For the past eight years–my God, that’s a long time–I’ve spent an inordinate amount of my time in airports. First it was Boston-NY, the shuttle that I could buy from a machine…
Author: emiglia
Corn and Basil Pasta
I am an eternal optimist. You may not believe me; at first glance, I seem to be pretty good at complaining, and while I have taken this French pasttime to heart–I can…
Consular Adventures: A Novella
In both my city of birth and my adopted city, it is generally frowned upon to publicly display any emotion aside from rage (in the case of my city of birth) or…
3 Perfect Days in Paris
The other day, I got an e-mail from a friend of mine from my days in Cannes, asking for Paris recommendations for a long weekend to give to some friends of hers….
Writing musings and tuna fish
Most of the time, I love my job. Sure, I often have to write articles about things that I really, really don’t care about, but I know that if I go to…
The Hampton Jitney, the stars and Turkish Salad
“You don’t know how to live with people!” my sister says in a somewhat exasperated tone of voice. While most of the things that my sister says in an exasperated tone of…
Flashback to San Sebastian
Sometimes, people happen to be interested in really useful things, like my ex, the Parisian, who was really, genuinely interested in fixing computers. So much so that it didn’t even bother him…
Coq au vin and coming home
My first morning in Paris (OK, my most recent “first morning in Paris”) was tinged with excitement and nerves: I took the RER C from Breuillet into the city–a trip that used…
Apartment Hunting and Brussels Sprouts
Apartment hunting is definitely not my favorite kind of shopping. I mean, sure, it’s fun if you have all the time in the world or all the money in the world, but…
Homesick
It’s four o’clock in the morning, and I’ve slept two hours. I don’t have my contact lenses in, but I can’t be bothered to find any. Instead, I just pad down the…