This is Paris

Written Monday, September 13
Paris France — Argenteuil Train Station

Yesterday, I came to Paris. On the flight, I was sat next to a man named Charlie—a textile salesman from Westchester. He travels to France twice a year for trade shows. It bothered me that he kept elbowing me even though I gave him the armrest. I took two sleeping pills and a glass of red wine & slept for the duration of the flight (maybe 5 hours or so).

From Charles de Gaulle airport, I took a train toward my hosts’s place. Across from me sat an old French man with an ancient Yorkie in his lap. I fell in love with both of them. I smiled at the man (though I’ve been told not to smile at Parisians). He smiled back, so I asked him—mostly with hand gestures—if I could pet his dog. He nodded yes. Such a sweet dog. The man showed me that the dog had no teeth by lifting its top lip. Such an old dog, but still so happy & so sweet. These two were best friends. It was beautiful.

It was nearly too much for me. My eyes welled up, but I didn’t cry. This is Paris, I thought. Life is so wonderful that I am perpetually overwhelmed with gratitude.