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Hemingway. At that time Monique's mother wrote inviting me to Paris to perfect my French and since then every year I would go to Monique for a few months and she would come to me in Venice.

I was in Paris when the Hemingways passed by on their way to Le Havre, where they would embark for New York. Papa suggested that we accompany them and promised to let us visit the ship. At seven in the morning Monique and I were already in the lobby of the Ritz counting the numerous suitcases, sacks and bags that descended from suite 52 and then were loaded into the car.

Arriving at the port we stopped for a few moments on the quay in front of the imposing bulk of the Ile de France and in my heart, I confess, I envied those who could leave on that beautiful ship. I already had one foot on the ladder when they stopped us to check the documents. Monique showed her passport. I hadn't thought of bringing anything with me, not a passport or a drivers license. Papa was about to persuade the man to let me pass when an officer arrived: "It is absolutely prohibited to go up without documents," he declared firmly.

Papa immediately went on the attack: I went from one office to another, discussed with customs officers and policemen, had the commander called. And quite exceptionally, he managed to obtain a pass for me.

A few days later, I was arrested in Paris. In the confusion of rush hour I got the metro car wrong. There was a check and since I was traveling in first with a second class ticket, they let me out and called the gendarmes. As I crossed the Place de l'Opera with a gendarme on my right and another on my left - and a little disappointed that I hadn't been handcuffed - I decided it was all very emotional.