I love giving morning tours on the weekends. I arrive a bit earlier to the meeting spot and admire the city waking up while most of Parisians are still in bed. The café workers are there, cleaning up the sidewalks from yesterday’s conversations, kisses, break-ups, washing away all chances that last night could happen again. The wet pavement is shining, a new day is born. As chairs and tables suddenly remake the streets of postcards, I pass bakeries, the smell of flaky pastries and coffee floating out their doors. This is the scent of Paris, the scent of morning.