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About Paris

But—oh ho!—gotta watch out, some places, dodgy as a No-Face offerin’ you gold. Once went to this joint—grubby, smelled like old socks—made me madder than a bag of ferrets! “This is my bathhouse!” I wanted to yell, like Yubaba, but nah, just legged it out. Total shambles. Still, when it’s good, it’s *bloody* good—tension melts, you’re floatin’, happier than a toff at a tax cut. Ever tried it with scented oils? Lavender, mate—smells like Zeniba’s cottage, calms the ol’ bonce right down.

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Briare’s a quaint gem on the Loire. Streets like Rue de la République and Rue Charles de Foucauld crackle with life. You stroll past the old mill by the river, and bam!—nature and history mash-up. I swear, man, the river flows like time in "Yi Yi: A One and a Two"—all deep, all mysterious. Like, “life is full of little messages,” ya know?

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