2013 in Review

Greetings, everyone! What a year it has been. Our Christmas postcards (mailed today) invite you to read more about our travels on this site, so that means I need to post something more exhaustive than the snippets I've been throwing out every few weeks. This has not been a good year for blogging. But traveling, yes: six countries, dozens of cities and hundreds of photos. Let me explain -- no, there is too much -- let me sum up:

Early in the spring, we spent a day in New Orleans before driving out to St. Francisville for a weekend of fun with our dear friends Rod and Julie, their endlessly entertaining children and their picturesque backdrop of a town:

Yes, it's actually that beautiful there. Don't you read Rod's blog?!

Back home, we planted our annual garden that would later be the victim of our annual neglect. Hey, we were busy. My parents, on the other hand, were far more industrious and took locavorism one step further with the acquisition of eight hens. They started out teeny-tiny, like this,

Rob named her McNugget. The others have more dignified appellations.

And grew to healthy hen sizes by summer's end, when they were filling several cartons of eggs a week.

Not pictured: the hilarious noises chickens make when you get close enough for a photo.

We enjoyed two snowstorms, both on feasts of the Theotokos. Here's Annunciation Day's haul, which gave us a nice long weekend in March.

One of the most rewarding things in our lives is our participation in the community of Holy Cross parish, where Rob helps with the gardens, I lead the chanters and we have many wonderful friends. I've also continued to perform with Boston Byzantine Choir this year, including a concert in Montreal in April, where we saw the stunning Notre Dame cathedral and an equally stunning variety pack of weather (rain, snow, hail, wind and sunshine in under 48 hours!)

I don't think I've ever paid money to enter a church before, but this was worth it!

A couple of weeks later, we celebrated the Resurrection in our own parish, far more humble but just as lovely to us. Here we are gathered outside the doors, where we sing the first joyful "Christ is Risen!" of the year.

Despite the fact that we both grew up in Baltimore, neither of us had ever been to Pimlico Racetrack until this spring, when we enjoyed watching and placing bets on several minor races. Rob was the big winner, pocketing $12.50.

And, a big fan of classic rock, he knows when every concert is happening, so we attend more than I'd like to admit. Here's the Rolling Stones show in Philadelphia, to which he took his father as a birthday present.

Our first big trip of the summer was to Colorado, where Rob had an architecture convention to attend. Afterwards, we spent some long-awaited time with our adopted family, the O'dells, who took us on a grand tour of their home state. Here we are in Estes Park, shivering in the sunshine:

We drove southwest through some incredible mountain passes, winding up in Durango, where we took a day trip to Mesa Verde National Park to see cliff dwellings that were over a thousand years old.

Then, on what became the highlight of our trip, we boarded an old-fashioned narrow-gauge train that took us over rivers, through woods and to the tiny mining town of Silverton. We had coal dust in our hair and wind burns on our faces, but it was the most fun I've had in a long time!

We were home for just a week when I had to dash off to the Sacred Music Institute at Antiochian Village, where I gave a few classes, including this talk about the experience of Orthodox Holy Week. Meanwhile, Rob was off to Paris, leading another study tour of chateaus and museums with a group of young architectural hopefuls.

This was a very different trip in a number of ways: I missed the first few days because of my conference, but met up in time to help the group navigate out of the city to half a dozen different chateaux of the Loire Valley. Unfortunately, I also picked up a nasty bug somewhere in our travels, but I rested when I could and still managed to have a good time in and out of the city. One highlight was the discovery of the Promenade Plantee, an abandoned rail line that's been repurposed as an elevated greenway.

And when we got home, I finally finished my Paris Top 10 series, so you can read lots more there about what we've seen and done on our various trips there. But we didn't stay home for long -- just a few days, in fact, before flying the opposite direction to visit my grandmother on the West Coast, along with my family. Though we have visited this part of the country many times, we enjoyed several new experiences, including the canals at Venice Beach (freakish bodybuilders not pictured:)

And we carefully staged this photo in the Joshua Tree park, which may be the peak of this year's accomplishments.

Bonus points if you can name the first three tracks in order!

Once home, we took a vacation from our vacations for a couple of weeks. We celebrated ten years of marriage in late August, but an overnight trip downtown was the furthest we wanted to go for awhile. These house numbers were Rob's gift (look, you try finding an interesting present made from iron!)

This bush is way out of control, but it makes a nice accent.

In September our parish celebrated twenty years of worshipping, serving and witnessing together. It was a glorious weekend, during which we sang more than we had thought possible: here we are during Vigil, which lasted nearly three hours. You can also see some of the incredible iconography that's been finished over the last year, as well as the iconographer's son, the sweetest little altar-boy-in-training I've ever seen. Less than a month after this photo was taken, two of our chanters left to join monasteries, so it's a bittersweet memory. Glory to God for all of our time together and the music of our voices and hearts.

In everyday life, we both continue to enjoy the fruits of my labor at Yelp, an online ratings service where I am an Elite member and occasionally get perks like this one, a catered reception at the Museum of Science & Industry overlooking the Baltimore Harbor.

He took a well-deserved break this semester, earning a sabbatical to research and teach at Morgan State University, where they're looking to develop a mobile app for site analysis. He also spent plenty of time with his two furry daughters, as well as with his new business venture, Appitecture, where he posts frequently. They are launching an extensive website on New Year's Day, so stay tuned for more interesting photos in his upcoming "Places and Perspectives" blog.

Rob's more relaxed schedule this fall brought us yet more opportunities to travel, including a quick trip to New York, where I had a writing seminar to attend and he enjoyed photographing the beautiful fall colors.

Reflecting Pool, Bard College — Reflecting Pool, Bard College

We visited some friends in the city on the way home. They were wonderful hosts and we had a great time eating and catching up with them. As a bonus, their apartment is walking distance from the Cloisters, my favorite Manhattan museum. It's nestled in Fort Tryon Park where, it would seem, the spirit of Terrence Malick is lurking:

And just when it looked like the year was winding down, we took our most ambitious and exotic trip to date. For two weeks in November and December, we traveled with our best friends through Turkey, Georgia and Armenia on a pilgrimage to visit holy sites in a part of the world that has known Christianity from its earliest days.

Our time in Istanbul was basically a series of mini-catastrophes, but once we landed in Georgia, we felt truly welcomed and at home, thanks to the bend-over-backwards hospitality of our lovely friends David and Margo and their intrepid son Dietrich. For ten days they drove, fed, translated and guided us through some of the most incredible sights and stories we'd ever experienced. Having only returned a couple of weeks ago, I need more time to process everything before I can really write about it, but here are some snippets from the trip.

Much of Georgia's spiritual history is connected with Nino, a Cappadocian nun who evangelized the country in the fourth century. We visited several sites connected with her, including the monastery where she is buried. On the grounds there is a sacred spring that appeared, miraculously, when the nuns needed water (and then, just as miraculously, disappeared and reappeared in a hidden spot when the convent was under persecution by an invading army.)

It was nearly freezing the day we visited, but we went for a dip in the chilly water and prayed -- quickly! -- for a blessing before toweling off in the little stone house and putting all of our layers back on. When the boys were in the water, we heard Matt's voice through the tiny window: "Well, Rob, what do you think of this Orthodox thing now?"

Probably what we all thought, which was: the culture there is so steeped in faith, it is truly a marvel. It has endured centuries of persecution, first by the pagan Persians, then by the Muslims and most recently at the hands of the Communists. Its churches and monasteries have been burned, demolished, and demoted to hospitals and museums, but in the short period since its independence, the nation has already begun to transform itself.

As if that weren't enough of a trip, we also took a couple of days to drive south to Armenia, the land of my ancestors on my father's father's side. There we found another nation that has endured cruel and horrendous persecution, bordering on complete extermination, but that has emerged with a plucky and inspiring resolve to rebuild and transcend its own grief.

From high in the capital of Yerevan, you can see the outline of Mount Ararat, the national symbol of the country where Noah landed thousands of years ago. (Their patriarchate in Etchmiadzin contains a staggering number of relics, including wood from the ark -- given to a monk by a pitying angel after the poor man had tried and failed three times to climb the mountain in search of the holy site.) It's also a good spot for a photo, if you can get one without too much windblown hair:

On our way out of the city, we received the gift of an early-morning snowstorm, meaning that by the time we reached the monastery on the banks of Lake Sevan, the roads were clear but the landscape was still a series of pristine, white undulations. In the chapel they were celebrating Divine Liturgy, and outside the world was holding its own celebration: "All the earth is Thy promised bride awaiting her spotless husband!"

The entire trip felt like one enormous gasp, and in the weeks since returning home we have been slowly exhaling, hoping that the exhaustion will wear off but leave the spirituality behind. Please know that we did remember you, our family and friends, in prayer in those holy places, just as we do here in the quiet and comfort of our home.

Snuggled up with a cat. As we are happiest.

We miss you, we love you and we hope to see you very soon!

Rob and Emily

Soggy Sunday

It's raining and I am wearing all the wrong things. My sandals snap at my heels and kick up more water onto my sodden jeans. A scarf covers the top and back of my hair but the front drips into my eyes as I plod on with resolution. I am carrying a blue cloth bag that's mostly wet and a white plastic bag that drips water. I could have taken the train, but I already decided to walk and I don't like to change my mind.

I am carrying dinner, grilled zucchini in olive oil and thin spicy pepperoni and juicy marinated mushrooms. They were all out of bread by the time I got to the market but I am sure I can find some at home. There is lobster salad, too, sitting on ice inside an insulated bag that's about as wet as everything else in sight on the street. I think about being dry at home with dinner and a glass of wine and two warm furry bodies winding around my feet..

It's cold in the airport terminal as my clothing starts to dry on my body. I think about asking the girl next to me if she will watch my things while I go to get a coffee. I am on the verge of asking when I suddenly think, are you kidding me? You lost your driver's license at a concert a few weeks ago and still haven't replaced it, and now you're going to leave your passport and your phone in the hands of a stranger? I consider taking them with me and leaving just the bags, but in the end I pack up everything and leave my seat and the two outlets beneath it, and the loud group from Texas is moving toward them with greedy white phone chargers before I am fully standing.

I come back with my coffee and find a new seat and not five minutes later a man asks me to watch his things while he goes to check on his flight. I say sure and smile at the small irony. A few minutes after that a worried face crouches in front of me.

"Excuse me," he says. "I know I don't know you." I wait for the ", but."

"But did you just say you would watch that man's things?"

"Yes," I say. I see where this is going but I won't give him the satisfaction of sympathy.

He grimaces apologetically. "Do you know him?"

"No," I say. "I don't know him."

"I'm probably paranoid," he says, grimacing again. "But we're in an airport . . . "

I tell him I am only doing what I hope someone else would do for me. He says he understands and gets up with his things to sit somewhere out of range of the bomb he is sure will explode at any moment.

The first man comes back and I can't resist telling him he is on the unofficial Logan Airport Watchlist. He laughs at that and I offer him a pretzel. He says no thanks, he is going to meet some friends for happy hour in Phoenix and he can't wait to be out of this terrible weather. He is wearing sandals too but they look less soggy than mine. We talk about our travel plans. He asks what I do and I tell him I am a musician. This is only partly true but I almost never tell strangers the whole story. They don't care that I studied architecture and philosophy and Classics in school and now teach English and French to teenagers and Byzantine chant to adults. Instead I choose one of those variables, the most fitting, and leave the rest for another day. Today I am a music teacher and I just sang in a concert. He says his mother is a music teacher too and I wonder what other five things she does.

He leaves and I wait a few more hours and dry out and warm up and am really ready to go home. Takeoff is postponed twice and when we finally take our seats I am grateful. I order a gin and tonic and when the flight attendant doesn't charge me I feel smug and secure in my insider knowledge that free drinks follow delays. Then he returns with a machine and says that will be eight dollars and I fish my credit card out of my bag and think, maybe next time.

A woman two rows back behind me on the plane is talking to the girl next to her. The woman's voice is piercing, not loud but piercing and I can't ignore it. I shoot her a couple of dirty looks but she doesn't see them or doesn't care. I put in earplugs and that helps a little bit. I can still hear her. The tall flight attendant from Trinidad kneels to talk to the soccer coach in front of me. He is inches from my face and has a deep voice and long braids and he doesn't bother me at all. I like hearing his bass voice and I can also block it out but that woman behind me is awful.

I think, what a fun weekend and what a lousy trip home. Traveling is for people like Hemingway who can experience these things and turn them right around into poignant anecdotes and be none the worse for wear. I have fun trying those shoes on every so often but really, I'd rather be safe and warm somewhere than building character in this uncomfortable seat.

Paris Top 10: Shopping

Once upon a time, my father went to Paris on business and brought my mom along. It was the perfect dynamic: all day he went to meetings and she visited museums, perused shop windows, and drank chocolate (it was early spring). When he was finished for the day, she'd give him the "highlights" tour, which was usually an hour of sightseeing followed by dinner. One day he snapped a photo of her next to this shop near the Madeleine metro.

Several years later, at Christmas, my sister and I opened identical envelopes. Inside was that photo, which had been clumsily doctored to include our figures as well as our grandmother's. My mom's was the same, as was the one all the way across the country under Grandma's tree. It took some collective puzzling, but we finally figured out the nature of the gift: we were going to kick off my last summer as a single girl together, in one of the greatest cities in the world.

It was an amazing trip. The greatest part of the gift was that I wouldn't have to attend my college graduation, which I had been dreading: hundreds of dollars in expenses and a long day in the boiling sun with people I didn't even know. (As a commuter transfer student, I was there for class, period. I think I made one friend in two years there.) Instead, we rented an apartment for two weeks and drew up a battle plan. Museums, cafes, jackets (Paris in May is quite chilly.)

And shopping. You were wondering where this was all going, weren't you? We did plenty of shopping, as I had before and have since. To go all the way to Paris and not bring back goodies for your pantry and your friends would be lamentable indeed.

But, after thousands of photos from half a dozen trips over almost two decades, how many of my shots do you think evoke the experience of shopping in this magical city?

Zero. Well, maybe this one comes close. We so badly wanted to reproduce that original cut-and-paste job that we searched long and hard for the location (this was pre-smartphone) and found a passing tourist to take an unabashedly touristy shot of us smiling in front of the landmark as if to say, "SEE?! We really did come here!" Carefully cropped out is the woman who was almost certainly trying to pick our pockets while we posed for the photo.

What's missing? Oh, everything. The carefully-tended shelves, for one thing: woe to the American customer who disturbs their colorful equilibrium by fiddling with the merchandise. Such practices are frowned upon in France, though examining with the intent to purchase is allowed (beware the fine line between!) The crisp "Bonjour, madame!" that rings out from the desk when you enter and is expected to be returned promptly. The incredible diversity of the shops, which tend to be tiny and focused on one subject or aesthetic. It's just impossible to convey how pleasant shopping can be, even to someone like me who really doesn't like doing it. I never set out to go shopping; I just did it along the way, naturally, whenever I saw something useful or intriguing or beautiful that I could afford. I bought a few things every day, and by the end of each trip my luggage was well stocked.

So I suppose it's a testament to the pleasantness of the experience, that I don't have any photos of the experience itself. What few I had were afterthoughts, usually blurry or ill-composed or of no significance except to a handful of people.

Instead, then, I offer a few of my favorite places to buy French goodies:

Place de la Madeleine: named not for the cookie or for the twelve little girls in two straight lines, but for the nearby church of St. Mary Magdalene, this is the location of the mustard shop in the photo above. It's a great location for food lovers. Maille is a great place for inexpensive gifts: you can find dozens of flavors of mustard in addition to the standby white-wine Dijon that's now available in the US. Fauchon is home of beautiful fruit gelee candies and curiosities like red rice with jasmine flowers. Mariage Freres, home of the world's best tea and this heartbreakingly sweet encounter. Laduree is just around the corner, home of the best macaroons in Paris as well as the richest drinking chocolate (served with milk for diluting and sugar for sweetening; the stuff in the pot is pure silky liquid gold!)
Museum Shops: These are getting better and better, and tend to stock more than the requisite stuffed animals and postcards. I usually walk through once, by which time I've found a book or vase or art print I can't live without.
Saint-Germain-des-Pres: The shops here tend toward home decor. I've found beautiful tea towels and napkins for reasonable prices. Also a great place to faire de leche-vitrine (window shopping, or literally translated, window licking!)
Les Halles: the old market has been torn down in favor of a tres riche shopping mall, but there are plenty of reminders that this is a cook's paradise. E. Dehillerin, the wholesale cookware shop, is awe-inspiring: you can buy a pot big enough to climb into or a paring knife that you'll reach for again and again. (Warning: prices are not listed anywhere here, but you'll see a 6-digit code on each item. Look for books posted throughout the store where you can look the prices up.) Also, don't miss G. Detou and Jean-Charles Rochoux of Lebovitz fame.

Then there's the Undiscovered Shop: the best finds are always the ones you're not expecting. An antiques shop in Monmartre that sells absinthe spoons (these were almost impossible to find in Paris before I discovered Vert d'Absinthe.) A tiny, crammed hardware store where, inexplicably, there is a section of essential oils. A surprisingly affordable boutique that can ease the pain of the underdressed on a blustery day. A cafe that does a side business in beautifully-wrapped Belgian chocolate.

Wherever you go and whatever you buy, if you are enjoying the experience and not just running errands, the spirit of Paris will be with you. I know it.

Posts in the Paris Top 10 Series:

Paris Top 10: Parks

Freshly returned from Paris, I'm determined to finish this series once and for all!

Paris and parks are so synonymous, they're practically the same word. Everywhere you turn there are carefully trimmed and planted arcades of trees, windowboxes and street urns spilling over with flowery vines, sculpted topiaries and manicured lawns. But truthfully, none of these things guarantees a park. There are some rules.

Rule Number One: Parks must be free. Parisians think it ludicrous to pay for basic human rights such as breathing, talking and relaxing in nature. I have to say I admire their attitude and have started voting "yes" on any question of public green spaces in my community, borderline libertarian though I am.

Interestingly, although the chateaux of the Loire valley (including those close to Paris, such as Versailles and Fontainebleau) all require admission fees to the house and gardens, there is always a public park that adjoins them, often so seamlessly you don't even notice the ticket checkpoint. This is good to know for anyone who isn't as fond of tapestries and topiaries as the rest of his group.

Rule Number Two: There must be a place to sit down -- preferably, to lie down. Parisians routinely travel with blankets, shawls, and something appropriate for an impromptu picnic -- fruit, cheese, wine, all of the above. Good conversation can only take place when both parties are comfortable, and what's more comfortable than stretching out with grass between your toes?

This past trip I flew directly from a conference to meet Rob and the rest of the group in Paris. After a seven-hour flight and another hour in the taxi, I dropped my things at the hotel, showered quickly, grabbed a croissant and led the group on another two-hour metro-train-bus-foot marathon to Chateau Fontainebleau. Once the students were safely inside, I told Rob I had to go lie down for awhile, and headed for the park. I found a stone bench in the shade and fell fast asleep.

About an hour later I awoke to the sound of sharp scolding. Breathless, I sat up, afraid I had transgressed some local ordinance, but the two park employees were only scolding a group of tourists for feeding the ducks. When they saw my wild eyes (and wilder hair, I'm sure) they waved me off. "Vouz pouvez dormir, madame," one assured me, and "La sieste, c'est autorisee," the other agreed. Naps are authorized. Good to know.

Rule Number Three: There must be some form of water present. A pool, a canal, a fountain, a lake -- anything that allows the play of light to dazzle the eyes, the rushing music to quiet the mind, a slightly cooler temperature to moisten the skin. Without water, grass is just a lawn, but alongside water, grass becomes a playground, a cushion, a studio. Water is vital to the park-ness of a park.

When my sister was traveling in Europe, she made plans to meet a friend in Italy: "At ten o'clock by the FOUNTAIN. How amazing is that?!" And truly, fountains and ruins and carefully pruned hedges and exuberant, overflowing gardens are all just part of life there. Our aesthetic is a little coarser on this side of the Atlantic, where civilization is a newer idea. After hearing my sister's story, I tried to imagine where I would meet a friend who was coming to my town. The post office? The coffee shop? No central design feature stood out. That struck me as sad.

When I started writing, I was sure there were more rules. But I think this is it. Children are welcome, of course, and parks are one place where they can run and scream with abandon -- but some parks are quiet, and that's okay. Likewise with dogs, with workout clothing (though you see blessed few of this in France, as opposed to here where a leisurely stroll is often impossible between all the huffing and whirring around you.)

It's a simple thing, really. A place to sit and think, catch some fresh air, clear your head. We like them in America, but to the French, parks are non-negotiable.

Posts in the Paris Top 10 Series:

Wait and see . . .
Wait and see . . .
Parks
Music
Museums
Fine Dining
Conversation
Churches
Chateaus
Cafes

Paris Top 10: Museums

There are two kinds of people in this world: people who enjoy museums and people who don't.

Maybe this sounds pompous. Maybe it is. But if you don't see a reason for taking the time to look at works of art created dozens, scores, even hundreds of years ago, and beloved by other artists and critics and commoners for generations afterward, I don't think I can convince you to change your mind. Which is probably just as well: it means there will be less of a line for the rest of us!

Paris' museums are superb, so much so that it's worth planning your trip around their opening hours: there's nothing worse than paying 15 Euros for admission at 3 PM, only to learn that the doors close at 4! In most cases I wouldn't recommend more than one per day, unless they're small ones; you need time to process everything you've seen in order to benefit fully from the experience. Some of my favorites follow.

*One of these forms just doesn't belong here . . .*

The Louvre: Perhaps the most famous museum in the world, it deserves all the notoriety it can rake in, the atrociously modern lobby notwithstanding. Stop here to see Nike on the prow of a ship, all the more regal for her headlessness; the ideal of the female form in the Venus de Milo; and Leonardo's La Giaconde.

*I've seen her four times, and with each visit the security and crowds were more outrageous. The last time we visited the Louvre, I didn't even bother trying to elbow my way into the room.*

Then ditch the crowds and explore some of the other collections: the Dutch Masters, especially its two Vermeers; the medieval foundations of the building, visible on the basement level; and the wealth of additional Greco-Roman sculpture that spills out into several light-filled atria. You could spend a whole week here, without sleeping, and still not see everything!

Afterwards, wander through the Tuilerie gardens, stopping to feed the birds (and yourself if you've been there long enough; there's a pleasant outdoor cafe about halfway through) and enter L'Orangerie, a small sun-filled outbuilding where you can stand in a room surrounded by dreamy, dwarfing Monets in murky pastel flavors.

Musee d'Orsay: Widely famed for its extensive collection of Impressionists, who were long banned from the artistic establishment, this former train station also houses Old Masters and architectural drawings. It's absolutely mandatory for fans of Van Gogh, Seurat and Degas; you could easily spend a whole day here.

Musee Cluny: This is my personal favorite. Housed in an ancient Roman bath, it is devoted to the art of the Middle Ages. It is home to the world-famous Unicorn Tapestries, beautiful stained glass, and countless illuminated manuscripts, which I think are the most fascinating pieces ever created. If it's a hot day, you'll be especially happy to visit the old frigidarium, which is buried to keep the temperature cool and consistent.

Musee Rodin: What I love the most about this place is its scale. You could see the whole thing, including the lovely gardens, in an hour, but you'll want to linger longer over each intimate piece, marveling at the softness of stone and bronze.

Centre Pompidou: I don't have much tolerance for modern art -- about an hour is the most I can take -- but this building is worth seeing just for its novelty: the idea was to put all the systems (circulation, water, heating and cooling) outside in order to leave the gallery space pristine and unencumbered. The plaza outside is also worth seeing: in the summer there are often impromptu concerts and skateboard performances, and the area is known for good shopping and restaurants.

Cite de la Musique was so wonderful I wrote a post about it several years ago, but this last trip introduced me to another wonderful gem: the Cinematheque Francaise, which houses hundreds of clips, props and costumes from the first films through the present day.

There are others, of course, but the last one I have to recommend is the Musee des Plans-Reliefs, an amazing find composed of immense relief maps created during the Napoleonic Era (all the better to conquer you with, mes amis.) It's only one long room, but it's worth the trip to Les Invalides even if you don't get to see the Little Man himself.

And sometimes you just get lucky, as we did the only time we ever got to the top of La Defense: there was an incredible exhibit at the Musee d'Informatique that covered the history of the Macintosh computer, complete with prototypes and projections of its most famous advertisements. Rob and I were in geek heaven, but we've never been able to go back since: high winds and technical difficulties keep preventing their elevators from ferrying tourists to the top.

Ah, well. It's Paris: there's plenty more to see.

Paris Top 10: Fine Dining

Visiting Paris on a budget is not difficult, especially for young people: most museums are reduced-price (or this pass is worth every centime, if you’re an art lover) and cheap food is easy to find. In fact, I was just moping about yesterday about how much I wanted to go back to Maoz, home of the unlimited falafel toppings for a five-euro meal that could satisfy even a “starving” teenager.

HOWever. You owe it to yourself to visit at least one high-end place, somewhere you’d pay fifty or even a hundred euros per person for a multiple-course meal with wine. If this sounds insane, consider that it’s frighteningly easy to spend two or three times that amount; I’m still thanking my lucky stars that Josephine chez Dumonet was full or closed every time I called for a reservation, because when we walked by to check out the menu my eyes almost rolled out of my head.

So: an indulgence, but one you can afford. Hang out at a park for a day or two if you have to (more on that later.) It will be worth it: in France, dining is an experience we just don’t understand here.

Paris Top 10: Conversation

It is impossible (or at least distasteful) to speak of uninspired things in such an inspired place. Something about the French air moves you to delve into causes and wrestle with universal struggles, sprinkled liberally with superlatives and smiles. My husband told me recently, “You laugh a lot more when you speak French.”

Conversation in France finds you. If you are open to being found, which means speaking a little of the language. (It can be a very little; most French speak English, and they’re not very skilled listeners anyway.) The first time I visited the country, a wide-eyed high schooler, I remember a late-night discussion with my host family about public displays of affection. At my current school they were forbidden, and I was delighted to see that here in the magical land of l’amour, couples held hands and embraced and kissed without any sign of self-consciousness, so wrapped up in their own world and each other’s arms that they were happy for the rest of us to witness their budding rapports.

Paris Top 10: Churches

“O Lord, I have loved the beauty of Thy house, the place where Thy glory dwelleth.”

Little else compares to the feeling of walking into an ancient, beautiful temple, consecrated by hundreds of years of prayer. Though modern Parisians have largely rejected the faith of their fathers, churches abound still.

The first time I visited the city, with my high-school French class, we didn’t get to see the inside of Notre-Dame because the lines were too long. I remember telling my parents, “It’s okay; I got to see the outside.” When I returned seven years later, I realized how woefully short this experience had been. In hushed reverence, I wandered the aisles and drank in the stained-glass windows, the statue-filled niches, and most of all the pilgrims — people who had come from all over the world to light a candle and say a prayer in this sacred place.

Paris Top 10: Chateaus

So, after waxing eloquent about the charmingly elegant ambience of Paris, the next item on my list will send you away from the cosmopolitan center to the far reaches of the countryside. But trust me: you want to see these.

The chateaus of the Loire Valley were built as countryside homes for the kings of the pre-Republic nation, and while touring one is fascinating, visiting a whole string of them (as we did on this trip) changes the French experience completely.

Paris Top 10: Cafes

If you don’t do a single other thing in Paris, you must sit in a cafe for at least two hours some afternoon. Nothing will teach you more about the city than this simple adventure.

You’ll realize right away that cafes are not restaurants. I could rhapsodize endlessly about French food and wine: meltingly tender duck confit under a blanket of crispy skin; chewy chunks of baguette with eye-wideningly tart jam made from the freshest summer fruits; mounds of soft, lightly-dressed greens surrounded by an inventive combination of accomaniments (ever had a Caesar salad with dried plums, olives and hard-cooked egg?) And while most cafes serve above-average to excellent cuisine, for most of the day, most of the customers are not eating anything.

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