Here, Safe

Paris was covered in an awkward layer of fog when I landed. The effect on the airport was amusing: The painted tails of various airplanes looked more like flags of different countries frozen in a row; they didn't seem to be the highest tips of giant metal beasts lined up at the terminal. I forgot how different the cars look here. This is going to be fun.

I love traveling by myself, and I especially love going to France by myself. I love the opportunity to do exactly what I want, to avoid the anxiety of “saving face” among those I care about, to sit and watch with absolutely no obligations to entertain anybody, and to simply enjoy being. I have no responsibilities to anyone while I’m sitting in the airport. I owe no one any explanation of where I am when I’m living in the big house in the south of France, secluded from the rest of the world. I do what I want, when I want, how I want. It’s fantastic.

Plus, it’s a great way to meet people. I’ve already chatted it up with a number of total strangers from around the world… and plan to continue to do so.

Rock on.

Currently I’m sitting in a cute little café in the 14th sipping espresso and eating delicious food. I’ve been to this place before, on one of my more recent trips to Paris. If ever I were to move to this city, this is where I’d live. I love the cemetery and the feel of this neighborhood. So did Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir; they spent most of their life around here, and are currently buried a stone’s throw from where I sit.

If I wasn’t so exhausted/jet-lagged, I might write something intelligent, articulate, anything. But I am exhausted and jet-lagged, and my free half hour of Internet is almost up and I ain’t payin' for more, so I’m off.

Au revoir, mes amis.