Just stepped off the Eurostar at Gare du Nord. What a wonderful place this is. As soon as I arrive in France I always feel suddenly more relaxed and more hopeful.
I’ve spent weeks, months, in France but never feel like I’ve ever really scratched the surface. I adore l’exception française and everything about it that the English are supposed to despise. Instead, maybe we’re simply secretly jealous, just like the French are of us.
And I love the fact that, from here, in Paris, in northern Europe, I could jump on a TGV and be at the Mediterranean by nightfall; that the bread is fresh; that the passengers embrace each other; that the gestures are so expressive.
It’s almost 11 years now since I was here when France won the World Cup in their own country. For the natives, their passion for football might now have returned to its original level. For me, my love of their country remains as strong.
To my favourite little Moroccan restaurant tonight – l’Homme Bleu, and Burgundy in the morning.