You see them all over Paris—the elegant femmes d’un certain age (women of a certain age.)  They may not look exactly young per se, but they definitely look beautiful, stylish, intriguing, and sexy.  That’s the trick, really.  These gorgeous women don’t care so much about looking young. They are much more interested in looking alluring, but in a very subtle, grown-up way.

A little lost one night some twenty years or more ago in the 13e or 14e, Joe wanders into a café and hears a woman singing like a jazz angel. He could never find her again... or the café. Encore un amour perdu, but a beautiful memory.

After nearly  50 years in France, at age 70, I’m really no longer into climbing the Eiffel Tower or sailing down the Seine river on the “fly boats”, but when an American friend visiting Paris insists on my sharing her birthday celebration by accompanying her to the Moulin Rouge, it’s really difficult to say “no”.

Ever wonder how one Easter could have two dates depending on where you live?  Well, it was all Pope Gregory XIII’s fault five centuries ago.  In both the East and the West Easters vary each year anyway since the date depends on the phases of the moon and the March 21st spring equinox.

Trois heures, c’est toujours trop tard ou trop tôt pour tout ce qu’on veut faire. Un drôle de moment dans l’après-midi. This time, anyway, Sartre got it right—and perhaps that explains why this is the most famous pair of sentences he ever wrote.

If you want to write a novel, go to Paris -- alone. Even if you don’t have a lot of time, even if your French is rusty, and you have no friends there, and you’re really not sure what you’re doing. Go anyway. Go especially, because the air supports creative work; it has for centuries and it does, still.

I’ve been on a yearly trek to Paris since the 1950’s. Yes, there have been many changes, but there are certain things, central to the city that never seem to change. They are the things that make Paris, Paris.

If I could remember exactly when it happened, I would tell you. The second encounter is clear enough—about this time, last year and on a smallish street that opens out into a square, which is actually a circle, with a handsome, old-fashioned, five-globed street-light in the center and full of tall trees, most likely horse chestnuts.

The rural style of the French countryside has captivated imaginations for hundreds of years.  While Provence seems to epitomize French country style, the architecture and landscapes of France, itself, is so varied that each department has its own contribution to make.