You know," remarked my young son-in-law Harry to the rest of us one day as we gazed appreciatively upon the neat and symmetrical displays of brightly colored candies in yet another notable Istanbul shop window, "Maybe we shouldn't be saying that Istanbul is just like Paris. Maybe we should be saying that Paris is just like Istanbul."
When we announced that we would spend June through August in Paris this year I could see dismay in our friends' eyes. Even though most were too polite to say anything, I knew they were thinking, 'Oh, my God, August in Paris? Really? It's going to be jungle hot with no air conditioning, it will be jammed with unwashed tourists, and you won't have anything to eat because EVERYONE knows Parisians evacuate in August.'