To quote Les Misérables, “To stray is human. To saunter is Parisian.” Such is the atmosphere. Hustle and bustle does not exist. A tourist is best served walking purposelessly. Paris is sure to delight and surprise the unsuspecting traveller. Its beauty is mesmerizing. Each winding backstreet and isolated courtyard is an architectural triumph and a statement of history. Every city has its own Eiffel tower or Musée du Louvre but few are able to derive such wonder from the mundane.

Streets are littered with pack-a-day smokers who take frequent breaks from their 35-hour weeks. Nude women are ubiquitous on sculptures, artworks and probably elsewhere. Restaurants and cafés dominate every corner, it seems. Wine is ridiculously cheap. In an after-work ritual, Parisians stand aimlessly and dignified at the bar with wine-in-hand.

There is no room for English, except at tourist traps. English-speakers are clearly outsiders. Even the beggars don’t ask such lowly creatures for money and instead glance at them with pity. There are a few enlightened Parisians. Some have put up with my choppy French (though it is usually better than their English), stowed my bags and pointed out directions patiently. But these are the exceptions.

Oddly enough, Americanization is rampant. Lines form in front of Abercrombie and Fitch stores and Starbucks cafés. There are McDonalds and KFC’s littered everywhere. Canada goose jackets appear to be our strongest export. This acceptance would have been thought to be impossible twenty years ago. Maybe it’s driven by the tourists who pay thousands for a new experience yet take comfort in banal.

Unfortunately, the food is not good enough that random sampling of restaurants will offer any redeeming results. I ordered two crepes successively from different places: the first was inedible and thus treated as such; the second was similarly inedible but I ate it because I didn’t want to buy a third. Macaroons were hard. The average food is probably better than the average elsewhere. Even mediocre restaurants are thoughtful: al dente ratatouille, buttery croissants, a good shot of espresso, and the like are standard. But few restaurants live up to their privileged pedigree. I have seen too many frites that are fries: soggy, thick-cut and definitively American. But with Michelin guide in hand, I hope to wage a gastronomical vendetta over the next months (some food reviews to follow).

Bureaucracy and anti-business sentiment is rife. Opening a bank account requires a phone number and buying a cellphone requires a bank account. At some point, you must lie. My experience with my bank, Societe Generale, is telling. I wanted to exchange money and picked an exchange beside a bank branch so that risks of theft (a real problem in Paris) would be minimized. I safely arrived at the branch with five thousand euros but was summarily denied service. I was told to go to my home branch, 15 minutes away; that walk was terrifying. I was stupefied. A bank failed to conduct its core business of taking deposits from its own customer because of some antiquated fear of fraud despite my having all the documentation. France is socialist, without doubt.

Paris is a city that has clearly been rich but is struggling to keep its affluence. It is losing many of its distinctions, from wine to fashion to food. It hides its imperfections in pretentiousness. Paris might try to modernize but is held back by fear of change. 2013 is prime time for witnessing all these forces in action. That is why you should go, if you dare.