One week later and I’m already missing Paris. It’s hard to believe that I spent my first few weeks there wondering when I’d fall in love with the City of Lights and here I am now, wondering why I ever left. One of my favorite everyday moments is when I’d emerge from the underworld, formally known as the metro, and the sunlight would be so blinding I’d struggle, squinting to catch a glimpse of reality and the first thing I’d see was a beautiful, bright blue. If I was extra lucky, the sky would be full of Renaissance clouds. You know, the perfectly-illuminated, perfectly-shadowed kind you find only in Renaissance paintings.
I also miss wandering and happening upon quaint surroundings, only to wonder how I’d gotten there in the first place.
Often I found myself preoccupied with Parisian maps and then suddenly, Le Tour Eiffel would surprise me, poking up from behind a tall tree. It reminded me, “Oh hey, I’m in Paris!” And no matter what ailed me at the moment, whether it was finding my sense of direction or shaking off the Parisians that had eaten [smoked] a pack of cigarettes for lunch, I’d smile and breathe again.