One thing that I always noticed however, were the narrow sidewalks and even narrower streets. There was something claustrophobic about it. Coming from Los Angeles, I was used to walking around a concrete jungle, with massive cars speeding past you at all hours of the day and night.
The concierge at my hotel had suggested a cafe only a few blocks down from the hotel called Belle Vie -- Beautiful Life in English. It sounded cliché as hell, but at the same time, it also seemed somehow fitting.
I strolled down the Parisian street, stopping to glance in the windows of the art galleries and bakeries I passed by. The air was crisp and cool, even for Spring. Or maybe I just wasn’t used to weather that wasn’t sunny and warm, like back home. It was nice, though. Cool enough for jeans, which I hard
