Fires That Light The Way

These are the fires that light the way of our travels: Curiosity • Serendipity • Misadventure • Love • Loneliness • Hunger/Need • Passion • Fear • Quest. They lead us to adventure, excitement, predicament, danger, delight, discovery, and eventually home. The true stories in this section examine those fires, the trails they blaze, and the smoke that can obscure the view.

Post-Election Haircut in Paris

By Gary Lee Kraut

The day after the election I went to get a haircut. There were no other customers in the shop, odd for a Saturday morning. The barber motioned to one of the chairs. He invited me to put my arms through the barber cape. We discussed clipper blades. Then he went to work.

The radio was on. The voice on the radio, speaking Arabic, said “Obama” or “Barack Obama” every five words. The barber was of North African origin—Algerian, I assumed. Neither of us spoke for several minutes. Then he asked me how work was going.


Still Life with Eiffel Tower My friend Monique is tall, thin, recently single, and recently blonde. She’s invited me to a play at the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 8:30 curtain. We’ve met first for a quick dinner at Chez Francis, the ever-decent brasserie at Place de l’Alma. We have a window table with a large view punctuated bright in the distance by the Eiffel Tower. “So why wouldn’t you give him a second chance?” I ask. Read More
The Electrician The back table by the kitchen at Kasaphani, Paris’s premier Greek Cypriot restaurant, is reserved for family and friends. Tony, the oldest of the three brothers who operate the restaurant, was sitting there with another man. Tony’s kitchen assistant, Miah, was in the kitchen, by the sink. No one else was in the restaurant that December afternoon. Tony introduced the other man as “a Greek friend”; he introduced me as “an American friend.” We shook hands. Read More

Still Life with Eiffel Tower

My friend Monique is tall, thin, recently single, and recently blonde. She’s invited me to a play at the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 8:30 curtain. We’ve met first for a quick dinner at Chez Francis, the ever-decent brasserie at Place de l’Alma. We have a window table with a large view punctuated bright in the distance by the Eiffel Tower.

“So why wouldn’t you give him a second chance?” I ask.

The Electrician

The back table by the kitchen at Kasaphani, Paris’s premier Greek Cypriot restaurant, is reserved for family and friends. Tony, the oldest of the three brothers who operate the restaurant, was sitting there with another man. Tony’s kitchen assistant, Miah, was in the kitchen, by the sink. No one else was in the restaurant that December afternoon.

Tony introduced the other man as “a Greek friend”; he introduced me as “an American friend.” We shook hands.