How do you know you're in Paris?
This is something I learnt when me and my friend Hanna had breakfast in a café in Saint Germain a few years ago. I heard that the lady at the table next to us were talking about me while waving her cigarett butt aggressively in the air. When I turned around she said and she was upset about me having a croissant for breakfast. If she did, she would be grosse come çaaa (arms stretched out from The Louvre to Sacré-Cœur).
An American gentleman then turned to me and said: "You know you're in Paris when you get offended on the street".