I don’t know if I have mentioned this already (which means I probably have several times), but couples, young and old, do not hesitate to make out in the middle of trains, sidewalks, bars and every other public space you can fathom. I found the first couple’s embrace endearing but every one thereafter just nauseating. If they felt the need to practice their French only and not their French kissing, I would feel much differently.

While this city may be ideal for romance, it is far from being family-friendly. The cost of cars is incredibly high, forcing most people to rely on public transportation. Paris has a very old metro system (1900), which means that most stations are not sympathetic to the handicapped or women with baby strollers. My nerves overreact every time I see a young mother carry her stroller, baby inside, down flights of concrete steps in order to reach the train platform. Then again, these kids must have an incredible immune system from continuous inverse incubation.

I have yet another concern. I often see these women struggle to open and keep track of their strollers, babies, and other rather personal items. Never once have I seen someone stop to offer his help. The same goes for people who are caught lugging their luggage up and down the same stairs. Am I alone in my efforts to help these people? Seriously, if you offer your help and they seem in some way frightened or offended, you can always apologize and walk away.

This afternoon Cat and I went out to pick up my necklace (the Afghani silver from Camden Passage, London) from a jeweler in the Bastille area. As it was Sunday, none of the Thai restaurants were open except for the Blue Elephant. Before I leave Europe I hope to eat there, but for 35€ a person I will try waiting for the perfect time. Instead, we sat on the terrace of the restaurant Le Bastille. It was a warm, sunny day so the streets were packed and perfect for people-watching. I ordered my first plate of steak tartare (so good!) and, for dessert, had several scoops of Häagen-Dazs. To work off our rather indulgent Sunday brunch, we sat in my favorite park, talking and watching children play with their parents.

On an even more sentimental note: The other day I bought some falafel à emporter in the Jewish quarter. It tasted amazing and reminded me very much of a Reuben from Zingerman’s. Maybe it was the sauerkraut, but I’m not exactly sure what that even is. Either way, it made me feel at home. The fact that I can feel at home in the Jewish quarter of Paris eating falafel, which I have only had two or three times in my life, exemplifies the amazing power of our senses. In particular, taste.