Call me vain, but I’m quite aware of my classic French looks.
Thanks to goods genes and careful grooming, I am often told that I look more like a model than a businessman, so when women give me a second look, or when the air-hostess serves me with that extra smile, I take it as a compliment. I enjoy the attention.
But a man staring at me unflinchingly, and un-smilingly, is rather unnerving. I try not to look, focusing instead on my drink, not particularly enjoying this attention.
As we get ready to disembark, I see him pull out his white cane.
Now I stare.