Arriving at Paris in the dead of night doesn't quite seem fair. You're cheated of breakfasts, of cups of coffee, of sight-seeing till your feet are sore, of craning your neck to look at art, of bottles of wine finished before the sun even thinks of setting (and this is winter!), of sneaky cigarettes, of having three course meals that never seem to end, of running to the metro to catch the last train. But one thing that you do get is this, all lit up light a Christmas tree, every night of the year. And that makes it all worthwhile. Some people - like Petrovsky's daughter in SATC, think that it's "hideous, hideous, hideous"- but me? Well, I feel just like this.