Have you ever heard a song that made you feel a strange nostalgia for a time and place that you couldn't have possibly known? Many years ago, I was sitting at the bar of a New York nightclub that was in a basement much like the original Stage Door Canteen had been during WWII. I was having a drink before going to see a play in a 44th Street theater, I forget what the play was. The place was very much like the Stage Door Canteen had been, at least it resembled the photographs I had seen that dated from the time of the War. Like the Stage Door Canteen, this place also had a small stage tucked away in a corner and simple tables and booths that filled the roughly 40 by 80 feet of space which was the same amount of space the Stage Door Canteen had had. In spite of the fact that the barman told me that the place has recently opened, it had an old-fashioned atmosphere, and was smokey (people still smoked in enclosed spaces in those days) and noisy as the Stage Door Canteen must have

The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.   Gilbert K. Chesterton There's nothing like a bit of adverse adventure to get to know a city. Want to know what a city is like for those who live there? Get into trouble. We went out to dinner, that first night I was in Paris. The restaurant was on the Rue Croix des Petits Champs. It is probably not there anymore. It was a bistro, with small tables and a smokey atmosphere (they used to smoke in restaurants in those day) but, the food was very good. It was a cheerful dinner. My friend had invited people that were in rehearsals with her in Peter Brook's adaptation of The Mahabharata, with a script by the famous Jean-Claude Carriere. So, the conversation was lively in French, Spanish, and English. One of the actors who was Greek, sang and Jean-Claude told funny stories about the time when he worked with Luis Buñuel in films such as "Belle de Jour." After the dinner ended, I walked

Darling, I think that your unshakeable belief in the goodness of humankind is what keeps you safe and happy. It is my melancholic distrust in Humanity that sometimes makes me so unhappy. Today I walked 10 kilometers going to the bank, going to the INAPAM office to get my Older Persons discount card issued so I could claim some small benefits and discounts, and finally I went to the Social Security Hospital to inquire about getting a duplicate of my all important Social Security card, which I lost three days ago. I found getting a duplicate such a hassle that I gave up and walked home deciding that I would try again when I was less tired. On the way back I again looked down at the streets and walkways, retracing my route in the hope that I might find my SS card on the pavement somewhere. But, nothing doing! I would see a paper or piece of white cardboard and I would rush to pick it up only to find that it was just trash. People looked at me as if I was demented. But, as

1. The ride into town Everything you have heard about Parisian waiters is no longer true. The days of the rude, snobbish Parisian waiter are over. They now realize there is a lot of money to be made from the tourist if you treat them well. But, everything you have ever heard about Parisian taxicab drivers IS true: they are reckless, belligerent, aggressive, and rude. They have not changed a bit since the day I first saw Paris. As soon as I got off the plane, I called a friend--a girl I had met in New York--and told her I was in town. She gave me her address on the Rue d'Argout on the Second Arrondissement. But in those days, I could neither pronounce the name of the street nor had I any idea that Paris was divided into twenty districts called "Arrondissements." I rushed out of Charles De Gaulle Airport only half understanding where I was going. And, still groggy from the liters of alcohol I had drank on the flight and in Amsterdam, I got into the first cab I saw.

1. Getting there That title is an homage to that melancholic movie "The Last Time I Saw Paris," which is loosely based on a story by and the life of F. Scott Fitzgerald. I love that sappy, melodrama. I must have seen it a dozen times. But, let me tell you about the first time I saw Paris. It was in the days when one considered air travel--especially trips across the Atlantic--as great adventures. One dressed up to travel then: I wore a suit and tie, as did most of men when they flew somewhere, and women dressed as if they were going to a party. I flew into Mexico City the night before the flight to Europe and stayed in a fashionable hotel on Reforma Avenue. It was a quarter past nine by the time I had settled into my room so I decided to go down to the lobby bar for a drink before I went to bed. I sat on a stool at the bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. (I felt that if I ordered my usual drink, a beer, I'd look like the young "innocent abroad" I wa

  We rent out our house to Parisians during the summer, so we off it to Paris while they’re in our home. I dislike air travel and so does my wife. Thankfully, in France there are more civilized ways of traveling. Trains take more time but we're not in a hurry. A trip to Paris takes a bit more than five hours, but first class is comfortable and quiet, and if you buy tickets for the iDTGV section where mobile phones are prohibited and people behave in a civilized way, one has time to read, write on one’s computer, or just relax and look out into the lovely countryside of France. Driving is not a bad choice either. In France, the motorways are very good, with plenty of nice rest stops, but they are to be avoided in summer, especially in August. So, when we do drive up to Paris we go by the national roads. Our favorite is National 21. It goes up the very center of the country. We go east on A64 until we get to the junction of N21 near Tarbes. Then we turn north and go th