When I travel plan, my brain sorts out an itinerary from degrees of overly ambitious to still-quite-busy but at least you have time to sleep. None of it’s impossible, but your dominos need to be lined up just so to make it work. But this long weekend in Rome demanded a slower, no stress sort of experience.
Does Paris get better with age? Or based on how many times you’ve visited before? I realized I have stories and ghosts and friends that peek out around the other tourists, like little secrets between me and the city. It’s boundless, this Paris, in both good and daunting ways.