From Paris with love.

Two days in the City of Light.

June 18^th, 2024

Paris, France

The view from one of Paris’ many bridges.

“Every time I look down on this timeless town, whether blue or grey be her skies,

Whether loud be her cheers or whether soft be her tears,

More and more do I realize…I love Paris”

- I Love Paris, by Cole Porter

Dear Reader,

How to describe being back in Paris, the city of my formative years, after a long absence?

The city itself does not seem to have changed. It still moves me to cross one of her many bridges, and behold the sky above whether crying with rain as it did this morning, or washed with sun…

But before I go on about Paris, I do want to give you a brief account of my solo drive to Salta a few days ahead of my departure.

The drive through Cafayate took a mere four hours. Yet I was by no means speeding. The roads must have been particularly good. It could also be that I’m more used to them.

On the way, I picked up three sets of hitchhikers. The first was a lady going from a little house in a village I can’t recall the name of to San Carlos, about a thirty-minute ride. Just before San Carlos, the dirt roads end and you cross over to paved territory.

We conversed, and she asked where I was coming from.

“La Arcadia”, I said.

“Ah. Is Antonio still capataz”, she asked? “He’s family.”

“Well, no”, I said. “There’s a new guy in charge.”

“Oh? What’s his name? I used to know just about everyone there.”

“Pedro”, I said, and gave her his last name.

“Nope”, she said, shaking her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Oh well, it’s been a long while since I’ve been over there.”

We passed through San Rafael. A group of people was walking slowly behind a silver Toyota Hilux pickup truck. As we passed them, I looked over and saw that there was a coffin in the back of the truck. It was a funeral procession.

“A sad business”, my passenger commented.

Without encouragement, she went on.

“The man who died was missing for six days before they found him in San Carlos. He’d been on a drinking spree, and must have wandered into the woods, because they found him just outside of San Carlos, frozen to death in the night.”

“Goodness”, I said.

“Yes. A sad business. Well, this is me.” She indicated the square. “Que le vaya muy bien.” May all go well.

She got out, and I went on.

A little later, I spotted a woman with a wrinkled face, wearing a skull cap, and carrying a couple of cloth bags. She stuck her thumb out. I pulled up.

“Where to?”, I asked.

“Only to La Viña,”, she said, “about 10 kilometers from here”.

The woman had extraordinarily straight and even teeth which seemed out of keeping with her deeply lined face and knarled hands. She was pretty, and had a sparkle to her eyes as she spoke.

Another woman hustled up beside her.

“And can my sister-in-law come too?” asked the old woman.

“Sure”, I said. “Get in.”

The women pulled themselves up into the truck.

“Vamos a hacer compras, no mas”, offered the woman with the straight teeth. They were going to make some purchases.

“Oh”, I said. “And there’s no bus?”

“Well, there is, but it already passed. It comes by just once a day in the morning and then comes back through in the afternoon.”

At La Viña, they got off.

“Que Dios le bendiga”, said the old woman. May God bless you.

A few paces ahead I saw a couple of middle-aged women wearing white smocks. One of them put her thumb out.

I braked and rolled down my window. I was beginning to feel like an expert in hitchhiking services.

“Where are you going to?”, I asked.

“To Cerillos”, said the first woman in the smock. “Or to the city”, she ventured.

“That’s where I’m going,” I said. “Get in”.

The lady who’d spoken to me first sat in front, and her companion in the back. Both seemed around the same age, in their mid-forties. Their names were Cynthia and Rita.

“We’re teachers”, said the talkative lady sitting shotgun.

“Oh? And is this how you usually get to work?”, I asked.

“Yes”, said the lady, laughing. “The bus is too expensive. And our salaries so small.”

“So you’ll hitchhike back again in the evening?”

“Yes”, she said.

In the city I let them off. It had been pleasant to have the company on the drive.

When I arrived in Paris a few days later, I felt as though I’d traveled through some strange time warp. My new surroundings seemed almost unreal. Gone were the avocados for sale on the side of the road out of the back of a pick-up truck, the old women with bags wanting a ride, and the scooters carrying small families zipping by on the street.

Instead, ladies sat in cafés with little dogs on their laps, chic men in suits hurried into black cabs, and pretty mothers dropped their nicely dressed little children off at school.

Paris, the city of light, the city of love, one of the chicest cities in the world, was my new location.

In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve eaten marbled foie gras, drunk a Perrier - menthe, taken both the Metro and a few taxis, seen my old girlfriends, and best of all, been reunited with my parents - Bill and Elizabeth - and my younger brother Henry.

Marbled foie gras.

Perrier - Menthe.

Here we are at dinner last night.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah