I hate Paris. That’s what I was thinking a few mornings ago while I was brooding over a café au lait at a hipster joint near the Canal Saint-Martin.
The coffee was perfectly roasted. The steamed milk almost fluffy. The young woman reading next to me had that perfect combination of elegance and boho grunge, style and studied insouciance that only a French woman can pull off.
You see what I did? I just said the word insouciance! Shoot me now!
This gorgeous city can do that to you—make you say words you …