That World Elsewhere

A great traveller (in distinction to a merely good one) is a kind of introspective; as she covers the ground outwardly, so she advances towards fresh interpretations of herself inwardly.— Lawrence Durrell

The woman whose place we were to rent in Paris contacted me to ask whether, after yet another terrible year, we still intended to visit her city. I had looked online at the pictures of her home, a former artist’s residence, which had book-filled shelves, an outdoor courtyard, and walls hung with musical instruments, cooking utensils, and posters of paintings. This is a house I long to visit, and I have pictured myself making coffee and gazing out the large windows that overlook her small ­garden. In some ways, I have already been there, having imagined myself visiting a local shop for bread and eating in a nearby restaurant. The excitement of searching for the property provided me with an uncommon thrill, the...