When we travel, there is always a time when we say, well, its time to go home.  We don’t know how long we will be home, or what home has in store, we just know when it is time.  It is time.

Yet, tonight with a full moon over the Seine at the Pont d’Alma I feel just a tiny little bit of home right here, in Paris.  I cannot exactly claim this city.  I know so little French to really claim it.  But it does get inside you.  It is a city you can fall in love with, even knowing all its faults ( and believe me Paris does have its faults).

I will not miss the dog shit on my way to the Buzenval metro station.  I will not miss empty faces staring at me inside the metro stations.  I will not miss the grime of each days forays, how black my hands are at the end of day.  I will not miss the lines at the supermarket, the tourist masses at St. Michael, tired tired legs.

I will miss the opportunity to stare at art until my eyes pop.  I will miss the Parisienne baguette sandwich, ham and cheese with a crust that cuts up the roof of my mouth.  I will miss noisette at Cafe Varenne.  I will miss channeling the ghost of Rodin at the Hotel Biron/Musee Rodin.  I will miss the river.  I will miss the river.  I will miss the river.  I will miss the folks in the 20th on the Rue Vignoles.  I will miss adventures with Gaby on the Velib.  I will miss the accessibility of the Louvre, naps on grassy squares, the bells of Notre Dame.   I will miss Paris.

So, Paris seems to say to me in return, that indeed I will return, perhaps sooner than later.  The river, the moon, the very walls of the buildings seemed to laugh tonight, saying that once Paris is in your blood, it isn’t so easy to stay away.  That’s okay. I don’t need to stay away from you Paris, as if you are a stalking lover.  And if, I can’t boldly claim you,  I don’t mind, in the end, if you claim me.

Merci beaucoup

Salut

a bientot