I completed the final activity, meditating in a room full of plants and cushions, and headed out. As I entered the metro, I got stuck in the turnstile and a rude Parisian behind me said “Allez!” in a gravelly impatient voice and pushed me forward. I only realized later, on the train, that my cell phone was missing and that he must have grabbed it from my purse while I was caught in the turnstile and distracted.
No matter. I made a mental note to stop and see the apartment owner, who lived nearby, to ask if I can use her cell phone to call my husband and alert him about the theft. I didn’t mind that I’d be off the radar until my plane landed back home the next day. I exited the metro and strolled along the Seine toward the spot by the Louvre where I could catch a bus that would take me to the apartment. I reveled in the loveliness of the twilight scene. The string of artfully designed bridges, their lights casting out rays that shone like jewels in the water. The stands of the book stalls were closed, because almost all the city’s stores close at 6 pm. The old Parisian cream-colored buildings, each adorned with unique iron grillwork at the windows. A couple greeting each other with smiles and a warm embrace. My real life could wait another day for my return.