I have traveled widely around the world and generally my wanderings are pleasant. But arriving at the French border equates to a sense of absolute security for me.
When I explain this to friends, most of them don’t understand. A cousin of mine living in Germany told me about his experience on a trip to Paris. He told me about the bad condition of the roads, the traffic jams, the lack of cleanliness worthy of a city of such importance, and concluded by saying that he would never return to France.
Paris is not France. Even for its natives, it’s a tired city. For foreigners, it is a psychological washing machine. Paris is magically beautiful, but when you live there, the magic fades. If you are rich, there is no worry about work, money, rent and transportation.
When I had lived there for more than eighteen years, one day suddenly I saw it through the eyes of a French woman who was not a Parisian. It was painful as I stripped it from its surface of lights, bustle, architectural beauty and the magical view of the Seine.
Parisian robots, provincial fun
In my city, magical but located on the Atlantic Ocean, when you board a bus, you greet the driver and he smiles back as a sign of welcome. The same descent goes, where you throw a “Thank you, have a nice day”, To that Sa