Observation 14: like mother like son

Observation 13: the french love to kiss

In the metro. On the sidewalk. In a cafe. On a park bench. The french love to lock lips, and don't let the presence of old men with walkers, underaged children, well-groomed poodles, or twenty-year-old art girls in Paris stop them from getting it on. Kind of a no-brainer, given that the culture has an entire genre of kissing named after them. But alas, there's a reason. When it comes to kissing, the french rock it. While we are on the subject of the 'bisous,' check out this heart-warming short video by Tatia Pilieva, who films twenty absolute strangers kissing for the first time.

Observation 12: the french don't mess around when it's time to make dessert

Observation 11: a plate can be a canvas too

Observation 10: sometimes the best view is up

Observation 9: StairMaster opportunities abound

Observation 8: art adds the oomph to life

Observation 7: chocolate is an under-utilized artistic medium

Observation 6: french policemen are the coolest

Observation 5: the ninety degree angle occupies a special place in the french aesthetic

Observation 4: tourists are not hard to spot

Observation 3: the sky is never blue here

Paris, eternally grayscale. Out comes the charcoal, back into the suitcase goes the pack of chalk pastels.

 

Observation 2: time to eat? the french sit down.

No Starbucks venti lattes to go, no snarfing down a slice of pizza as you zip from work to the subway, no munching on skittles as you stroll around Luxembourg Garden. Food is essential, a source of joy, a thing to be savored, not engulfed!

This I learned one morning when I boarded the metro with my small coffee in a to go cup. The doors slammed shut, and twenty pairs of critical eyes darted to my mug. I tried to cover the little sippy place in the lid with my finger, thinking maybe it was just the aromatic vapors of my super dark espresso that were eliciting such hostility. Nope, still staring.

I decided not to take a sip — maybe I could play the role of servantile intern fetching a coffee for her Devil-Wears-Prada-diva-boss. I had about eight metro stops to go, and over the next five minutes judgement hung so thick in the air that it fogged up the windows. When I finally reached my station, I bolted from the metro. Twenty paris of french eyes watched my back as I chucked my expresso in a nearby trash and vowed never again to dine and dash a même temps.

Observation 1: french men can't dance

This video clip accurately sums up what I witnessed on the dance floor last weekend.  I still haven't given up on all these Jacques and Pierres — they may not be able to swing their hips, but I hear they can whip out a damn good Creme Brulee.

Art Girl Puts on her Looking Glasses