Those who don’t live in Paris (but dream of it) often have little empathy when expats whine about needing to get out of the city. Skipping town for a day or even a weekend becomes a pressing need for me in a few key contexts: a particularly stressful stretch of time, related to any variety of factors – professional, bureaucratic, interpersonal; the realization that I can no longer remember how much time has passed since the last time I felt close to nature (usually triggered by an annual spike in pollution levels); or some form of discomfiting change.
The photo above, of Les Etangs (ponds) du Corot in Ville d’Avray, was taken mid-August on one such getaway precipitated by the loss of our sweet cat. From the moment we learned she was ill in the beginning of the year, we knew it would be challenging to commit to any concrete travel plans. When I went to New York in June, my husband stayed in Paris. When he took a week to rock climb, I stayed with her. And that went on for seven months, right up to the end. That we lost her two days before our wedding anniversary cast a particularly…
