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Travel Piece  by Ida Nasatir

Letter from Paris,  by Ida Nasatir,  May 25, 1951

May 25, 1951—Ida Nasatir, "A Letter from Paris," Southwestern Jewish Press, page 8:  May 14, 1951; Dearest Julia and Mac: Even the dullest soul is moved by the sight and the memory of Paris in the Spring. A million words and many more books have been poured out on the subject (Some day some enterprising but terrible person will make a complete list of all these books and songs, and in that not-to-be desired day it will be found that if heaped in one vast pile, they will dwarf the Great Pyramid). One feels a guilty pang at adding yet another thought to the great accumulated pile, yet, it is spring and it is Paris.  What makes this city so captivating that old friends return year after year, and newcomers can hardly hold themselves back after landing in France? There are other cities as ancient, covered with the dust of legend; there are other capitols which are eye pleasers, other mademoiselles which are eye teasers. There are sidewalk cafes in other European cities; elegant parks and gardens are not peculiar to Paris alone, and indeed her prices are far more expensive than those of Austria or Spain. So what is it that makes Paris Paris? If you don  a beret and join the ever increasing rank of Mr. and Mrs. U.S. Tourist, if you stay in Paris a week or a year, you will come away with your answer. You will snap photos of the Arc de Triomphe, you will gape at Sacre-Couer. High on a hill, you will enjoy the "Flea Market" bargains and watch the Paris can-can girls at the Montmartre cabarets. You'll curse the cab drivers, who never seem to be going in your direction; you'll swear to yourself when, upon being shown your seat in the movie, the usherette will stand there waiting for her "porboire" (tip); you'll say to yourself that you have never been to a dirtier hotel or that Paris is as black as Pittsburg; you'll blink twice at the prices in the tourist night clubs and restaurants, and you'll moan a million and one times before leaving the city that you'll never come back.  You'll love seeing the towering Eiffel Tower and the majestic Place de la Concorde. "Look at the Champs-Elysees and its wonderful boulevards," you'll say. "Why didn't we think of that in San Diego." And the sidewalk restaurants where you will sit for hours over one drink of coffee and watch the world go byu--you will tell all your friends back home about that mammoth Notre Dame cathedral, and the endless bookstalls along the beautiful Seine, where you can buy almost anything from a Picasso Print to a medal for a mother bearing six children. You'll never forget your visit at 3 a.m. to Les Halles, "Paris's breadbasket," where you will rub shoulders with workmen, bringing in the produce to feed the city's millions, while you'll be having onion soup and red wine. You'll take your husband to the Christian Dior and Jacques Fath fashion shows, you'll "oooh and ahhh" over the exquisite inimitable French originals, each one more lovely than the other.  Spring and its blossoming breath will whirl your Paris adventure into departure before you have time to learn how to say "Qu-est-ce que c'est ca?" and you know what? You'll want to come back. Because Paris, of all the cities in the world, especially Paris in the spring, is everybody's home. It has a magic name that somehow spells out all the wickedness and at the same time all the loveliness of mankind.  Fondly, Ida Nasatir.