A friend is planning a trip to Paris with her husband in September.
I am, of course, jealous. Whenever I talk to someone who’s planning a great trip, I want to say, “Why don’t you stay home and I’ll go? I promise to send you a postcard and bring you back something nice.”
I do love to travel, and I really like Paris. (By the way, the French don’t hate us. They like us, and they love our money. I think they’d appreciate it if we simply tried to speak their language. They’re not looking for fluency, just a modest effort, which is not much to ask.)
For god’s sake Gerry, get to the point, will you?
OK, OK. She showed me the web site for a hotel outside Paris she’d like to stay at for a couple of days. I looked at the picture, and couldn’t believe I heard myself saying, “We’ve been there. 1992.”
Really, what are the odds? All I could think of was Humphrey Bogart’s great line in Casablanca: “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”
The truth is, I was as pleased as I was amazed. It made me feel like a seasoned, accomplished traveler (even though it’s my wife who spends hours making the plans.)
I know my friend and her husband will have a great trip. As for us, we have no great adventures planned right now.
But I can’t wait until we get there, wherever it is.