I had repeatedly heard tales of the vicious Parisian rudeness toward foreigners, especially Americans who made insincere or at least faulty and incompetent attempts at communication in French.  Now I am a very sincere person but my French has serious faults.  Yet, the Parisians I encountered were delightfully playful and patient.  They understood, or acted … More Rude Parisians

  Within seconds of picking up the Autostrada ticket, Eva had her Renault Twingo, which is French for “rolling coffin,” up to 140 kph.  I had voiced surprise when she suggested such a long drive at 10 pm on a school night.  I figured it would take almost an hour and a half to make … More Tender is the Night

  The bus dropped me in the middle of Saint Jean-de-Luz at one end of the three-day Festival Andalou.  There were aperitifs and tapas and overture des Casetas.  There were dances espangnoles and ambiance flamenca.  Several towns had gathered under tents on the boardwalk next to the quiet, flat bay.  It was a warm spring … More I Can Hear the Mermaids Singing, Each to Each

The hillside town of Casole d’Elsa above Zito’s farmhouse had been Nazi area headquarters. From my corner table on the patio just outside the kitchen door, I could hear the incessant pop of gunshots in the surrounding fields. The peaceful farmland contrasted with the noise of destruction and I hazily wondered if the sounds were … More Tuscan Sun. Venetian Moon