Paris --> Luxembourg --> Brussels --> Bruges (day trip) --> Brussels --> Amsterdam --> Berlin --> Prague --> Rome --> Paris
Meanwhile, back in Paris I'm realizing with a combination of glee and confusion that my contract ends in four weeks, and then it's no more fake teaching job for me. I'm also coming home pretty soon, and I am pretty excited about that too. I love Paris, but there are definitely people and things I am looking forward to returning to.
Among them:
-my family, my friends, and the great state of Washington
-being able to see mountains in the city
-driving (nothing like driving around Seattle at night listening to some choice tunes with a little drizzle pitter-pattering on the hood)
-drip coffee
-burritos
-bagels
-going out to breakfast (I'm dreaming of a stack of blueberry pancakes and a cup of coffee at Mae's as soon as I'm back -- who's with me?)
-not having to spend most of what I'm paid on rent (yay for being a twentysomething living with one's parents)
-being able to go running without being the only girl out there
-the video store
-the laid-back way people in Seattle dress; hello, Gor-Tex, oh, I am now allowed to look like a slob? Awesome.
-replacing my fake job with happily providing free labor at 826 (i.e., helping out with creative writing workshops for kids instead of repeatedly saying, "Hello! How. Are. You?")
-the San Juan Islands
And then there are things I'm going to miss about Paris:
-my friends
-reading on the metro
-people-watching everywhere
-lazy cafe cremes at cafes with a book, or not
-after-work pastries
-never having the feeling of being too dressed up
-living in a neighborhood that feels like downtown
-my two favorite boulangeries
-Notre Dame
-adventures in the city at a moment's notice
-seeing movies in French theatres
-crepes
-picnics
-close proximity to other European countries
-and though it feels impossible now, probably the free time and independence
-low-budget dinner parties
-French groceries. So cheap and so good.
Still, it's nice to be getting back into my Parisian routine of seeing old movies in little theatres in the Latin Quarter ("Strangers on a Train" is probably the most bizarrely cutesy Hitchcock movie I've ever seen), meeting my friends at the places we have made our own for espresso in tiny cups and chocolate-studded brioches, and making new discoveries all the time. Yesterday afternoon was spent browsing thrift stores in the Marais with one of my friends, and we made some crazy discoveries. Vintage dresses for ten euros, abandoned military jackets that probably once belonged to boys in a band, newsboy caps, buckets of scarves at 3 euros a pop, and enough people squeezed into the stores to make it a little like the metro at rush hour. This is where I'll be shopping when I get paid again. We also found a hot dog stand on Rue du Roi de Sicile, where we had a delicious carnivorous dinner on the sidewalk. They have chili dogs. I am not kidding.
Also, I cut off a lot of my hair. Or rather, paid someone else to. Why? Because I keep seeing Parisian women with these chic short haircuts, so I decided that I should probably get one. At first I hated it, and I was a little worried that my brother's uncharitable comparison to Justin Bieber was not unfounded. But I actually really, really like it. It takes five minutes to wash, and it makes me feel way more European. I'm glad I took the plunge. Because it turns out that hair grows back, and at a certain point, holding yourself back can be just as bad as making a mistake. I'm trying to remember that mistakes can sometimes be good. And informative. And useful. Living in an academic environment like Smith, where so much is based on achievement and doing things correctly and not making errors is not exactly good preparation for living in Paris. I've had to change my thinking from never make a mistake, to please go ahead, make some mistakes. It's taken me a long time to realize that perfection is out, and it's about time. As Neko Case puts it, "I try my best, but I'm made of mistakes."
Mistakes are what make us who we are. I've just begun to realize that this isn't a bad thing.
At Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin:
No hair! + steak frites on Michelle's last night in Paris:
