A few hours after arriving in Paris, reenergized by the espresso I had upon my arrival, my husband and I set out on our walk, stumbling across the cobblestone streets of the Left Bank in search of the perfect café. Then, it started to pour ferociously.

Since we had no umbrella, we ran to a little café only meters away, joining a gathering of locals who were busy celebrating another workweek ending. Cigarette smoke billowed around them as they laughed and chatted. The waiter must have detected our Canadian French accent as we were seated away from the others, under a covered terrace next to a couple in their late sixties. I guessed they were Americans from the south with their wide smiles and matching jean jackets. In fact, within seconds they told us that they lived in Houston, Texas.

We replied politely to the usual meet and greet questions, and thankfully, glasses filled with champagne arrived soon after alongside an enormous platter of mind-blowing cheese. I was hoping for a romantic start to our holiday, but our friendly Texans had more important matters to discuss.