Right in front of the Arc de Triomphe, this couple stood completely wrapped up in each other.

While cars drove past and tourists wandered around taking photos of the monument, these two were lost in their own moment. She had her arms around him, and they were kissing like no one else was there.

It felt very Paris.

After the heaviness of Père Lachaise, it was strangely comforting to see this — two people simply choosing love in the middle of a busy city.

Standing at the western end of the Champs-Élysées, the Arc de Triomphe is one of Paris’s most powerful symbols. Commissioned by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1806 after his victory at Austerlitz, it was built to honor the French army and the soldiers who fought in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars. Construction took thirty years and was finally completed in 1836 under King Louis-Philippe.

The names of 558 French generals and over 100 major battles are carved into its stone walls. On the right side, the dramatic sculpture La Marseillaise (also called Departure of the Volunteers) captures the passion and fury of the French Revolution.

Beneath the arch lies the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier from World War I, marked by an eternal flame that has burned continuously since 1923.

Even at sunset, with traffic moving around it and a cement mixer working at its base, the Arc still commands the space. It has watched over Paris through empires, wars, revolutions, and everyday life for nearly two centuries.

Right in the middle of a busy Paris street, this guy had drawn quite a crowd.

He was performing as a living statue — top hat, white gloves, dramatic gestures — balancing on a post while interacting with the audience. People stood around watching, some smiling, some with arms crossed, clearly entertained. It felt like one of those classic Paris moments you hope to see when you come here.

After the intensity of Père Lachaise earlier that day, this was a welcome shift. The city was alive with street performers, tourists, and everyday chaos, and this guy was fully in his element, doing his thing for anyone willing to stop and watch.

Count me in!

The performer had chosen his next participant.

Leaning down from his perch on the post, he carefully placed something on the woman’s head while the crowd watched with amusement. She stood still, playing along, while people around her smiled and laughed. One woman in the background even started clapping.

It was classic street theater — the kind of spontaneous, slightly ridiculous moment that only seems to happen in cities like Paris. The mime was fully committed, and the crowd was clearly enjoying the show.

The mime had fully committed to his performance, leaning far out from his post and reaching toward the crowd with theatrical flair.

A man in a white jacket was also taking pictures. He had his camera up, photographing his friend who was standing right in front of the mime. It was a layered little moment: the performer performing, the participant playing along, and someone else capturing it all on film.

I was probably the only one there photographing strangers. Everyone else seemed to be watching, laughing, or documenting their own friends.

The mime reached down, and she reached up.

For a brief moment, they connected — a real handshake between a street performer and a stranger in the middle of Paris. He was fully in character, but the gesture felt surprisingly genuine. She had stepped forward and met him there.

It was one of those small, unexpected moments that make street performance so powerful. In the middle of a busy city, two people who had never met before were sharing a simple, human exchange while a crowd watched.

I was glad I caught it on film.

After the energy of the street performer, I stepped inside a quiet church to catch my breath.

It was dark and still inside, with only the soft glow of candles and the sound of people moving slowly between the pews. I lit a prayer candle for my grandparents, stood there for a few minutes, and took this photograph.

I didn’t stay long — not as long as I had in the church in Dublin — but it felt right to pause and do this. Then I stepped back outside into the evening light.

As I stepped out of the church, I looked up and saw these powerful stone figures carved above the doorway.

On the left stands Christ, crowned and holding the Book of Life. In the center, a winged angel reaches down to lift and guide Saint Denis — the first Bishop of Paris — who is carrying his own severed head after being beheaded for his faith. Catholics are taught that after his execution, Denis picked up his head and continued walking and preaching for several miles before finally ascending to heaven. On the far right stands Saint John the Evangelist, bearing witness to the scene.

In the 1200s, most people couldn’t read the Bible. So churches covered their walls and doorways with dramatic sculptures like these — visual stories meant to teach the faithful about judgment, salvation, and what happens after death. They were designed to be impossible to ignore.

As I continued walking toward the Louvre, I came across this scene that stopped me for a minute. A man had a whole cart of hats hitched to a donkey, set up right in the middle of the square. People were gathered around trying them on, while the donkey just stood there like this was completely normal.

It felt very Parisian — this strange mix of old-world charm and tourist hustle. I loved the hats hanging off the awning, the big white umbrella, and that donkey just doing his job like he’d been doing it for years.

I took the picture and kept walking, smiling to myself.

As I got closer to the Louvre, I came across this long stretch of artists selling their work right along the sidewalk. Prints and paintings were hanging everywhere — some framed, some just clipped up on makeshift displays. People were stopping to browse, and the whole scene felt alive and creative.

I remember feeling instantly at home here. Something about seeing all these artists out in the open, sharing their work with anyone who walked by… it lit up my soul. I was genuinely happy in that moment. This was my kind of place.

I wished I could live here — that I could set up my own stall and sell my photographs of Paris to the tourists walking by. This would have been infinitely better than living in Kearney, Nebraska, I thought. I never wanted to go home. I wanted to stay here forever.

I took a few pictures and kept walking toward the museum, still smiling.

A little further along, I noticed this man carefully going through the prints at one of the stalls. He was clearly shopping — taking his time, pulling pieces out to look at them more closely before deciding.

It was nice to see someone actually engaging with the work instead of just walking past. Moments like this made me want to be one of them even more. I could picture myself behind a table like that, watching people stop and connect with my photographs.

A little further down the row, this man in a suit and tie walked right by without even glancing at the stalls. He had a briefcase in one hand and looked like he was in a hurry to get somewhere important. He didn’t slow down for even a second.

I thought how sad that was. All this beauty and creativity right there on the sidewalk, and he couldn’t be bothered to even look. I wondered what kind of life he was living that made him so rushed and closed off.

I watched him disappear down the sidewalk and felt grateful that, at least for now, I wasn’t in that kind of hurry.

A little further along, I saw this man sitting alone on the stone wall along the river. The artist stalls behind him were already closed up for the day. In the distance, through the mist, the Eiffel Tower rose above the city.

He looked completely lost in thought — just sitting there, taking it all in. I don’t know what was on his mind, but something about the way he was sitting made me stop and take his picture. It felt peaceful.

Just before I reached the Louvre, I saw this couple walking arm in arm down the street. He had his arm draped around her shoulders, and they looked completely at ease with each other — like they belonged right there, together.

I had seen love showing up all day in Paris — couples kissing near the Arc de Triomphe, people holding hands, that quiet tenderness between strangers. It felt like the city itself was full of it. Seeing this couple right at the end of my walk made me smile.