Forty Years Is a Long Time

The year I lived in Rouen, 1983-84, I attended the Lycee Privee Rey pour les filles, a private high school in downtown Rouen near the train station. I made friends with a girl in my class, who introduced me to the Cafe Donjon, where we ate lunch every day with two other friends of hers, Isabelle and Herve. I lost touch with all of them after I left, but about ten years ago Herve found me online, and we've been pen pals ever since. So when I decided to come to France, I let him know I was coming. We worked out our travel plans to have a few hours in Paris together, and we met for lunch near the Gare de Lyon.

Forty years is a long time to go without seeing someone -- I'm not sure I would have recognized Herve on the street -- but once we started talking, Herve was just the same person I'd befriended all those years ago. It was odd and also wonderfully reassuring to feel so comfortable with someone who was, in many respects, a total stranger: a 60-year old man who'd been married for thirty years, parented a grown daughter and had a long career as a teacher... three hours wasn't really anywhere near enough time to catch up, but it was lovely, and a wonderful way to revive an old friendship.

I said goodbye to Herve, and boarded the TGV for Marseille. This was the last part of my visit with people I already knew; from here on out, I will be traveling completely solo, for the first time in decades -- I'm nervous, but also excited.