Of course, it doesn't seem like 7 months since I left Columbus for Paris. Time always passes quickly for the traveler, and I apologize to all those I haven't written to of late, and send 'un grand bissou' to everyone in the dance department.

Living in Paris is full of sublime moments, and these come in two flavors. the first is absolute bewilderment: your first visit to the courtyard of the Louvre, walking across the Seine as the bells of Notre Dame peel out across the city, or sitting at the city music museum listening to a 400 year old bass viol play Bach. These are moments that affirm the fact that I'm in Paris, that could never happen elsewhere, and at the same time, moments that make me feel most poinantly the fact that I am so far away from the people and places I knew before. The second type of sublime moments are absolutely humbling, usually involving me not being able to find the word for "safety pin" or "toothbrush" in french, just at the moment when I need it. Like health, most of us take the ability to communicate for granted until it's gone.

Language is one of the most dramatic differences about living here. Coming from a world where everyone speaks the same tongue, it's quite a change to hear Italian, German, Spanish, Chineese, French and half a dozen other languages when walking around town. Especially impressive is the number of people here who speak two or three languages fluently. I still have problems with English.

But balancing the difficulty with the language are new delights, such as the bevvy of new deserts available. Patisseries overflow with dangerous constructions of fruit, butter and cream. The bakery I frequent for lunch has a pact with the devil that enables them to produce unequaled combinations of pears and chocolate. And in the big city, the variety of food is outstanding. Within 4 blocks of my house are french, chineese, indian, thai, spanish, vietnamese and north african restaurants. And if you need someone to taut the virtues of the traditional french junk food, thecrêpe, talk to anyone who's visited Paris before.

Similarly, the number of things to do is overwhelming. There are a constant barrage of music concerts to go to, the ballet and touring modern dance troups beg to be seen, half a dozen circuses winter in Paris, and then there are the museums. Over 100, full of everything from primitive african art to the moderns, from Vermeer to VanGough.

Montmartre, where I live, is exactly what I thought all of Paris was like. Six floor apartment buildings lining winding cobblestone streets that are always either wet with morning mist, or glistening with sun. They follow winding paths around old quarries, and lead to Sacre Coeur, the famous church, at the top of the hill. Also hidden on the slopes are the last vinyard in Paris, the Moulin Rouge, windmills, a host of fabric shops, and the previous residences of VanGough, Serat, Renoir and Picasso. Two blocks from my house is one of the finest collection of green grocers, florists, wine merchants, bakeries and chocolate shops in Paris. And just beyond that, Paris's best selection of prostitutes and sex shops. LetŐs say that it would be hard to go hungry here, no matter what your appetite was for.

My apartment isn't fancy, the highlight is a bathroom that was apparently constructed by a dyslexic dwarf (tiny, with reversed hot and cold water). On the bright side, the hot water heater has a mind of it's own, which makes morning showers an adventure, and some of the best croissants and pain au chocolat in town are just down the street.