The Prettiest Sound

As I sat in my friend's apartment on Monday, planning my day, I heard music. I realized it was coming from somewhere next door. It was opera music. My own private concert. It was a woman practicing her scales and I got to hear it float through the air like a delicate feather of sound. Only in Paris...

Small Appetite

I accidentally ate baby food today.

I was in the refrigerated section at the grocery store, looking at vegetables and rice dishes when a cute little container of chicken korma called “Little Dish” caught my eye. I assumed it was simply for those who preferred lighter portions. It wasn’t until I got home, however, that I realized it was for kids. Well, children 1 year and older, according to the package.

It was some of the best korma I’ve ever had. Made by a pediatric dietician, it’s got no salt or sugar and the meat is hormone and antibiotic free. Perfect for a growing girl like me.

Traveling in Style

“Coach one, any seat,” the man in a silk scarf said to me as I stopped to ask if I was going the right way. My ticket said coach 17, a cramped car in the complete opposite direction. A Eurostar train is big. The further back you are, the more cramped and Noah’s ark-like it becomes. Somehow, though, the nice man thought it preposterous to make me go back all that way.

Still, I was confused. My ticket didn’t say coach one.

He reassured me. “Go," he motioned with his hands in the direction of the lovely, sweat free car. "Take a free seat in the last one, up there.”

I got in the car, which was open and spacious, and happily found myself the only one in it. Hundreds of people on this train and I managed to get a free upgrade to a totally empty car – with a table and tons of legroom, no less.

Who said the Parisians were rude? Well, the men at least. I don’t think anyone ever said that!

The Pick Up Artist

A man followed me five blocks today. It was sort of like a Parisian movie. Only I didn’t speak French and he didn't speak English. I made the mistake of smiling at him when I saw him across the street. Well, he smiled at me first and was motioning for me to give him my number, which made me smile. I walked away in the other direction, but I guess he took the smile for flirting. It wasn’t until four blocks later that I felt like someone was following me. Sure enough, it was him. I told him I don’t speak French, and kept walking, but he still invited me for a drink that night. I said what's the point since we can’t talk and he said no problem. I said no and he asked for my email. Again, I said no, I can’t write in French. He still tried his best, but I said jes suis desoulet, sorry. He crossed the street and looked back at me. He waved, and looked kind of sad. Parisian men don't give up easily!

Galeries Lafayette

Cool Streets in Paris

Typical Parisian Market