Opéra de Paris (Palais Garnier) as Rarely Seen

Dear Billie,

I’m writing you this letter with the most Parisian view you can imagine. Hazel’s* apartment overlooks the Seine, and with today’s snowstorm, the rooftops look like someone dusted glitter all over the city. It’s the first quiet moment I’ve had since I landed. A full week has flown by, and my head is still spinning.

First things first, thank you. No, really… thank you. For Hazel. For the airport send-off. For slipping that little French phrasebook into my coat pocket. Turns out, I needed it more than I thought. My high school French is rustier than I care to admit. I should’ve listened to Miss Blanchard instead of doodling camera sketches in the margins.

But I’m getting by. Hazel’s been nothing short of a miracle… warm, generous, full of stories, records, and laughter. She welcomed me like a long-lost sister. The apartment buzzes most evenings with writers, painters, musicians drifting in and out like it’s nothing. Everyone talks fast and smokes even faster.

Yesterday, I wandered out with no real plan, just following the curve of the Seine. I got lost at the newspaper stalls and found myself standing before the Opéra de Paris. Billie, you would’ve swooned. I stood there for the longest time, staring at that grand, dramatic façade, straight out of a dream.

I’ve been thinking about that long conversation we had on the way to the airport, about your voice, about Hazel, about Sarah Vaughan**. And how you wondered if you’d ever find your place in the jazz scene. So let me tell you about someone I just learned about: Charles Garnier, the architect behind the Opéra de Paris.

For years, the idea of building a new opera house drifted through government offices, passed from one desk to another, until Emperor Napoleon III finally decided to make it happen. Everyone assumed the commission would go to a well-established architect, one of those names already comfortable in the circles of power.

But a new minister changed everything by opening a public competition. He wanted to avoid the favoritism and nepotism that usually decided such things and give every architect a fair chance, so that talent, and talent alone would speak. One hundred and seventy architects submitted their designs, and among them was a young, unknown Parisian named Charles Garnier.

He wasn’t born into privilege. His father was a blacksmith, and his frail health meant he could never follow that trade. Instead, he studied, sketched, and dreamed, often while struggling to pay rent or stay hopeful. He battled depression and self-doubt. He took small, bureaucratic jobs, entered competition after competition, and kept trying to prove himself in a world that preferred older, safer hands.

Then came the opera competition with only one month to submit a design. Garnier threw himself into it completely. His first draft didn’t impress the judges, but instead of giving up, he reworked it, refining every detail until it stood apart. That persistence changed everything. The unknown architect won the commission to design what would become one of the most extraordinary buildings in the world.

So, if you ever doubt your place in music, just remember even the world’s most iconic opera house was once just a dream in the hands of someone just starting out.

I wish you were here. Paris would suit you so well. Hazel and I keep saying so. In the meantime, I’m sending you a photo of the Opéra de Paris, back when it was still being built around 1880. I think you’ll love it.

I know we’ve had this talk before, but please… just visit. It would mean the world.

More soon,