In the past couple of days I’ve been delighted to meet two of my (new) favorite authors.

The first meeting was only virtual—but rewarding, just the same. I’d been reading Leonard Pitt’s exquisitely researched Walks Through Lost Paris, and I felt compelled to write and praise his work. To my surprise, he wrote back. I was charmed by his wit and warmth.

And today I met Peter O’Toole. (No, not Lawrence of Arabia. The other Peter O’Toole.)

I’d been nervous about meeting him. I love his book. It’s well written and insightful, and the photographs are lovely. But what would I have to say to such an elegant, educated, erudite man?

Plenty, as it turned out.

I’ve sometimes felt sheepish about my obsession with Paris. But it’s been reassuring to find that there are others like me—and that many of them are gifted and wise.

I’ve often thought of Paris as a gateway to my artistic side. Now I’m discovering that it’s a gateway to friendship, too.