When I told my family the night before my departure that I
was “winging it”, I wasn’t kidding. Literally, I was in Chicago about to board
my flight to Paris before knowing where I would be staying once I arrived. But,
after a few minor bumps in the road (a self-aware iPad that blasted music in
the terminal untouched and nearly missing my flight out of Atlanta thanks to a
misjudgment on the location of my gate), I arrived to my friend Fred’s
apartment with all my belongings and a even few of his, about 20 magazines on
the American politics and one loaf of mashed pumpkin bread.
Upon getting “settled in”, I was greeted with a magnificent
high that took me on a stroll through the city. It appears Paris hasn’t changed
much, still everyone smokes, still no one looks at you on the street unless
they want your money. Walking through my old neighborhood, I noticed the same madame
working the boulangerie, the same monsieur at the grocery store. A few noticeable
differences, a flower shop in place of an old Italian restaurant, a new
sandwicherie in town. But as Fred confirmed, little changes around here and
people like it that way. Suits me just fine. But the energy spike did reach its
end, and I cruised to the end of the afternoon on a 3 hour couch nap.
I am still living on a wing, with no idea of when I’ll
arrive in Thouars for work. My boss keeps telling me to enjoy Paris as long as
I can. Whether this should concern me I don’t know, but I think I’ll at least
consider this a reason to spend the better part of next week here. I have a
feeling that big times await in the City of Lights…
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