Paris

Paris taught the world to walk slowly and has never needed a second lesson. The city is an argument for the unhurried life conducted at the highest level: bridges that insist you stop mid-crossing, cafés engineered for the three-hour conversation, and a museum so large that finishing it is a life project politely declined. Even her light behaves as if commissioned.

The sensible traveller takes her by riverbanks: the Right Bank for the Louvre — pick three wings, not thirty —, the Marais's crooked elegance and Montmartre's stairs at first light; the Left for Saint-Germain's cafés, the Luxembourg gardens and the bouquinistes' green boxes. Notre-Dame anchors the island between them, restored and luminous. The Eiffel Tower is best from Trocadéro at dusk — and best climbed by reservation.

The Guide's honesty: greet before you ask — a bonjour buys more than a tip —; the bill includes service and the waiter is a professional, not a friend on commission; August is the city on holiday from itself, splendid and half-shut; and the museums' free first Sundays are gloriously, unbearably communal. Choose your crowds with intention.