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  • Writer's picturevanessavecellio

Paris in the winter.

I had been concerned that I would descend into greyness like the rugged mountains here, so after three days, I had planned a trip to Paris. By overnight train. In a compartment for one. Because I was so anxious. A necessary extravagance for a fragile being such as myself. I was shown to my cabin. Continuing the life of the rich and famous, on a table was a small bottle of #Prosecco, some snacks, juice, a magazine and an organza bag of bathing items. I wondered why until the steward showed me a mini bathroom! I settled in, listening to Mumford & Sons as the train pulled out of Venice station and into the night. From then on, every time I listen to that album, I am transported back to that evening.

The steward returned to make up my bed and to enquire as to what I'd like for breakfast. Yes, I know, the luxury of it all! I stare into the night, stations flash by - #Padova, #Verona, #Milano; iconic Italian towns. We stop every now and then and at Brescia, I see a beautiful African woman reclining on a bench, Matisse like, her hair wrapped in a brightly coloured turban, leaning on her elbow. I wonder where she's going or if she will sleep there, calm and resolute; unlike me in my cabin of anxiety. Because it still threads through me as I eventually try to sleep, without success. I end up taking a sleeping tablet.

I awake to shutters coloured coral from the sunrise. I open them and look out at the bare branches silhouetted against a big fat morning sun, mists pearling on waterways. I am served the lightest of croissants or cornetti in Italian, the centre oozing with chocolate cream, washed down with a macchiato and a juice.

I hear the Italian name of #Paris, #Parigi being broadcast and I am welcomed into France and step off at #Gare de Lyon station, built in 1900. It's magnificent. And as always in #France, there is a piano, and as always, there is someone playing it. Outside the winter sun is waking the city. The last time I was here, was thirty years ago with my late husband, in the midst of summer. I think I am going to like Paris better in the winter. I take a taxi and head to my garret hotel room.

The woman, the sunrise. #blendeditor





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