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Paris: January 2, 1966


I consider this date the first day of my real life. I was 20 and until this day I’d never been beyond anywhere that didn’t border California. It had been my most burning desire, to see the world, since I was a one-digit age.

On this day I woke up in the Hotel Mont-Joli on Rue Fromentin and something was different. Not just my location. I could feel that something had changed in the hours between when I went to sleep and morning. I got up, went to the window. It had snowed. To what was already a momentous day for me was added nature’s icing on the cake celebrating the beginning of my life. So what does one do on such a day? One goes to Versailles, of course, and I did. But that’s another story.


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