My Very Frahnce Trip To France, 1998

Or was it very France?

In 1998 I was 29, and living in New York, and wanted more than anything in the world to go to Paris. As luck would have it, my friend Natasha called me up one day. Natasha was slightly older than me and very chic. She was working at a guide book company and had to review some hotels and restaurants in Paris. Did I want to go there with her for five days? I’d have to buy my airline ticket, but much of the rest of it would be free. I bought a ticket as soon as we hung up.

France started working its charms on me before I even got there. It was so admirable how most of the people on board our JFK-CDG red-eye refused to smile automatically when our eyes met. So many unfamiliar perfumes mingling in the darkness! Daylight bloomed in an instant, and suddenly there were croissants everywhere, bobbing past at eye level.

We took the RER into the city. “AHR-EE-AHR,” I said, practicing an accent. “EHR-EU-EHR,” Natasha, who had lived in Paris for a few years, corrected me. “EHR-EU-EHR,” I repeated for the whole 34 minute ride to the Gare du Nord, which was marvelous, and the ten minute walk to our hotel, a dump that I liked for being in France. The walls were the color of Grey Poupon and so was the muslin bedspread on the lumpy bed, which I eyed with drowsy interest. Paris would still be there after a…