To you faithful or passing by, to you whom we discover, every day, with astonished eyes, on the map of our blog, to you who are more and more numerous to browse the articles of this blog throughout the world, I take myself to imagine you…

Friend reader, I imagine you in the heart of Manhattan, sitting on a bench in Central Park. You are walking distractedly through « Britney’s Bouquet » while waiting for a friend who probably won’t come today. You then let yourself be carried away by history.

Friend reader, I imagine you on a platform at the Gare de Lyon. You’re early, as you often are, because you’re always afraid of getting lost between hall 2 and hall 3. The Gare de Lyon, you know every nook and cranny and you could find a tchai tea with your eyes closed. You’re actually enjoying one, while browsing through an article on your smartphone on this early spring morning.

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Friend reader, militant of the ecological cause, I imagine you reading « Another world is possible » on an old computer, bought at the Ressourcerie des Grands Voisins, while guessing about the World after, with some friends at the Base, rue Bichat, close to the Canal St Martin.

Friend reader from Cyprus, I can imagine you reading « Rediscovering Paris out of confinement ». You have printed the text on loose sheets of paper, so that you can read it on the beach, before going for a swim in the Petra Tou Roniou pool, where Aphrodite, the goddess of love, was born.

Friend reader in India, I probably know you and I imagine you sitting under the awning of your house at the end of the path strewn with banana and palm trees. You are watching the monsoon rain fall on the Wayanad, while reading « The story of a wooden spoon… ». You really hope your battery won’t run out before the end of Episode II.

I can also imagine you, in the Backwaters, reading the article with the fishermen, early in the morning, on the beach at Perumpally, at the end of the fish auction.

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And then, I can imagine you sitting in a Moksha Marga park, after accompanying Lucy through the semi-deserted streets of the neighborhood. You ran into a plastic goods store and your neighbor offered you chapatis to eat tonight in front of Netflix. You are there and you are savouring this virtual reunion with Manjula, through the lines written by this French friend you met a few months ago.

Friend reader in Greece, I can imagine you reading « the girl on the balcony goes down to the street ». You are looking for a childhood friend, a good friend, a cousin in the pictures and through the words. Then you scroll through the article in a frenzy, going from one photo to another and you finally find the expression you like so much in her, the one that makes you say no, she hasn’t changed and yes, she is still the same.

Friend reader from Greece, I also imagine you in one of the refugee camps in Lesbos. These hotspots that are a disgrace to Europe and where we are crammed with all those who hope one day to make their lives in the land of freedom, all those who have fled war, misery, global warming and its now obvious damage. You browse this blog in despair of one day getting your sesame for France. These virtual strolls in Paris, bring you a little oxygen and the little hope that you have left to get out of this hell one day and succeed in walking the streets of the capital in real life.

Fellow reader from the United Arab Emirates, I can imagine you in Abu Dhabi, not in this huge airport where we had stopped on our way to Delhi. No, I imagine you at the Al Maqta Bus Interchange on Al Maqta Street. You are waiting for the bus that will take you, as it does every morning, to Sheik Hazza Bin Palace, where you are valet parking. As you browse through the articles in the morning, you always stop at the one that will offer you an early morning stroll through the streets of Essaouira, because that’s where you grew up. So, every morning, before getting on the bus, you fly away with the words and photos in the souk and in the medina. You like when the bus is a few minutes late, it allows you to go to the end of the article and to enjoy the tea offered by Amine in her little shop.

Friend reader from Thailand, I have never met you, but I know you read me from time to time. I like to imagine you in the Khao Sok area. I think it was a passing traveler who introduced you to this blog and you think you recognized his story in the story « a wooden spoon… ». The vegetation around you is luxuriant, you can hear birds and there are some balisier flowers or birds of paradise that you might think are bright red and green parrots.

Friend reader from Portugal, again, I don’t think we’ve ever met unless… I imagine you at dusk zapping from one article to the next while sipping a beer in the Cais do Sodré district. At this time of night, there’s a special atmosphere that reminds you of that singer named Daphne who used to sing the Beatles. Here you have found her thanks to this little blog.

Friend reader of Monaco, you come regularly on the blog since it allowed you to remember an excellent evening with friends, spent at the Certa. You were on a trip to Paris, it was before the confinement. Today, when it is still uncertain to travel, you revel in the newfound atmosphere and enjoy a fish and chips and then a now unforgettable French toast.

Fellow reader from Benin, I hope you’re not one of the people who was kidnapped last night by pirates. If you were, then I want you to know I’ll do everything I can to distract you. I dream of being able to take you beyond the walls of your cell.

Friend reader from Australia, I imagine you sipping a cup of tea with a cloud of milk, while admiring the sunset on the sacred site of Uluru, this imposing monolith, dazzling with a thousand orange colors at sunset time. I wonder what items have come to you and which ones have thrilled you.

Friends readers and friends readers of France, you are so numerous that I have a little difficulty to put you down on paper because I imagine so many different situations, I hesitate a little …

I imagine you browsing the blog, from your little apartment, located near St Michel, while having your breakfast. You are already projecting yourself a little bit in India and these few lines will certainly give you a bit of relief in this period of waiting and turmoil that always precedes the great stages of life.

I can imagine you at night in the hospital, when your patients give you a break and you walk those lines that flicker on your department computer screen.

I imagine you, sitting for once in a train on line 13. You are a faithful reader and you surf on words with emotion, wandering around Paris on the surface through some articles or often staying on the lookout for what makes sense in our lives through some others.

I imagine you in your apartment close to the Bastille, particularly savouring the articles on Essaouira, while from time to time taking a discreet look at the Transavia website, asking you from what date you will be able to return there.

I can imagine you behind the counter at the Certa, tired of the service and carried away by the impulse of this atypical boss who seems to discover something that makes him happy on his smartphone. Then I imagine you trying to read over his shoulder the snippets of this article about the Certa.

I imagine you, on your screens during your lunch breaks, hoping that no one will disturb you during your dream break on this blog.

I imagine you on a train, in a train station, on the terrace of a café, in Paris, in a garden in Touraine, in Toulouse, in Lyon, on the Ile de Ré and I hope to bring you a few minutes of happiness.

Friend reader of Switzerland, I can imagine you well after having managed to manage for the umpteenth time, the departures to school, meals, laundry … resting a few minutes wondering what gives us this desire to travel the world, You who like to be sedentary, in your valley of mountains, you are always surprised by our desire to move and meet so many strangers. Your world is woven of music, of family meals to which you attach a lot of value and that is worth all the gold in the world to you.

Algerian friend, I imagine you browsing articles on the marauding. One of your Parisian friends has told you so much about it that you’re dying to take part in one of these fabulous trips to meet the forgotten people of the city.

Friend reader from the Netherlands, I can imagine you enjoying « The Pen and the Inkwell ». You yourself learned to write with a pen and inkwell and you wonder how such noble tools could inspire such a beautiful love story. Still, you like this story.

Friend reader of Belgium, I imagine that you must live in Bruges, a stone’s throw from the fish market. You’re having fun to see how much these French people appreciate your small town with such a certain charm.

Fellow reader from Reunion Island, I can well imagine you on a mission on the other side of the world to change policies in favour of the poorly housed. We may have worked together for years with the poorly housed, the homeless, the mistreated, the unloved of Paris. We thought about it, we fought battles, we built projects. Now here you are on this little island lost in the middle of the ocean, so every now and then, in the evening, you think back to Paris and relax by daydreaming about these few lines.

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Friend reader from the UK, I imagine you in a room on the first floor of the charming Cadgwith Cove Inn. From your room, you can see the sea and the fishing boats are lined up along the beach, ready to set sail at dawn. You can hear the fishermen below at the pub singing their seafaring songs. You are looking at an article entitled « Facing the Sea » on a shelf that was recently given to you.

I can also imagine you in Notting Hill, that little corner of London paradise made famous by that famous love at first sight. You’re enjoying the no less famous eggplant salad, salsa, tomato and caper salad at Ottolenghiau 63 Ledbury Road. You read the article « remembering beautiful things » and thanks to the flavours of the dish and the tone of the words, you are propelled in no time at all into the heart of Tuscany.

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Friend reader of Morocco, I imagine you because I regularly come across you on Instagram or Whatsapp and I know roughly where you are when you read these lines: you are with some friends, on an idyllic beach, a few kilometres from Essaouira. You’re making a fire, enjoying hummus and skewers. If the wind gets up, you can take shelter in a small cave, carved year after year by the sea’s surf. And as a bonus, there are little lambs and a little kitten with you. Once you have browsed through an article, you will go surfing on the waves and return home at the end of the evening in a charming blue house overlooking the sea.

Friend reader of Canada, I imagine you on the terrace of a café in Montreal’s Latin Quarter sipping berry juice with a maple syrup pancake. You’re chatting with a friend and your accent is so charming that it always brings a smile to our faces. You tell him that your father lives in India and that you read his story on a French woman’s blog.

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Italian friends, I can imagine you, mother and daughter, looking at each other, resting in the shade of the pergola, at the top of the garden, near Umberto’s new kitchen. You have picked up all the organic and ripe tomatoes from your azienda agricola biologica. From where you are, the view over the lagoon of Marta is endless and you can hear Umberto busy in the kitchen to delight the guests who will have the chance to taste at the table of the Cucina di Merlino, his wonderful pasta dishes with freshly picked finocchi flowers. Both of you enjoy browsing through the articles where you recognize these two Frenchmen, who appeared one fine morning on their tandem in the middle of your garden.

Friend reader of Brazil, I hesitate because your country is immense and diverse. Would you be installed in Rio, facing the majestic Sugar Loaf, this immense granite peak, which dominates the city of its roundness at nearly 400 m of altitude?

I like to imagine you, right in the heart of the forest. You’re probably part of the Gavios Indians and you speak Tupi-kawahid. From time to time, foreigners come to support your fight against deforestation. Some time ago, a passing girl gave you an article about Paris. You look at the pictures with such astonishment day after day and wonder how you can live in such a place.

Friend reader from Spain, I imagine you in a flat share with a bunch of Erasmus students in Barcelona. After a good trip among the crowd on the Ramblas, you now give yourselves a well-deserved break, the five of you sitting on the famous mosaic bench in the Parc Guëll. This bench was made at the beginning of the 20th century by the genius of Antoni Gaudi. From your seat, you have a superb view of the city. While letting yourself daydream and rest, you read the latest article published in English, your mother tongue.

Friend reader from China, clichés have a hard life. I imagine you admiring, at sunset, the rice terraces of Longji. The ears of rice sway in front of you like waves and reflect the yellow-orange colours of the sun. The surrounding hills are covered by the rice fields as far as the eye can see, you are as if bewitched by this enchantment of movement and color. At the same time you let your mind wander over the words written by a Frenchman about the tea plantations in Kerala. You are fascinated by the similarities of the landscape.

Friend reader from Czech Republic, I imagine you just a stone’s throw from the Charles Bridge in the heart of Prague’s Old Town. You can hear the ducks gossiping as they strut along the banks of the Vitara River. While waiting for a friend, you are enjoying a delicious potato salad, bought at Lokal Dlohàààà, a minimalist neighbourhood canteen with a very local atmosphere.

Fellow Irish reader, I imagine you in the port city of Gallway. It is in this town that the mouth of the river Corib is located. On the seafront, to fight against the greyness which sometimes assails the daily life of the sailors, the houses are painted in all colours and this gives a crazy charm to this town already a little bohemian. The pubs abound and compete with each other in colour. You delicately dip your lips in a Guinness and your moustache is golden with this amber beer. You’re sitting comfortably in the basement of the Busker Brownes, that famous pub on Cross Street.

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As a German reader friend, I can imagine you travelling through « another world is posible », while preparing, with your friends, the next action against fossil fuels « Ende Gelande », the German civil disobedience movement, of which you have been a member for many years. You are amused to find this French couple of activists with whom you had spent a week and with whom you had taken part in the many actions at the time of COP 21 in Paris. There were many of you in their little apartment, from Sweden, the United States, Germany and Spain. So many memories…

Friend reader from South Africa, I imagine that you arrived on this blog through social network exchanges. It is likely that you know one of our friends, who was involved with the people of Soweto in the 80s and a friend of Nelson Mandela. So I can imagine you a few miles from Johannesburg, holding the Nelson Mandela Museum in Soweto while waiting for tourists. You’re browsing this blog to find out where your next visitors are coming from.

Friends and readers of this blog, this is how I liked to imagine you, some of you from our meetings, but others from nothing… maybe I was right, maybe not. So I will be extremely happy to have your impressions, corrections, corrections, additions and for that you just have to leave me a comment that I will read with delight.

Par Nathalie

Translated with http://www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)