How long is too long? The sensation hits me of how good it feels not being sure where home is anymore: here or there. Proof that the past weeks have been a true change of scenery.
After a long summer holiday and a 12 hour return drive from Madrid to Paris I am standing in front of the main entrance to our lovely Haussmann building - symbol of the 19th century - wondering how to enter: I cannot for the life of me remember the door code!
Hoisting all my luggage onto the landing after having squeezed myself into the minuscule wooden elevator, I fish for the apartment keys at the very bottom of my handbag, between the sunglasses and the Spanish fan.
I recognize the familiar cracking of the paquet floor as I step through the door. I open the window and look on to the beautiful buildings all around but cannot see any pools or sandy beaches. I look down over my balcony railing to see people rushing up and down the road, cars honking and someone complaining so loudly I can hear him up to the 5th floor.
The good news is: it's not raining!
So, Paris, what are we doing together this year?
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