Paris

Paris, France – The primary purpose of this trip was to uncover evidence of the widely held American suspicion that the French dislike us and that they are snooty. Naturally, my first stop was the Arc de Triomphe, which was conveniently located just a few blocks from my tiny apartment. A curious monument in a country that has lost every war it has ever been in, not to mention the World Cup. I believe the monolith is really meant to symbolize the French triumph over letting it bother them. Despite being perpetually in second place, the air of superiority that they have managed to maintain is impressive and indeed monumental.

But I was pleasantly surprised to find that the French are delightful hosts to visiting dignitaries, even Americans. My assistants ordered every baguette and bottle of wine in their broken, accented French and every time the response was the same -- politeness served up in flawless English. And the French clearly agree with tourists of all nationalities on the long-held belief that my adorableness transcends cultures. From the banks of the Seine to the heights of Montmarte, people from all walks stopped to pay their respects and make faces as they passed me. The apex of attention came as I snaked my way through the line to ascend the Eiffel Tower surrounded by a Japanese tour group. As I repeatedly passed their ranks, I proved to be a much bigger draw than the tower itself. Crazy elderly women made undignified tongue gestures and otherwise cool adolescent boys were wooed by my cuteness. Like a pin-up girl in a war zone, I entertained the troops and posed for multiple pictures.

Some mistakenly believe the root of French pride stems from their vast achievements in painting, sculpture, theater, philosophy, architecture, fashion, dance, cuisine, and political thought. I guess these things have a certain importance, but their true contribution lies in the shopping district of Paris. At one point, I was so overcome with emotion by a sale bin of shoes that I climbed inside and enshrouded myself in the glory of French culture.

After debating de Tocqueville's philosophy and comparing theories on Sartre with some locals at a corner cafe, I began to come to the conclusion that the French have been getting a bad rap. While it is probably true that they will not be convicted of smothering Americans with love, they certainly appreciate beauty and class when they see it and they saw it everywhere I went. As if that weren't enough, they've built one of the most photographic capitals in the world. I'm including some of my favorite pictures below for my loyal fans.

My American-made carriage was among the largest vehicles on the streets of Paris. There, even the ambulances are diminutive. I am not sure to what type of "urgence medicale" this little car is designed to respond but I suspect it is exclusively for midgets who fall into trash compactors – an uncommon, albeit regrettable occurrence.

This car really cracks me up.

Caught up in the allure of all things Parisian, I enjoyed a picnic of baguette and cheese at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. I’m a teetotaler myself but I allowed my assistants to taste a sip of wine, which turned out to be a habit they were reluctant to break.

Every girl should have a stroll down the Champs Elysées on her birthday at least once in her life.

Sometimes it rains unexpectedly in Paris.

Paris is still a city of romance. My natural magnetism brought out the handsome and swarthy older men, but even though I walk around without pants, I am a shy girl when it comes to love.

For reasons I was not able to discover, the French are very clear about where they want your weiner dog to walk.

Until next time, peace to all. Omi, Baby Adventure Traveler