Winemakers with ancestry dating bake to Napolean stored their barrels in 17th-century caves and held art worthy of the Louvre in their chateaus. As they conducted their craft with an amalgamation of modern wine making techniques and those passed down through centuries, I felt as though I was drinking history through slim-stemmed glasses.
At night, the smoke even seemed to cease, absorbed by the fresh, cool air. An epidemic of cigarettes has swept through Paris leaving one coughing at almost every intersection, adding to the city’s hackneyed languor. But as the sky’s blue grew deeper and deeper these irritants seemed to fade. Quiet, empty streets often prevailed, with lit up cafes exuding warm yellows and reds promising a haven from the slight winds with their hearty aromas and the vociferous jingle of laughs coming from those who had slightly more to drink than advisable.
Tucked between and above towering skyscapers in San Francisco’s Financial District lie hidden terrestrial treasures. Ranging from rooftop gardens to courtyards off the side of the streets, each area is perfect to to sit and stare and contemplate the grandeur of the city, or to simply catch a breath from the ardor that is the daily grind.