From the NY Times:
Passy is a neighborhood where no one walks. They stroll, so I did, too. I strolled past the impromptu book stalls where each volume was, again, displayed with great care and — there is no other word for it — love. Franklin, the printer, no doubt would have appreciated this passion for books. I strolled past utility workers, leather-apron men, as Franklin called the working class, wrestling with a tangle of cables. I strolled to the Marché de Passy, a covered market featuring sides of beef, cuts of veal and wheels of cheese the size of my head. No wonder Franklin had trouble resisting.
Now I have to go back.