Paris, please

From the train window - a French village flashes by

Where the TGV from Montpellier pulls in - the plain, humble little Gare de Lyon.

Left Lynn's at 8.45 a.m. to walk to the station ten minutes away; the TGV - the high speed train - left exactly on time at 9.27 and arrived exactly on time at 12.45. To the minute. I walked across from the station and got on the #91 bus, using the tickets I bought here two years ago, still good, and got off two blocks from the apartment. Access codes, key, and I'm in, 47 rue Claude Bernard, my maison away from home.

Got unpacked, bought groceries, and then went to see the grand old lady, to be sure I was really here. Yes, I am.

Something weird is happening to the Pantheon - there's a growth on top. Renovations.

 There's a real vintage store on the Boulevard St. Michel, full of French people buying funky second-hand clothes. Or at least looking. How times change.

I've had supper - pasta and wine (an $8 Cotes de Rhone, delicious) and my new favourite cheese (St. Marcellin, superb) and now am going to drift gently into this good night. It was chilly today here but not raining. The apartment is as ever amazingly quiet. My favourite street, the rue Mouffetard, was closed today - it's Monday. But tomorrow the market will be in full swing and so will I. I have finally landed, after the frenzy of the last few weeks. Now I'm here and need just to sit and do absolutely nothing except write to you.

Shocking, sad results of the French election yesterday - an increase in votes for the far right, racist Front National. At the Linda McCartney show I talked to that teacher of the kids from Beziers - well, their parents voted Front National in record numbers, as did people in the gorgeous city of Avignon. Very frightening.

However, if I have a hot bath, read a book and go to bed, I can forget all about it.