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I recently read a very good novel recommended to me by Vincent, called Paradise News. The author is David Lodge, an Englishman whose work is not very well known in the States. Vincent’s read all his stuff; this was my first. A disillusioned theologian living in a dingy industrial town in England is at a turning point in his life and finds himself in Hawaii. One of the themes of the book is how people are sold the concept of paradise. The author draws some really funny parallels between religion and tourism that were suddenly so glaringly obvious that I was ashamed that I’d never thought of them before. Good book; subtle and delightful.

I grew up in paradise (San Diego, Guam, Hawaii). Tropical climates, palm trees, year-round flowers, bright colors, the glorious Pacific Ocean… But there I was, always longing to live in France. I guess the grass is always greener…

And here I am in Paris, happy as can be, despite the fact that sometimes the only green you can see has Vigilance Propreté written on it. Fortunately, every few months we drive a couple of hours north to spend a few days in luscious rural Normandy, where we get a therapeutic dose of serene and green.

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However, I do get a rather severe tropical jones from time to time. The good news is I’m closer to paradise now than I’ve ever been. It’s actually only three hours away. We spent last weekend in Provence, in a tiny medieval hilltop village called Biot. We also spent a couple of hours in Antibes, which is ten minutes from Biot on the Côte d’Azur. It’s France and San Diego.

Honey, I’m home.

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