My apartment in Paris is filled with chairs: chairs tucked in little corners, posed in front of cupboard doors, chatting together in corners, pushed up against walls in a row, stacked, draped with blankets, the older ones elegant in their decrepitude. They are having a strange effect on me, both tonic and narcotic.
Chances are you will look like tourists. Americans in Paris often take their country with them in small but perceptible ways, sometimes laughable, sometimes quite embarrassing. Allow me to point out here a few things to help you navigate in a new city, and save you from sometimes ruining your day, if not your stay.