Everyone loves the idea of the South of France in summer. But the reality? The crowds, the traffic, the high prices, the attitude? Not so much. But there's an alternative worth exploring. It's planned to reduce your stress level—and what's not to like about that?

Blame it on that movie “Taken,” about a girl named Amanda getting abducted trying to make her way from the airport into Paris, but I get a bit twitchy about ground transportation upon arrival in France. I recognize that this is an unfounded, irrational fear; as long as one does not abandon her common sense, there are a myriad of reasonable options to get into Paris from the airport(s). Sometimes, though, this means also doing a little homework.

Sometimes I wonder how anyone survives on just two weeks of vacation per year. It seems like voluntary slavery compared to the French philosophy: minimum of five weeks. I look back on the old days like Mandela, reflecting on life in captivity. I was a bug in a cage, staring at a fluorescent light, and now that I've breathed the fresh open spaces and shining sun of a world with ridiculous amounts of vacation, a thought has dawned on me: I can never go back.

On November 6th, 2006, I had a stent placed into my right coronary artery and since then have led what I considered a good life: eating well, exercising, drinking a glass of red wine (usually French) with dinner, getting my blood lipids checked every six months, wondering about the genetic legacy both my parents had passed on (both died of coronary artery disease) and checking in with my cardiologist regularly.

I grew up with five brothers and no sisters. This meant I was destined to be either a tomboy or a priss. I became the latter. I learned French, how to tie a scarf and how to fix myself up with little visible effort put forth very early on. Eleven years of living in Paris followed. The die was cast; I had become a femme du monde of sorts, a well-traveled woman who valued the elegance and refinement a life in France has to offer.

Living life in a foreign language can turn the most articulate in their native tongue into bumbling idiots abroad. In this essay, Toma Haines explores a host of humiliations as she confesses why she will likely never be fluent in any foreign language.

Bonjour Paris recently posed an age-old question that never seems to grow old: Are the French rude? Each year a group of American students in Paris puzzles over this and other equally intriguing questions. Why does Paris have such a hold on the world’s imagination? Why do people travel? And what do so many people find in Paris that they can’t find anywhere else?

Within days the start of the 2010 Tour de France will start and all eyes will be on Rotterdam, Belgium and France. But what would you eat if you wanted to have a very authentic dish specific to the Champagne region? Well, that is what the 2010 Tour de French Cuisine is all about.

One delight of the summertime countryside in France is discovering unique local wares and produce that, while they are often available in Paris and from web sites, can really only be appreciated as part of the imminent scene where the item originated.