all of the things that may one day be replaced by white-plastic versions, void of the Parisian charm that makes this city so magical.

How many people have come in and out of this door...

Leaned against this wall as they said goodbye to someone outside...

Felt the comfort of home as they entered this hallway...

 Lit their way with this lamp...

Climbed these creaky stairs...

Tip-toed along this landing...

Steadied themselves on this banister...

Looked down from the top and saw this twirling staircase...

Felt the relief of finally making it to the front door! 

(especially after all those early 20th century Zumba classes)

I'm usually annoyed with my building, what with the leaking windows, moldy corners and thinnest walls on the planet.  But I guess that's just the Parisian charm shining through, n'est pas?