France

This June I headed off for a much-needed vacation to Paris and Nice, France. Where to begin? Paris was gorgeous, steeped in history, and it seemed nearly every building was a work of art. I ate at quaint sidewalk cafes, saw Notre Dame and Sacre Coeur, rode the Metro and gawked at all the pretty clothes I couldn't afford. The people were lovely, and it served as an interesting reminder of the ways I have in fact acculturated to life in Moldova. In public and around strangers I smile much less now than a year ago, and say please and thank you less, largely becuase I've learned these behaviors won't be reciprocated. Imagine my shock in Paris -- a large city where people would presumably be even more harried and brusque -- when rather than speeding up and honking as I've become accustomed to, drivers slowed down at intersections to wave me across! And when hunting down an Indian restaurant in one part of town, an older gentleman approach me and Nic to say, "You appear lost, can I help you find something? And don't forget to watch your belongings, this is a bad neighborhood."

Then, aside from the hospitality, there's the food. The French have truly raised bread and butter to an art form. Who would have thought something so as simple as a baguette could be so good? In Nice we bought fruit covered tarts at a little patisserie and they were absolutely heavenly, as were each day's meals...four-cheese gnocci, crepes, panini, gelato...a trip to France just spent eating would be a vacation in and of itself. (Most unexpectedly after all this butter and wine and cheese, I returned to Moldova a couple of pounds lighter. Maybe the woman who wrote French Women Don't Get Fat was on to something after all?) But Nice had a lot to offer beyond its restaurants: a quaint old town center with cobbled streets and stuccoed buildings in various tones of orange and gold, the stony beach of the riviera which lulls you to sleep with the sound of waves tumbling the palm-sized rocks, palm trees, museums, and more fantastic stores full of things a PCV can't afford. Sigh.