A belated Gong Xi Fa Cai to all! I spent my Lunar New Year in Paris and just got back, still jet-lagged. Before you read on, be warned that this post is riddled with complaints; in fact, my first ‘whining’ piece (imagine the suppression:-)), so bear with me. To be frank, every trip to Paris unfailingly leaves me with jumbled sentiments. While the city is resplendently beautiful, the people witty and tasteful, the food (especially cheese and beef) incomparable, my actual accommodation itself, thanks to you-know-who is pure purgatory. I jest not — envisage utter dilapidation, complete with paint peeling off the walls, tacky tables covered with starched, holey bath towels, hideous ornaments, mattress and pillows designed to produce more body aches than rest, and finally, a freezing kitchen and bathroom sans heater (it was -3 to 10 degrees last week). I do not expect Four Seasons’ type of lodging, but neither do I look forward to something reminiscent of an abandoned old folks’ home. If you, like me, appreciate aesthetics and is remotely home-proud, you would comprehend what I mean when I confess that every nook and cranny of the lodging assaults me, as much as everything else about the city charms me. Why stay specifically there then? Let’s just say, it’s one of those compromises one has to suffer for love. Ah…





































