Two weeks before we left for Paris—a trip I didn’t relish making after my last trip there—I received an IM from a French guy I know (Arthur something or other) who was vacationing in the City Of Lights. When I inquired as to why he was there, he replied, “I’m preparing them for you.” Naturally, I thought he was kidding. As it turns out, he wasn’t.
In a stunning turn of events, the city I had written off as a bunch of inbred, ill-mannered, effete pricks suddenly blossomed into the cosmopolitan metropolis of culture and beauty I had originally hoped it would be. From the moment we touched down at Charles De Gaulle airport, Paris welcomed us with open arms and croissants chocolat. Our stay in the Latin Quarter this time was entirely unlike our internment in the 4th Arrondissement on Rue di Rivoli.
In the plus column, no one in Paris gets up before 10am on a Sunday. But in the negative column, a freaking Coca-Cola Light will set you back four Euros. Damn.