Retroactive Blogging: Paris

I often have trouble moving myself from one element to another. I am a homebody. I worship routine. Ripping myself out of my own orbit has been a challenge. So upon arriving in Paris, I felt immediately homesick. It took a couple days to adjust. I would walk the streets with my dear family and feel gratitude for this amazing opportunity, but something wasn't clicking.

At one point, I ventured out by myself. I went to a cafe to write some postcards and read from Kerouac's The Subterreaneans (maybe this brief affair with Kerouac is the closest I want to get to that fantasy bohemian lifestyle). I was sitting on the upper level and ordered a coffee, a glass of water, and a raspberry tart. While trying to escape into the slums of San Francisco, my elbow hit the glass of water and it went tumbling down onto the waiter. I gasped and apologized profusely. He just looked at me as if I did it on purpose, as if I went, "And THAT'S what I think of your berets, your cheese, and your unitary semi-presidential republic!!"

The other waiter approached me softly and said, in English, "Ueh, can you pay now?"

After that episode, my time in Paris was splendid. My family and I walked around Paris. My dad would read aloud from Rick Steve's. We absorbed, side-stepped, got lost, and ate sandwiches. I was very grateful for the time spent with my family.

And a little glimpse of home.