Unlike the United States, where coffee is consumed from a to go cup on a subway, in a cab or between meetings in an office - in Paris, my coffee was slowly savored from the comfort of a cafe chair. Every Sunday, after sleeping in, I strolled through Saint-Germain. Looking for a cafe that was not overcrowded I would find a table in a corner where I could set up camp and be out of the way of patron traffic. My first order was always une café avec sucre et crème plus croissant and if I ordered more it was only after I'd perfected the French enough to avoid merely pointing at a menu with a sheepish grin. With café and journal in hand, I settled in to listen to the French being spoken all around me and to journal about my experience as an American in Paris. Parisians never seemed to rush their their stay at a cafe, by watching I learned to take my time as well. In doing so, my caffeine enjoyment was greater and I felt an added buzz accompanied by the glow of new understanding.