There was a time in my life, too many years ago, when Paris meant France and France meant Paris.
As a French teacher in the USA in the 1980s, I took a number of trips to France, including a 6-week stay in Paris on a Rockefeller Foundation Grant. My French stays always included at least a week in la capitale -- and preferably many more. By 1989, I felt much more at home in Paris than Seattle, even though the Emerald City was only 60 miles from my home town.
Sure, I had visited parts of la province, all of which somehow felt parenthetical compared to the big city.
I had even spent four months as a student at the now-defunct "Stanford in Tours" campus -- only a few hours from Paris by train, by the way, even before the TGV. In those heady days of Eurail Pass train travel, my friends and I would sometimes "hop up" to enjoy a Parisian dinner. We would leave Tours at about 5pm, get to Paris just in time to eat, and catch a midnight-ish train back.
I moved to France in 1990, with visions of Paris dancing in my head. Not that I necessarily wanted to set up house and home there... but if I had spent months in Paris while living in the USA, I was certainly going to be heading there all the time...wasn't I?
Or was I?
What do you think?