First up, the French usea different keyboard than us - so sorry for all the typos!
My first thought, right off the plane; was ... this is not Paris in the Spring. This is Paris in the dead of winter. It is seriously cold, and not in a oh the poor boy from the tropics can't handle it way. This is cold as in dead trees and icy winds. I was squinting on the train ride into the city, hoping to see some signs of green, of new life in the trees, of something, anything, to indicate that warm sunny days were coming.
Nada. It's still winter. Oops.
It's also much too cold to type - my fingers are chjilled in this shop! I'll write properly once I find a warmer café. Until then, I'm doing speaking French, seeing the sites, eating lots of crepes, and doing fine.