REVER

Dream on. Everytime I come here, the memory of that wish instantly pops up. It was ma cherie who spoke of it once as we walked down that street admiring the well-preserved architecture, intently listening to conversation and laughter from guests of an ongoing party upstairs, impressed with the huge windows that opened into small verandas allowing the sultry summer air in the salon. "We could own one of these apartments", came from cherie's. My silent rejoinder, 'indeed'. That dream was expressed a couple of years ago and is revived every year, each time I go around this fabled quartier in this City.

Once, I walked into a real estate seller's office just at the corner and asked for their catalogue. It was fun as much as it was an exercise in making choices based on location, facilities, and price. Now, if only we had the money.  .   .   . Someday. And I hope soon.

Coming from cold weather, I felt my spirits soar (as always) while watching the shimmer of endless lights below just as the plane approached the City. Another deja vu. It was the middle of the last month of Spring then but the air seemed like Summer. May and September have been my favorite months here because of the beautiful weather and the endless outdoor activities possible without having to endure the extremes of sometimes the unbearable heat or the bitter cold. The Roland Garros tournament is held at this time.

I've succeeded in evading Winter no matter the frequent requests of ma cherie for us to spend Christmas here. But it may not be a bad idea after all. Summer would have been in full bloom by the time I got back at the end of June but it has always been our favorite time of returning.

Is it officially Spring or not yet?

Could you imagine Peter Pan flying through sleet? Would he be drenched or will the water simply slip through his slithe body? These questions preoccupied me as I struggled through my third day in London and asked -- is it officially Spring?

The day began cold and gray (sounds like a song!) but sunlight peeked occasionally particularly at lunchtime. Then I noticed that the plants were alive as well. Weren't these indications of Spring. It was cold all right (hovering between 1 and 5 degrees Celsius) but folks were out some even showing signs of not bothering whether they were clad properly or not.

To show as much courage, I set out tonight to undetake dinner alone. There was this lovely Spanish restaurant on Great Portland Street. It is called Iberica - how apt! Tapas were exceptional and attention from the receptionist and servers extraordinary. Wine would have been wonderful but I decided not to take any alcohol fearing that my jet lag might set in. As if the place which has an art gallery as well had a reputation because the restaurant quickly filled up just past 7pm.

Is it Spring - who knows or cares. As long as people treat the weather as a friend and enjoy each other's company in a tapas bar/restaurant, it shouldn't matter. Peter Pan himself would not have bothered with the weather. . . . because his nemesis won't.