I’ve had the good fortune of being able to travel all over the western world. Among my favorites: Paris. Among those I really don’t like: Paris. Let me explain…
There isn’t a more romantic city in the world than Paris (Bruges and Venice can give it a run, but they fall short). At night, there’s probably not a more beautiful city in the world. The food is great (if you can avoid the tourist traps). The wine is great. The shopping is great. The language is beautiful (though I maddeningly know about 10 words). You’re surrounded by history and a gazillion things to do, and public transport is a breeze. All the ingredients are there for greatness.
And I’ve never had an issue with the French. Except one: I don’t know if it’s different priorities, different worldview, or what, but this labor issue drive me batty. The 35 hour work week never affected me until I lost my baggage at one of the world’s worst airports, Charles de Gaulle and the British Airways counter closed as soon as they could. If you need a punishment for terrorists, send them to this airport (forget Guantanamo)—the place was laid out by a madman, it reeks of smoke, and terminal “2” is really 6 terminals. I could go on and on...
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