Paris, today we are in love.

What a beautiful day, sunny and crisp. As I made my way down Avenue Montaigne, listening to Dimitri From Paris on my iPhone, I noticed a well-dressed older gentleman turn his head my way. We were waiting to cross the street and I smiled. He stepped toward me and said something I didn’t hear. I pulled out my headphones. “Excusez-moi madame, mais vous-êtes une femme très jolie!” (Excuse me madame, but you are a beautiful woman!) I thanked him and he said something I didn’t understand. “Je parle en peu de français ” (I speak a little French). He asked “Vous-êtes anglais?” (Are you English?). “Non, je suis américain.” He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. “Oh, américain! Oui!” The light changed and as I entered the crosswalk he called out “Jolie! Très belle!” I’d been feeling invisible and his compliment made the sun shine brighter.

It’s a funny little block where I’m staying. It’s located between two winding side streets and has lots of foot traffic. There’s a goth bar, a bear bar and a sushi joint that fills up with lesbians in the evenings. Late last night someone was cranking Barbra Streisand; I’m guessing it wasn’t the goths. As I write this opera drifts through the window and it’s twilight. I’m eating duck pâté and polishing off the rest of the yummy €4 Beaujolais. I wanted to taste the French version of inexpensive wine, and dear readers it blows most of the $15 corner-store California reds out of the barrel.

I’ve been eating well but rarely finishing my plate. Memorable comestibles thus far: the escargots and osso bucco of my first dinner in Paris; the croissants and espresso at the corner cafe; the Nutella crepe I devoured on my walk home from the Metro. I’ve received some wonderful recommendations and will start crossing them off toute suite.

I’m sure my written French is atrocious but I’m going for it anyway. À bientôt!