April Flowers

Washington, DC is a heavily touristed city, but there are two times during the year when that statement becomes even more true. One of them is the 4th of July, and the second is currently in full swing: The National Cherry Blossom Festival. It's an annual celebration that celebrates the 1912 gift of 3,000 cherry blossom trees, or Sakura as they're known in Japanese, from the then mayor of Tokyo. Meant to symbolize the enduring friendship between our two countries, the trees have proved to be the gift that keeps on giving. Every spring they erupt in a sea of pink and white as their blossoms mark the unofficial end of winter in the DC area. Easily felled by stiff winds or a spring storm, it's important to get out to see them early on. I did just that earlier this week, and was not disappointed.

Most of the cherry blossom trees are near the tidal basin, which is a man-made inlet next to the Potomac River. In fact, the basin and the walking path that encircles it are completely lined with Sakura. When they bloom, it creates a gorgeous ring of soft color, the perfect backdrop for shots of the nearby Jefferson Memorial and Washington Monument. Cherry blossoms are so pretty that you have the urge to walk with your eyes pointed upward, gazing at all the pink and white, but this is not a good idea. Some of the branches of the trees are low enough for a 5' 8" person like myself to run into with her head. Best to keep your eyes straight ahead and enjoy the sensation of walking through a tunnel of flowers.


Washington's two-week National Cherry Blossom Festival isn't just about trees, it's also has a jam-packed calendar of blossom-related events. Everything from river tours to musical performances to bike rides to a soirée and reception at Madame Tussauds Wax Museum (seriously?) has been organized to celebrate the bloom. The Festival's main event is a parade being held this weekend on the streets of DC. But you don't have to do any of that to appreciate the delicate beauty of the cherry blossoms. You don't have to line a parade route, get on a boat, or visit a museum boasting lifelike replicas of the Obamas. All you have to do is stroll around the tidal basin on a warm spring night, camera in hand, and take in the view.

Take Me Home, Country Roads

Leaving Washington can sometimes feel like re-entering the real world. This city is so all-consuming that it's easy to get completely wrapped up in what's happening here and forget what it's like "out there." When you finally do venture past the beltway, you remember what life was like before you became a Washingtonian. In general, this involves rediscovering all the wonderful things that don't exist in DC; things that got temporarily erased from your memory for the sake of survival in this alternative universe we call our nation's capital. I recently had the pleasure of becoming reacquainted with reality during a three day stint in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. This tiny, history-rich locale is only an hour and half from DC, but it might as well be on another planet. In addition to making me unable to get that John Denver song out of my head, it also provided just what I needed to remember what life is like on the outside.

For starters, I was overjoyed to have people in Shepherdstown say "Hello!" when they passed me in the hall. They also engaged in simple small talk, offered great customer service, and even (gasp!) smiled. I had forgotten that, in most other parts of the country, people are actually, well, friendly. Then there's the issue of prices. A bottle of wine at the Shepherdstown bar cost as much as just two glasses in DC. My favorite shampoo at the Shepherdstown pharmacy set me back a dollar less than it does at my neighborhood store. As I reacquainted myself with what life used to cost, my wallet did a little happy dance. But the best rediscovery surprise came after sundown. Gazing up at the sky I saw a never-ending sea of bright, twinkling stars. Stars! I had completely forgotten that they exist; that the sky could look so big and wondrous and sparkly. Even in cities like Minneapolis I was always able to spot at least the Big Dipper or Orien, but they're nowhere to be seen in Washington, which makes it easy for them to slip from your memory. Rediscovering that beautiful sight made me literally jump for joy.

While riding the shuttle between the conference site and my hotel, I asked the driver about historic downtown Shepherdstown. What was it like? Did it attract a lot of visitors? "Why don't I just take you there," he said. I gladly accepted, and we chatted about the area as he drove slowly down through downtown to let me look at the adorable shops, homes and restaurants that make up the old part of town. He even stopped to let me get out and take a few pictures before heading back towards the hotel. It was real world overload: friendliness, a free tour, and the stars shining overhead. I loved every minute of it. Shepherdstown, West Virginia wasn't quite what I had in mind for my first trip of the new year, but it turned out to be a perfect choice.

Wishful Thinking

Today is a day that was made for dreaming about the south of France. On top of the weather being drearily rainy, foggy and cold in Washington, DC, I'm faced with the prospect of flying home to Minnesota next week where, upon exiting the airport, I am sure I will be met by the kind of bitterly cold air that quite literally takes your breath away. My prospects for warmth, color and witnessing nature in bloom are looking pretty bleak, which is where the sunny hills of Provence and bright blue waters of the Mediterranean come in. Just thinking about the south of France puts a smile on my face. I can practically smell the lavender, hear the waves crashing on the shore, and see the bright colors of the buildings, flowers and markets. Thankfully, I have folder upon folder of pictures to help me remember more luminous times. Dreaming of non-winter weather as well? The following images should help.

Same Place, Different Time

Springtime in Paris is legendary. It's the time of year when love is in the air, flowers are in bloom and the city is supposedly on its most charming behavior. After spending the past spring in Paris (and naming my blog after the mythical season), I can happily confirm that, yes, it is a great time to experience the French capital. But I'm still not entirely convinced it's the best time to experience the French capital. In fact, two weeks of Autumn in Paris have led me to believe the city actually shines brighter on this side of the calendar, shortening days notwithstanding.

With the humid, heavy air of spring and summer blown away by crisp fall breezes, Paris finally comes into focus. I feel like I can actually see the city more clearly. Stunning architecture simply pops; at night, the City of Lights shines brighter than ever. Cool air is better for another of our senses: smell. Like any big city, Paris takes on an unpleasant odeur as the temperatures rise, while more appealing scents of falling leaves and hearty, home-cooked meals fill the autumn air. Parisians themselves look more at home in the fall than they do in the spring. I remember a couple of weeks in early May when summer-like temperatures made their first appearance...the locals just weren't very good at pulling off that whole bright colors, exposed skin, sandals look. Ah, but put them in long coats, chic scarves and classically tailored pants (all black, of course) and boy are they stunning! Yes, sitting out on a terrace and sipping a glass of wine on a sunny spring day is a perfect way to pass the time, but so is cozying up inside a warm cafe while sipping a cappuccino. Not to mention the food. Filling french classics like Boeuf Bourguignon, tarte aux pommes, and my favorite, fondue, are perfect accompaniments to autumn.



Don't get me wrong, spring was a fabulous time to be in Paris. Between the bountiful markets, late night strolls and picnics in the park, I wouldn't change a thing. Besides, Parisian Fall sounds like something that happens to women wearing high heels in the metro. Not exactly the blog title image I was going for. However, if you've yet to experience Paris in September, October or November, you're definitely missing out. Got an inkling to meander the Champs-Elysees but waiting until spring to take that flight? Don't! Hop on a plane and wander Paris' century old streets now. Autumn in Paris might not be legendary, but it's definitely classic. Don't forget to pack your chicest warm scarf.

Fall, French Style

I recently raved about fall colors in Minnesota, but what about fall colors elsewhere? Aren't they beautiful too? Well, when it comes to vineyards in the south of France, the answer is a resounding, oui! This time of year, the region's hills and valleys are ablaze as grapevine leaves turn impossibly rich shades of orange, yellow and red. Hills and valleys of vineyards are already incredibly beautiful when they're green, but as warm days give way to warm colors, you won't believe your eyes. I took a drive through this part of France over the weekend, and it seemed as though every time I looked around the colors got more brilliant, more breathtaking, and more photo-worthy. Oh la la doesn't even begin to describe it.



The best part about admiring fall colors in a vineyard? Where there's a vineyard, there's usually a wine tasting!

India or Bust

When I left Minneapolis and headed for Paris, I had no idea that my trip would include a stopover in India. Ok, so I didn’t actually set foot in the Asian country, but I did the next best thing: I traveled on its airline. Airlines are like a microcosm of the culture from whence they came. The hosts, hostesses, pilots and passengers are often nationals of that country, the food contains elements from back home, the languages spoken over the loud speaker are aimed at a local audience, and even the interior of the plane can inspire thoughts of the homeland. As I happily discovered on a New York - Paris flight, Air India is no different.

Upon boarding the plane, the first thing I noticed was color. Cabin space is usually dull and boring, but this plane was filled with vibrancy. The seats were beautiful reds and golden yellows and female flight attendants were dressed in saris of deep blues and bright greens. Many of the other women on the plane were wearing saris as well and I was envious of their comfortable, flowing outfits, which seemed incredibly practical for a trans-atlantic flight. After settling in, the very handsome Indian man seated next to me struck up a conversation in flawless English. As we chatted about our lives I wondered why, in all my years of flying, was this the day I decided to travel sans makeup? I knew it was time for dinner when the strong scent of Indian food started wafting down the aisles. After a meal of spicy lamb curry and a very sweet orange-hued dessert that I have yet to identify, my new-found travel companion recommended I select a Hindi movie out from the choices on our individual viewing sreens. His selection seemed like a much better option than any of the English offerings (Gold Rush, anyone?), and we both tucked in for the show. He had warned me beforehand that Bollywood likes to use song and dance in most of their movies, and boy do they ever. It was a classic boy-meets-girl-boy-loses-girl-boy-finds-girl tale full of cheesy but exciting musical numbers. I loved it! Touchdown in Paris came with announcements in French, English and Hindi. I can still hear the beautiful rolling sound of India's most well-known language ringing in my ears.

Other than a couple of trips to the Dominican Republic and a border town in Mexico, my travel experience has pretty much been limited to Europe. And while I enjoy learning about the rest of the world, a quest for information about India has never materialized. One six-hour plane ride has changed all that. I'm dying to know more about what makes this place tick! Why does color seem to play such an important role in Indian culture? What does lamb curry taste like when it's not served in a microwavable cardboard tray? What other fabulously cheesy Bollywood movies are out there? In a country of one billion people, how many good-looking men does a girl have to choose from? What the heck was in that neon-orange dessert? The search is on, and I'm hoping the plane ride home will be as enjoyable as the one here. This time, I'm going to at least put on some blush.

Designated Driver Needed

Traveling through France is great because of all the different things you will see, but it is also great because of all the different things you will taste. Like the unique landscapes, the unique buildings and the unique climates, France's regions also have unique edible specialties. There are crêpes in Bretagne, fondue in the Alps and bouillabaisse in Marseille. You can eat camembert chesse in Normandy, chèvre in the Loire Valley, and rocquefort in, well, Rocquefort. Of course, the only thing better than eating your way through France is drinking your way through France, and the regions offer up plenty of opportunities to do that as well.

Wine specialities exist in all corners of the county, and wine tastings at caves à vin are everywhere. One of my favorite places to taste French wine is here in the south. Rosés are a typical southern wine, and the Domaine de Souviou makes some great ones. I've been to a tasting here twice and each time has been a memorable experience. The service is excellent, the wines are fantastic, and the setting is incredible as the domaine is perched up in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean. Even better, they also make award-winning olive oil, which you can taste with little pieces of bread after you burn through their award-winning wines. Some of their olive trees are over 1000 years old. You'd hang around that long too if you had their view.


If you choose to road trip through France, you will undoubtedly come across numerous wineries that welcome visitors in for a taste. Don't be shy, get in there and check it out! The merchants are used to having tourists of all nationalities stop in and are happy to talk to you about their creations. It's a great way to meet locals and enjoy the local fare at the same time. Plus, it's so much more fun to drink wine at home when you've actually been to the source. Just be sure to pack light. You'll soon have bottles (or cases) competing for space with your other much less important supplies.

Goodnight, Sun

If you've ever been to Paris, or have heard people talk about it, you know that it's an exceptionally beautiful city. Filled with incredible architecture, flowering, spacious parks, and wide, tree lined boulevards, The City of Light faces few competitors in the aesthetics department. But one aspect of this city's beauty often goes unmentioned. It has nothing to do with a physical structure - monuments, cathedrals or museums - and everything to do with nature. Spends some time wandering Paris at dusk and you'll see what I mean. Parisian sunsets are second to none.

If you think that the best sunsets take place over the ocean, or in the mountains, or in the county, you might change your mind when you see one in Paris. Viewed from a rooftop apartment, the entire city sparkles under a color-changing sky. Viewed from a bridge on the Seine, the water reflects the fading light while the monuments in the distance set a picturesque landscape. And no building looks more amazing when the sun goes down as Les Invalides. The façade takes on a glow that is impossible to describe.

When you live in a city, even one with lots of parks, you sometimes feel out of touch with nature. The air is filled with exhaust, there is litter on the streets, and wide open spaces seem so far away. A beautiful sunset can be a breath of fresh air in a concrete jungle. When the world's most fantastic man-made structures serve as the backdrop for a nature-made phenomenon, the result is simply breathtaking.

Taste Frontier

There are a lot of foods that I enjoy eating while in France; foods that I can't really get anywhere else, or at least that don't taste as good anywhere else. Fondues, baguettes, croissants, croque monsieurs...the list could go on forever. Ice cream also rather surprisingly makes this list. I know what you're thinking, "Why ice cream? You can get that anywhere!" Well, that's true, but there's something special about picking up a cup or cone of homemade ice cream and strolling around Paris with it. What's more, they have some flavors here that you don't see everyday in the US such as coconut and black currant. Recently, I tried a flavor that I had, up until then, been a little tentative about trying. I can't explain it, but for many years something just told me that I wasn't going to enjoy pistachio flavored ice cream.

That's right, pistachio. As in the little green nut that comes in the partially open shell. I love eating them, but would I like them in ice cream form? Would something that is usually very salty taste good as something that is usually very sweet? And what's with that green color? Peppermint bon-bon ice cream is green too, but generally in a bright, "I'm so happy to be green!" kind of way. Pistachio - a dull, pale green, - looked almost depressed. The last thing anyone wants to eat is depressed ice cream.

But last week, as I stood in front of my favorite glacier, I decided to take the plunge. After all, it would be a shame to spend so much time in France and not try one of their native ice cream flavors. Plus, this particular ice cream shop lets you choose two flavors for the low price of 2 euros and 30 cents. If the pistachio was gross I had a back-up. Happily, the pistachio was not gross, it was really good! It's a complex sort of flavor, not quite salty, not quite sweet, and not quite tasting like a pistachio nut. It's very subtle, none of this "wham!" you get from coffee ice cream or dark chocolate ice cream, it's more refreshing than anything, and it pairs surprisingly well with mango sorbet. Kind of made me feel bad I've been ignoring it all these years.

Santé!

How did this happen? I've been in France for almost exactly four months now and I have never done a post about wine. Wine! It hasn't been for lack of experience with this, the official beverage of France. Oh no, when it comes to drinking wine, I'm on it. Red, white, rosé, wines from the south of France, wines from Bordeaux, Alsace and Champagne; they've all been tested...multiple times. But it took an actual trip to Bourgogne - the most mythical of all of France's wine regions - to make me think about writing about wine instead of just consuming it.

Drive about two and a half hours southeast of Paris and you will find yourself surrounded by vineyards. Beautiful, rolling hill vineyards nestled amongst the quaint little villages that dot the countryside of Bourgogne, or Burgandy as we say in English. It is widely agreed upon that Burgandy's grapes produce the world's best white wines, and some pretty darn good red ones as well. After tastings at two separate wine caves followed by a local wine at dinner followed the next day by another tasting, I couldn't agree more. The reds are feminine and filled with the flavors of red fruits. The whites sometimes taste of minerals, sometimes taste of butter, and are always unbelievably smooth and rich. Needless to say, leaving the region empty handed is impossible. Make space in your trunk for a couple of cases.

I never was a very discerning wine drinker. I didn't know how to properly savor the complexities that can be found in a glass of rouge or blanc or how to tell a good wine from an average one. Midwestern barbecues are generally more heavy on the beer than the vino. But four months in France have given me a new appreciation for the art of enjoying a glass of wine. I've learned to not be afraid to stick my nose all the way into the glass in order to get a good smell. I've learned to let the wine sit in my mouth a bit before swallowing. I've even learned how to discern specific flavors within the wine itself, although my palate's ability is still far behind those of my French friends. Somehow, I don't think I'll mind trying to catch up.

The Good Search

It may come as a surprise, but all French baguettes are not created equal. I used to think that I could walk into any old boulangerie in Paris and expect to find a delicious picnic-ready baguette every time. After a few months in Paris, and more than a few disappointing experiences, I've learned that you have to a bit more discerning. Not everyone in France knows how to make a good one. But with a little bit of time, research and a willingness to conduct first-hand taste tests, you too can find the perfect long, skinny loaf of white bread.

So, what makes a good baguette? For starters, it has to be crunchy on the outside. Noisy, crackling, hurt-the-roof-of-your-mouth crunchy. The inside should be just the opposite. It should be light and airy. In fact, the best ones don't really have much on the inside at all. It should almost melt in your mouth. There's nothing worse that a heavy baguette with a soft but tough exterior. Berk!

Once you find the perfect baguette, there are a number of different takes on this classic French staple that are worth checking out as well. For example, you might want to try a tradition, ficelle, aux céréales or bio. Some boulangeries also make a mean boule. And while it might take a while to find the perfect baguette, you should never lose hope. France is simply teeming with boulangeries. Keep looking. Your mouth will thank you.

Yum!

I'd like to think of myself as a pretty good cook. I'm not sure I'd be able to put dinner on the table every night like my mom used to do, but I have a decent sized repertoire of memorized recipes and can even improvise with mostly edible results. I enjoy cooking as a hobby and have a weakness for buying tools, gadgets and decorations for the kitchen. Living in the world capital of cuisine, this both poses a problem and is a continuous source of amusement. On the one hand, I want to buy (at a great detriment to my bank account) every single utensil, pan and serving dish I come across. On the other hand, finding great ingredients, new recipe ideas and some expert local help is a breeze.

Just yesterday I learned how to make five new delicious French desserts. My visiting DC friend is herself a bit of a foodie, with an exceptional weakness for baking, so I readily accepted her suggestion that we take a cooking class together while she is in town. We were not disappointed. The menu included pears simmered in red wine, vanilla-flavored raspberry crème brulée, gâteau au chocolat, almond paste tarts and the classic French madelines. After our gracious and patient chef walked us through the recipes, he poured us some white wine as we proceeded to devour each of them in succession. Except the madelines. Apparently four is the maximum number of desserts that can be consumed in less than thirty minutes.

When you see cakes and tarts and various other French desserts in a restaurant or a pâtisserie, it's easy to think that the chef slaved over them for hours. More than once I've found myself thinking that I could never do what I've seen done by the experts. It looks like it would be so complicated! But the wonderful truth is that they're not difficult to make at all. The sweets we created needed only a few ingredients and took mere minutes to prepare. I'm looking forward to getting the recipes by email so I can try them myself at home. What a good excuse to go out and buy that tart pan I've had my eyes on...

The Best Way to Kill Time

No trip to Paris would be complete without spending some quality time sitting on a sunny café terrace. I have a friend in town visiting from DC, and yesterday we decided that this would be the perfect late afternoon event after an exhausting day of market browsing, beignet eating and clothes shopping. We found a perfect spot on the Ile Saint-Louis, took the traditional side-by-side seating arrangement, ordered two glasses of red and watched the world go by.

There are countless reasons why sitting at a café in Paris is such an enjoyable activity. If you like people-watching, there is no better vantage point than a front-row table on a busy (but not too busy) street. The corner of a mainly pedestrian and bike thoroughfare is the best. If the weather is sunny and warm you can work on your tan; if it's cloudy and cold you can cuddle up to your chéri under a warmer. French waiters are never anxious to shoo you away to make room for the next customer. Being able to take your time and not feel rushed is a welcome change from the turnover maximizing atmosphere that plagues many American establishments. What's more, even though the dollar is low, with many glasses of wine costing less than 5 euros a glass, sitting at a café is an affordable way to pass away an afternoon.

As the official pastime of Paris, settling in at a café is a relaxing and enjoyable way to feel like a local. Your only difficulty might be finding that perfect table. At certain times of the day (lunchtime) and in certain areas (touristy) finding a good spot can be tricky. Try wandering down a side street, or in an off-the-beaten-path neighborhood. There it is, over there in the sun, calling your name. Go ahead, answer it!

Adventures in Dairy

When it comes to cheese, Americans have a simple choice: swiss or cheddar. For French people, deciding which cheese to serve with dinner is a bit more complicated. Walk into any French Fromagerie and you'll see what I mean. The options seem endless! In fact, it has been said that in France there are as many variety of cheeses as there are days in the year. And you know what? I believe it. What's more, I think I might be well on my way to tasting each and every one of them.

I've eaten more varieties of cheese in the three months I've been in Paris than I had previously seen in my entire life. There have been creamy cheeses, dry cheeses, hard cheeses, soft cheeses and smelly cheeses. I've enjoyed cheese made from goat's milk, cow's milk and sheep's milk. I've tasted blue cheeses, yellow cheeses, white cheeses and cheeses that are bright orange. And of course there were the round cheeses, crumbly cheeses, cheeses cut into cubes and cheeses shaped like a slice of pie. I've seen it all; nothing shocks me anymore. If someone were to show me a neon pink cheese in the shape of the Eiffel Tower made from the milk of an elephant I wouldn't even blink.

I'm not a terribly picky eater, and I'll try any cheese at least once. This sense of adventure when it comes to tasting aged dairy products has gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion. Take last night for example, when, despite the smell, I tried a soft, yellow cheese with an orange casing that goes by the name of Langres. I wish I could have seen the look on my face after taking the first bite; this cheese was strong! I mean, burns-the-roof-of-your-mouth strong. It literally hurt to eat it. Well, it hurt me at least. The Frenchmen in our group didn't seem affected, but the other foreigner at the table reacted much in the same way I did. It's true that a lot of French cheeses are strong, but we both agreed that this one had gotten a little out of hand. Cheddar, anyone?

Follow Your Nose

Flowers are not unique to Paris, but I've always felt they're somehow more beautiful here than anywhere else I've been. There's just something about seeing fresh flowers at the market, or visiting a Parisian flower shop that seems special in someway. It's as though the colors are brighter, the fragrances are stronger, and the arrangements are prettier. There's also the fact that fresh flowers seem to be everywhere. There isn't a street in this town you can walk down without finding a shop or a market selling all varieties of roses, tulips, hydrangea and whatever else happens to be in season. Paris has flowers I've never seen before; an endless variety of shapes and styles just waiting to brighten even the grayest of Parisian days.

Why does it feel like flowers hold a special place in Parisian life? Is it just another example of art de vivre? Maybe along with their penchant for good food, good wine, long lunches and five weeks of mandated vacation time, the French also realize that a good bouquet of flowers can add an unforgettable touch to a dinner table or can simply bring a bit of joy into one's life. Or maybe it does have something to do with the weather. With all the gray and rain that can exist here, a bunch of colorful flowers can help chase away the winter blues. Whatever the reason may be, I never get tired of walking past a Parisian flower shop, admiring the day's fresh selection, and taking a minute or two to stop and smell the roses.

The Fab Five

French markets offer a true sensory experience. Sight, sound, taste, smell and touch, they're all there and they're all delightfully strong. Take last Sunday's trip to a neighborhood market, for example. The first thing I noticed was a fish and seafood stand that seemed to stretch on into infinity. Displayed on the bed of ice were all kinds of under the sea creatures. There were enormous oyster shells, flat fish the size of hubcaps, and shrimp of all kinds just begging to be looked at. Not to mention the people-watching potential of such gatherings. French markets rank right up there with international airports as one of the best places to sit back and just watch.

My sense of hearing was put to use listening to the shouts of the merchants as they tried to sell their wares. You get to use your sense of taste if they offer you a piece of fruit as a marketing ploy. Doesn't the strawberry taste delicious? They're only 3 euro a pack! My sense of smell was probably the busiest of all. Roasting chickens, aromatic cheeses, spicy olives, simmering seafood paella - your nose doesn't know where to lead you next.

And touch? Well, touch I discovered why standing by a low table of colorful spices and dried beans. In the corner, away from the eyes of the busy-at-work merchant, I saw a little boy digging his hand into one of the bags of white dried beans. He was obviously fascinated by the feel of the tiny items passing through his fingers as he lifted them out of the sack and then went back in for more. Just look at this picture I took of said beans. Can you blame him? If I had been little enough to avoid unnecessary attention, I might have done the very same thing.

Smoke-Free

While getting ready to go out Thursday night with my roommate, her boyfriend, and their French/Brazilian/Moroccan entourage, I had a moment of sheer panic when I pictured myself in a small, crowded Parisian bar attempting in vain to enjoy a glass of vin rouge amid a haze of Gauloises smoke. I worried that my hair and clothes were now going to reek, and without easy access to a washer and dryer like back home, and with only a suitcase's worth of clean clothes to choose from once these ones were ruined...well, this was just going to be a disaster. But just as quickly as the panic arrived, it left. I suddenly remembered that earlier this year France joined other forward-thinking countries and states (Italy, Ireland, New York, California, my own Minnesota) by banning smoking in all public places, including bars and restaurants. Vive la France!

There was no such ban during my first trip to France in the fall of 2001. Bars were smoky, cafés were worse, and I even watched in disbelief as clients brought cigarettes into such public places as shopping malls. Of course, I was a bit younger then and better able to tolerate such unpleasantries as a second-hand smoker's cough. Age and the simple fact of living in non-smoking environments (DC went smoke-free too!) have made me terribly conscious of cigarette smoke. Needless to say, France's smoking ban came just in the knick of time.

As for my Thursday night out, the sangria was delicious, the company was delightful, and I left with nary a wisp of smoke in my freshly-washed hair.

Parisian Smell

It's official: I'm in Paris. How do I know? I can smell it. Paris exudes a scent that has a certain, je ne sais quoi. In fact, most French cities I've visited produce the very same smell, making this a country-wide rather than city-specific phenomenon. If you've never experienced it yourself, it's a bit difficult to explain in words, but if you've ever been here, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. It's sort of a sewer smell, but not entirely disgusting like the wafts coming off the water treatment plant in Alexandria, Virginia. Actually, it's not a revolting smell at all. But don't get me wrong - it's not like the aroma of freshed-baked bread and croissants either. It's the sickly sweet smell of not-so-fresh water that most certainly makes its way above ground from the city's drainage system. Oddly enough, it's rather comforting. Every morning as I make my way to the Pont de Sevres metro stop, I know that I woke up in the exact same place I went to sleep. Try it when you come here...one deep breath is all it takes, and there's no mistaking it: you're in Paris.