A Goodbye to Paris.

And just like that - it's over. I'm back on another plane, arcing across the Atlantic. Bags tucked safely in the hold below - and a summer full of memories, starting to percolate.

It's been years like this, with Paris like my part-time home - a place I know so well, whose streets I can walk from one side to the other without ever glancing at a map. A mix of favorites and new discoveries.

A place that each year I understand a little bit better - its hidden wrinkles, foibles, flaws. Each year leave, loving it a little bit more.

Three days before I left - the Parisians all returned from vacance, the streets flooded with light and people - gallery openings, restaurants that have been shuttered, bars packed to the brim with reunion after reunion. Friends, lovers, the chosen families all reunited. Every face - every single one - smiling.

Two days before I left, I watched the volunteers for Paralympic archery pack the stage, just before the medal ceremony, and get their moment in the spotlight. Of all the memories that leave me choked up from these Olympic and Paralympics - it's the spirit of the volunteers - cheerful, energetic, willing to help anyone with whatever they needed - that makes me most likely to cry. As the president of the French Olympic federation noted in the closing ceremony - "We told ourselves that we were a nation of complainers, fault-finders, unfriendly. But then we showed ourselves that we were wrong." The volunteers were the heart of the Olympics, and as I left that final venue, I said the same word to each and every one I passed.

Merci. Merci.

The night before I left, I sat in my favorite restaurant, watching the crowds spill in, eat their fill of amazing cuisine. Friends smiled over bottles of wine. Lovers laughed over lasagne. The night curled on, and as the tables emptied, I was left with the staff who I'd come to know, at least a bit. Drinks were invented and tried, mercis and à bientôts exchanged, and then it was out into the night. Walking the stone streets under the stars.

Trading, for one last night, sleep for memories.

Merci, Paris.

And merci, dear reader, for coming along on these journeys.

Here's to what's next. With lots of love,

-Steven

p.s. The best thing I saw all week was the drop-what-I'm-doing-and-watch work of Stefano Ianiro, who combines wildlife photography, conservation biology, and backwoods know-how into some of the most beautiful work I've seen. Come for the pond, stay for the baby foxes. Enjoy!