Susan Spano’s postcards from Paris

The man at my newspaper stand asked me what I thought about the situation in New Orleans and U.S. government response to the tragedy.

After almost a year in Paris, my French has stalled, I fear.

As the Olympic Committee convenes in Singapore to make a decision about the site for the 2012 games, Paris is trying not to act desperate, but it’s on the edge of its settee.

Part of the charm of Paris is its central location, making quick trips to other Western European capitals -- London, Brussels, Amsterdam, Berlin -- easy, especially since the advent of budget airlines and high-speed trains such as Eurostar.

David and Kristine Daly from Sacramento decided at the last minute to come to Paris for the finish of the Tour de France on Sunday.

Recently I was struck by the unfathomable names of many Paris streets.

Life goes on in Paris after that announcement that London had won the 2012 Olympic Games.

Postcard readers have asked me for specific information about the City of Light.

Oanh Ly from Marina del Rey is heading for Paris with her boyfriend and parents.

Apart from the friendly, helpful messages I receive from Postcard readers (which I wrote about last time), I get corrections and negative responses.

The weather in Paris: not so cold, say 45 degrees, but rainy and frighteningly windy.

Just five days before Christmas, it snowed here.

Bill Jones of Pasadena asks whether I’ve noticed that the French are slimmer than Americans.

A few quick notes, as I’m off to catch a flight to L.A. for a visit home to see colleagues, family and friends.

I recently had guests – a friend who had never been to Paris and her niece.

I’ve become a regular at the Boulevard Raspail organic farmers’ market.

Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays.

I was unaccountably depressed by the ascendancy of the nons in the Sunday referendum on the European Union constitution.

I have been trying to get a carte de séjour, the official permission for foreigners to stay in France for more than three months.

The weather in Paris has been bizarre the last two weeks.

Mary Ann Zipagang asked me about workers in France.

At last, an epiphany.

I’ve had some interesting encounters with people of late.

On March 10, the city of Paris was disabled by a general strike of postal and transportation workers, air traffic controllers, ambulance drivers, teachers, students, parents -- the list goes on and on.

We had a hot spell in Paris in early June, which was miserable, as air conditioning isn’t standard in these northern European climes.

I am now the proud owner of an American Library in Paris card, which cost about $125 for a year’s subscription.

Every day I receive e-mails from Postcard readers, mostly warm and intelligent, written by people with a range of Paris experience.

Last Sunday, when my head wasn’t so foggy from writing the cover story for May 8, I went with a friend, visiting from America, to the ballet at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées, near the Place de l’Alma, at the bottom of the chic Avenue Montaigne.

Is Paris burning?

I was in the States for a couple of weeks recently -- New York, L.A. and Utah.

It was recently “open house” week in my quartier, an annual event during which the extraordinary antiques stores and art galleries in the 6th and 7th arrondissements, south of the River Seine, stay open late, serve wine and welcome window-shoppers.

I spent my 20s in New York, which was perfect. Now it’s wonderful to be 50 in Paris.

I recently rented a car at the Gare du Nord, which meant driving in Paris.

It’s D-day weekend; here, that’s “Jour j.” President Bush came to visit.

Remember the old Beatles lyric, “You say yes, I say no...”

My French friend Monsieur P. and I are carnivores.

As I was sitting at my computer on Bastille Day - working, because, as my boss said, it’s not a holiday in the U.S. - I heard the high whine of aircraft.

Paris is sweltering.

A reader recently wrote to say I wasn’t giving an authentic picture of Paris, that if you live here, as opposed to being a tourist, you know there are problems.

Well, here I am. Logged on.

Today was the sort of day that makes a person want nothing more than to be alive in Paris.

Denis, who lives in Paris, has asked me to stop talking about shopping and tourist stuff in Paris all the time and consider more serious questions, such as the miracle of French socialized medicine.

One Postcards reader told me to go wandering and get lost -- literally.

More on French medicine. I had to get a mammogram at a fancy clinic in the 7th near Les Invalides.

I was in southern Italy for two weeks, which was indescribably wonderful, though I will describe it eventually in a travel story.

One thing I really like about Paris is that it seems perfectly acceptable to eat while walking down the street, especially breakfast on the run.

In moving from L.A. to Paris, I felt the difference between living in the suburbs (L.A.) and a city (Paris) as strongly as the difference between living in the U.S. and Europe.

A reader has asked me to give the prices for certain ordinary things in Paris.

Two things worth noting happened to me in Paris. One was a surprise, and the other was expected.

Bernard, who is here in Paris, wrote to say that you can read the story of Paris on the street.

I hope blog readers will forgive me for my Left Bank bias.

Everything was going so well last Saturday. I’d come back from a trip to Germany in good order.

L.

Some rampant opinions: I think that Paris Plage, along the north bank of the Seine and dedicated to the hot beaches of Brazil this year, is a cute idea but overrated.

There are some of the biggest leaves in the world fallen from trees on the Rue de Furstenberg, around the corner from La Derniere Goutte, a marvelous wine shop where they hold tastings on Saturdays.

Living through a full year of weather and seeing all four seasons has been a surprise benefit of my extended stay in Paris.

My diet has gone out the window in France.

A compendium of observations and musings on life in and around Paris: Last week I went from Paris’ Gare du Nord to London’s Waterloo station on the Eurostar, my first trip through the Channel tunnel.

I’ve been thinking about where to live if I stay on in Paris.

I am very keen now on certain French products, including pre-cooked beets, available in sealed plastic bags at markets and greengrocers.

My first agenda when I got to Paris was to nest and make my apartment my own.

On the way home from the Hemingway Bar, I shopped for dinner.

A reader wants to know how I’m managing financially, given the unfavorable exchange rate.

I’ve done a lot of complaining lately about the long vacations French people take and the way Paris virtually shuts down in August.