Ah, the Champs- Élysées!

Ah, the Champs- Élysées! Filled with the tres chic, the heroine induced dieters, the wealthy, the powerful, the all-too-familiar-stuck-out-like-a-thumb tourist, and at least one southern redneck! Walking this famous of all Parisian streets sends waves of aromas to the sinuses; expensive perfumes, wines & champagnes, et . . . le horse pucky. But nonetheless an impressive sight to behold. In a nation of public transport, lines stretching around the block for the free clinic and a penchant for free love in the public parks (which explains the free clinic) it's nice to see unabashed capitalism at its best.
I sat the the Vensuvio in the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe. In my best French accent I ordered "Je voudrais l'eau, une verre de Bordeaux, et le pasta funghi pachini." The waiter responded, "Okay, thank you." I reek of American! Even when I try to speak the native tongue, the locals fail to oblige me. That is except for the metro employees. "No Anglaise!" and as I look down in disgust while trying to get help with the metro, I think I heard, "now move on, American . . . " something about a merde de la tete. Anyways, the wine and mushroom pasta was a warm welcome, but sharing a table with a group of old Italian wiseguys was an unexpected bonus. C'est la vie!