One of the benefits of having a European address is the ability to spend a weekend in Paris. Less than a two hour flight, it was about five hours door to door, with no time change or jetlag bullshit to deal with. It was a rainy weekend and not high season for tourists, so it was possible to get decent deals and feel like a local. A ten Euro gift from my favorite Uncle spent itself on pastry and drink.
Through the rain, the lights shimmered all the same and Christmas adornments were in full spread. We fought for taxi's, walked a million miles and rode the Metro like locals and were the Hercules of fitting in. That said, no place like Paris has the ability to make you feel like an uncultured peasant in a fleeting look - so much so, I was feeling insulting glares where they weren't and went off my game in a few places - the drawbacks of being a paranoid half-jew.
But with setback comes a thickening of skin and rally. We found good form in early morning drinks and jazz. I got my hands dirty, tasting cheese and fingering old novels and poetry. The skies opened and the little wind there was packed it in. Paris, the unforgiving animal became Paris, the village. Buildings leaned towards us in greeting. As sure as frogs speak French, we hit full stride as it was time to go. But like all good things, the "city of lights" we left wanting more - more of its abuse and more well fought praise.
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