The music is soft baroque. The place is small covered in European tile, old worn chairs with breaking leather arms.
French portraits and fliers and ancient battles of Bonaparte litter the walls.
Dialog of tourist float in the cacophony of the open air room.
People, families linger over lattes and cappuccinos with a side of French pastries. They talk to each other, a few read the local paper.
The only sign of technology is the lone laptop in the see of conversation.