I have always wanted to go to Paris. Excuse me, jaunt to Paris. I have done all I can to do so, but it seems no one wants to go with me. And I have not (yet) considered going alone. It is just a desire, like going to some out-of-the-way island in the Pacific. I don’t care how long it takes to get there — I like traveling.

so i did what i could:

put Paris in both of my novels. It’s where one novel ends and where the main character in another realizes something important, yet not enough to see it. Actually, she also went to a Pacific island. =) I think there’s no room for Paris in the novel I’m currently writing.

my first trip overseas was to milan, italy

and I had a connection through Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. Does that count? No. For three reasons — one almost unbelievable. First: it was only an airport, not Paris itself. Second: my flight got delayed for hours (four to five hours). I was on my way to meet my new employer in Germany and did not want to miss the connecting flight, hours away as it was,

so i stayed close to the departing gate

I didn’t even meander! Which is a favorite thing of mine to do. Third: I had a book with me, which I read the entire time I was at the airport. Half a year later, I might have taken a chance and gotten in a taxi to have a look, but I was a newbie and (obviously) had a good book. I have remembered for a long time what book it was, but

it evades me at this moment

I have had Paris as a post topic, secretly wishing I’d write about it after going, and every time I see a cool photograph of Paris, I save it. Can’t take one, right? So in the middle of winter, between snowstorms and ice and fog, I think about Paris. And travel. And post.