It was in the sixties when I headed for Paris for the first time. It took me just one long day to hitchhike from provincial Munich to the dazzling French metropolis. I found a cheap room in a run down bed & breakfast at the Quartier Latin, and I lived from Brie and Vin Rouge and the air of Paris. On the first morning I opened the window and looked down on a bistro on the corner of a little plaza where four lanes crossed. I smelled fresh croissants and gasoline, heard voices shouting and cars honking. I fell in love with Paris. It means a lot to me to see my name now on an advertising pillow at the Champs Élysées.