old soul: on the charm & melancholy of small towns

For all my love of cities, there is something unspeakably touching about this simplicity, about the kind of place where your child could still ride their bike all around town and promise to be home for dinner. Maybe we shouldn't be too quick to mourn these places; maybe they will evolve and survive. A town's soul, after all, has more to do with its people than with places to buy artisan bread or local beef.

love without locks: a modern pont des arts engagement

I had just arrived in Paris, feeling jet-lagged and haggard. I knew Victor was going to propose–I had just flown to France for the express purpose of becoming his wife–but I didn't know when. I thought it would be the following evening, when I knew we had fancy dinner plans. After stopping at the apartment to change, …

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la culture populaire for the couch potato: lessons in french tv

I can't stand advertisements. I don't like being told what to tell my doctor. I roll my eyes at deus ex machina plot lines and groan at laugh tracks. I am a TV cynic. It's nothing noble. It's just that I would really really really rather read. I am grateful that my parents encouraged the …

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gypsy jazz

A lazy Saturday afternoon, some gypsy jazz, and flowing champagne. Taylor and I stand in la Chope des Puces, a tiny, ancient jazz club in Saint-Ouen in Paris's 18th arrondissement. We are crammed against the wooden bar, standing-room only. The bar isn't packed but it's tiny, and several families and couples have already claimed the …

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