I didn’t like being barefoot when I was a child. I had my woolen socks, knitted by my grandmother, and they definitely were my protection against too much life and summer action.
I loved spending my free afternoons on my bed reading stories about a courageous woman in Lhasa or an intelligent French lady having an unhappy love affair.
It was in India that I dared walking nearly barefoot during five weeks. I only had my flip-flops.
The first time in my life, I felt grounded by my bare feet.
Certain feelings take a long time to grow.