Walking through the streets of Nancy: a city on the mid-to-northeastern edge of France, bifurcated by its planning; it's mediaeval in its north, seventeenth century in its center, and still newer infill–buildings from every period of time, including today–align its streets. Slightly rough and simultaneously refined, possibly due to Place Stanislas–a square completed in 1755 that links the ‘old’ town with the ‘new’–Nancy has certainly seen its day come, and pass by. Gilded gates brush against backdrops of luscious green leaves along the edge of the aforementioned square; statues and figures stare down from the tops of the buildings that line its edges, toward the pedestrians that shuffle from one end of the city, to the next. Vines fill archways; fourteenth century loggias hang out and over the sidewalks; and wonderful restaurants, somewhat surprisingly, or perhaps not, considering this is Lorraine, are readily concentrated, welcomed, and a few hidden gems–as this one–offer delectable dishes. Nancy is certainly not Dijon; though it doesn’t need, or attempt to be. Nancy is sleepy, quiet, and also curious–connected to the world, though at its own pace.