For my part, I think it's as simple as simply wanting to be a flaneur -- and Paris is the one place that not only allows such behavior but in fact encourages it. To be a flaneur in Paris is a badge of honor, something worn with a smile amidst a stroll through the dark alleys of a darker past and along the boulevards of the bright lights of Manet, Morisot and Degas.
After arriving in Paris we drive straight to the Gare Austerlitz where we'll drop the car off. It's onto the Metro (the 5 to the 1), alight at Saint Paint and then find our way to our apartment on the rue de Sevigne, in a building wedged somewhere between Saint Paul and the Musee de Carnavalet, in the midst of the glorious Jewish quarter. What an incredible place for a flaneur!
Life is short. Go to Paris. We are.
Wish you were there. . .