On Thursday I walked the path of the some of the bright lights of literature, looking for the actual places they lived while in Paris.
I found George’s house.
And I found the hotel in which Oscar died—a five star hotel, which he couldn’t afford.
Then, of course, I lunched in their spirit at Cafe Flore, where they all hung out once upon a time when it was a much more humble spot. I also met some lovely Swiss people who were on a river boat cruise to Honfleur.
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