I just bought travelers cheques to pay my Parisian rent. In five days, Madame Vier, my landlord, will be expecting me to sign them over to her for the rest of my first-month’s rent, the security deposit, and the last month’s rent. (I’ll also have to pay telephone and electricity charges.) With the dollar down to 72 cents to the euro, the amount of US dollars I had to pay to buy all those euros was numbing. I stood at the Wells Fargo teller’s window and signed my name 48 times on those cheques. The dollar’s way down: what a terrible time to go to Paris.
But one son is taking care of the house during the fall, a season of low household maintenance. My youngest son just started college and seems to be doing fine. Another son is able to take time off work to visit me, and my husband will join me for ten days. I’m taking a semester off from graduate school, my health is good, I have great walking shoes, my flights were free, three girlfriends are coming to stay with me, we’re not in the middle of moving the household, and this trip is a gift for my upcoming 60th birthday. It’s a great time to go to Paris.
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