Things I Love About France, or PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME LEAVE I WON'T GO I WON'T GO I WON'T GO

I've got two days of nearly complete unexpected free time, because my regular teachers on Mondays and Tuesdays are in the US with a group of students ("We can't smoke in the US? What do you mean? And they don't do bisous? What kind of godforsaken place are they taking us to?") and my favorite teacher, the one I was going to do a lot of make-up classes with, is sick. So today I decided to get a sandwich and sit out by the Seine for a bit to enjoy the springtime weather. And now, while the so-American-it-hurts oatmeal-raisin cookies I'm making for a Hispano-Franco-Germano-American dinner party tonight cool, I'll type up some of the things that have made me happy lately.

• Old men playing pétanque in the gardens of the Hôtel de Ville every sunny afternoon; you can tell they've been coming to the same place at the same time with the same friends and the same beer for decades, and will continue until either their last breath or until they can't properly throw the pétanque ball, whichever comes first.
• Young men playing pétanque in the gardens of the Hôtel de Ville every sunny afternoon who will grow up to become the old men; let the circle be unbroken.
• The trip-trap, trip-trap of high heels clicking on the street, setting up a unique French-city rhythm (extra points if the street is cobblestone and the women remain unfazed).
• French couples cuddling in parks, by the Seine, on benches, because they're young and French and in love and really, does it offend anyone all that much?
• Chèvre paninis eaten by the Seine on a sunny day, washed down not with a Coke, but with a Coca (I swear, it tastes different if you call it a Coca).
• Inventing French words that make enough sense to make French people laugh, like "Let me combobulate myself" in English. Most recently, I was following a teacher "louchement" - sketchily, creepily - and we laughed for a good five minutes. Louchement should totally be a word.
• The fact that one of my French friends has a scar on his forehead from a pétanque ball that bounced wrong when he was 8. Seriously. How much more French can you get?
• Trees! Blossoming! Everywhere! Forsythia, magnolia, and a bunch of others I can't identify so I just call them purty.
• Awesome European friends, some of whom are close enough that I now have couches to crash on in France, Germany, England, Spain, and Italy, among others.