I finally arrived in Paris after a chaotic transfer through Joburg. Why did I think it wouldn't be a big deal to travel during the World Cup?
I sat next to a French lady living in South Africa. We started chatting (Almost always a mistake. I hate chatting to strangers on an airplane.) and she asked me, "Why do you like Paris?" I was a bit flustered because I thought it was universally accepted that Paris is a lovely place to live or visit. I stammered on about food and wine not really knowing how to convince someone of an obvious fact. She delved into my past and came up with the idea that I am an artist and that is why I love Paris. I kept on telling her I was not, in fact, an artist but she wouldn't accept this. "You must do something artistic..." As if only artists could possibly love this place. But before we took off she sent a text message to a man named Roy and I spied a bit, sneaky-sneaky like. Suffice it to say they are going through a rough patch and this lady is feeling "drained" and "depleted" by Roy and doesn't know if she can continue seeing him. So perhaps her love-loss clouded her mind from any joy in returning to the land of plenty-of-fois-gras-and-croissants-and-beauty-everywhere.
I'm just waiting for Katy to arrive. I want to pick up some croissants and coffee for breakfast when she arrives.
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