I was supposed to wake up, after a long night of dancing with Jo, in Stockholm. But the European rail system, which I’ve always lauded and used as a comparison to mock America’s system, foiled my weekend plans. My train was canceled so I missed my flight and now, instead of catching up with my girl, sampling freshly baked bulle (buns), mazarin (cake) and kanelbullar (cinnamon rolls) and seeing the incredible Amy Cutler at the Magnus Karlsson Gallery this weekend, I am here, in Paris. I know there are worse fates, but I hate dashed plans.
I tried to motivate last night to go out but I couldn’t. Three and a half days of blitzing through Brussels’ chocolate scene actually exhausted me. Blimped me out. Made me weary, woozy and slow. So I took advantage of the terrace and sat with the herbs and flowers and finished Garlic and Sapphires while gazing across the city to Le Pantheon.
Then I slept for over 10 hours. And awoke to a beautiful sunny day. I’m going to see old friends and visit old haunts tonight. And enjoy another lucky day in Paris.