I’ve always been equal parts intrigued and intimidated by the pharmacies here in Paris. Unlike the sprawling Duane Reades in New York, or even a modest Connecticut CVS, they tend to be relatively small, so it’s not about the size.
But maybe that’s just it: there’s not enough space and privacy to try to decode the promises and ingredients of all those special French salves, potions, pills, lotions and magic solutions. Plus, if I can drop fifty bucks without a blink of an eye at Duane Reade, just imagine how much damage I could do picking up an assortment of pretty jars of body lotion and special regime tablets.
Still, I love the variations of the green cross that evoke all these images.
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