All the time in the world

One of the great luxuries of being new in town is that you have nothing to do. There are no piano lessons, no swim meets, no dinner parties – only white space on your calendar as far as the eye can see.

Even in a boring city, this is bound to change, but in Paris the change is accelerated. My once pristine calendar is now a mass of illegibly-written entries. It’s Thursday and I haven’t had a single relaxing, sip coffee at home morning yet this week.

On the other hand, I have wine-tasted, learned how to make blanquette au veau, gone to fencing and music classes, and so forth and so on. Maybe Americans are just genetically not up to the challenge of sustaining la dolce vita.