Paris is full of urine smell. It was there when we arrived. It was there when we left. I believe that a blind person could easily navigate by being attuned to the subtle modulations in the scent of urine. We are in Arles now, in Provence.
Roman ruins are everywhere.
There is not much left of them, though, because, in the middle ages, people took them apart to get the stone to make houses. Waste not, want not. The remains of the gladiatorial arena are now used to hold bullfights. There is a marvelous sense of appropriateness and continuity in this. Sadly, we will be gone before any bullfights happen.