One year ago today I was celebrating my first night in Paris with a Tour Eiffel-illuminating lightning storm and a simple meal at the apartment of Clint Eastwood’s son in the seventh. (Life is odd that way.) The glamour of that first magical night couldn’t possibly feel more remote right now than if it had happened to someone else entirely. I am terrible at letting things go but at least that will always stay with me. Woody Allen (bless that man) was right - Paris really is best in the rain.