I should have started this a week ago ... but its only now that I seem to be done with the jetlag, settled into a groove, and free to express myself. I've been writing in a journal every day but have felt shy -- can I really be shy? -- about offering stories to others. No more. Here are those stories (or at least the ones I choose to print).

I'm one week into my four week journey, staying in a one-room apartment in le Marais. What the flat lacks in the luxuries, it makes up for in its proximity. I'm less than a five-minute walk to the Seine. I can order a cafe, a vin rouge, a crepe, a quiche or some frommage within two minutes. And I'm sure I could find a little sensual satisfaction in about the same time, though that has not happened.

I'll be posting every day from now until I return to the United States on April 23. Please read, offer a comment or two, or simply curse me for living the cliche of an American in Paris in Spring.

Before I leave, the lyrics to "April in Paris."

First, the song:

I never knew the charm of spring
I never met it face to face
I never new my heart could sing
I never missed a warm embrace
Till April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom
Holiday tables under the trees
April in Paris, this is a feeling
That no one can ever reprise
I never knew the charm of spring
I never met it face to face
I never new my heart could sing
I never missed a warm embrace
Till April in Paris
Whom can I run to
What have you done to my heart

 

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