Three fragments of love

“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.” 
― Ernest HemingwayA Moveable Feast

La grande roue seen from the other side, the literary side, of the Seine

I was lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a youngish woman, and it has possibly ruined me forever for any other city.

I recall it like an ex-lover, in the soft glow of unfaithful memory where minute details – two crooked front teeth, a mole on the inside of the right ear – are clearly etched but the face, the voice, the reason we broke up, escape me.

Fontaine Wallace in red at Porte de Versailles. The four caryatids represent kindness, simplicity, charity and sobriety. 

Paris comes to me now in snatches of colour, in a familiar scent that disappears as soon as I notice it, in a wandering tune and most of all, in a taste.

Artisan dark chocolates laced with passion fruit and ginger, each branded A Night of Love. This is Paris.


Missing Paris


My first spring peonies, 2011, Paris.

It’s Spring today. Not here in the tropics but in Paris, it would be… still cold and damp but with a palpable increase of possibility.