On the last morning in Paris Nicole drove us to the airport. In doing so our kind hostess transformed into a NYC cab driver, snaking in and out of lanes and riding the bumper of any car that dare to linger in the left lane. Driving here is not for the weak.

Living here I think though would please anyone. Besides the magnificience of a mature and intricate city, the people are warm and engaging.  Surprised? So are the French when you tell them. This is not modesty (that is not French) but the result of them watching a million movies telling them they are arrogant. They are not arrogant. Just particular and if you relax and enjoy their level of care everyone will be better for it.

We worried a lot about crime. Would Paris be as safe as Chicago?  Really though can anywhere ever be as safe as Chicago. Our parents, fellow tourists, Nicole, and many pamphlets warned of the pickpocket as well as other more   quaint cons like three card monte. So I wore my wallet in my pants (which made every purchase obscene). And each bump into a fellow tourist resulted in a scowling stare down (You’re not getting my wallet grandma from Omaha!). The worst we suffered was an aggressive hard sell (I bumped shoulders with a man trying to put a cloth bracelet on Henna’s wrist, his friends forming a wall around us). Otherwise Paris charmed us with every turn and the little rain was a welcomed reason to sit and sip our cappuccinos while the drops fell on cobblestone.

Now for a bit of street art taken by Corey.