I normally walk 10,000 steps a day. In Paris, John and I walked 20,000 steps most days and 27,000 a couple days. My feet and hips hurt the first day. Then I gave up on trying to look like a Parisian, put on my sneakers, and was mostly fine. I mean yes, I felt it, but I could do it.

Why wouldn't I want to walk? Everywhere I looked was something amazing from the iron grill work on the windows to the way the balconies looked as the streets curved. I could feast on the buildings alone.

Maybe we picked the right parts of town, but we only felt unsafe once (the craps games on the sidewalk definitely sent a non-tourist area signal) and only had to stare at long expanses of blank walls for a couple blocks.

Otherwise, it was one tiny fascinating shop after another with windows full of meringues, jackets made of black feathers, and the incredible smell of fresh baked bread. It was French families out for a stroll and tourists trying to pretend to be French with the ubiquitous scarf. It was cobblestones, the Seine, and cathedrals everywhere. We spent one day exploring with Emmanuelle and Greg, and even they were charmed by their own city with streets with names like Rue de la Lune and a wall that had been transformed into a garden.

Plus, when you walk a lot you get to eat a lot.