à Paris
Tuesday I took the TGV, the bullet train, to Paris. I love Paris. When I emerged from the Luxembourg station across from the Jardin du Luxembourg, I could only smile. I have visited Paris so often during the last ten years that it seems like coming home when I arrive. I am staying at Les Marronniers, a hôtel de famille straight out of Le Père Goriot, a Balzac novel. I think it may be the last true pension in Paris from that tradition. I walk a lot in Paris, and I look for bar à vin or a bistrot à vin for lunch where I go. Wednesday, I wondered over to the Place de Bastille, starting from the corner where Boulevard Saint-Michel and the Seine intersect. From there one can see La cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris. Most people look for that perfect photo to take back, an unobstructed image. But it occurred to me that is not how I see landmarks. Something is always in the way. As I made a loop to Place de Bastille and back to Boul’Mich, I did not see Notre Dame as a post card historical church.
un Voyageur 