Finally, in 1963, I decided I had to go. I bought a 21-day excursion ticket. I stayed for four months.
I loved all of Europe, but Paris, Paris, Paris. I always came back there.
I’ve since returned a number of times, and it never disappoints. You are dealing with people who are so sure their food, art, fashion, language, women, and everything else is the best in the world. And who’s to say no?
Many people are upset with the French, and Parisians in general, for their impatience with those who do not speak French well. I rather liked it because they were always themselves, they pandered to no one, and since I was one of the imbeciles who were not fluent in French, I was always left alone to work, not accepted, not rejected, but tolerated just enough and ignored just enough to be able to work.
Who could ask for anything more?