My weekends have been full of activites, and my weekdays are spent planning. A little job searching here and there, working on putting all of my writing together, trying to find cheap flights home and trying to make those weekend trips that everyone tells you to take “because you are all the way over here anyway” happen. If I can close bank accounts, go through all of my stuff, and move out of my apartment in the next two weeks, hopefully they will.

Crossing things off the list is going better than I expected it would. I have had days where I just feel like being lazy on a Saturday morning and sitting in a cafe, or even at home, but I am forcing myself out the door and am completely indulging in the city. Over the past little while, I have had a delicious Indian dinner, a bottle of wine at Chez Justine, went to the Hammam at the Mosque (a series of steam rooms, Ladies only!), bought the book where Hemingway describes Shakespeare and Co. AT Shakespeare and Co. and last weekend I went to a hip hop class. I have so many stories to tell about each one of these experiences, and maybe I will tell them retroactively, but for now I am going to tell you about taking dance, in France.

I had been tipped off a few times about the Centre de danse in the Marais. I didn’t know what to picture exactly, but after circling the block a few times, I finally walked into a courtyard and it felt like I heard dance spilling out of every window on every story. Ballet music floated over top of flamenco shoes, mixing beats with live drumming… I was seriously just so happy even being there, I half wondered if anyone would notice if I just ‘hung out’. There was a cafe in the middle of the courtyard, and after asking at the front desk where the hip hop class was, I followed a set of staircases that seemed to be leading me to an attic. Instead, after opening and closing a series of doors, I found what I was looking for. Girls of all shapes and sizes (no prima ballerinas here) wearing baggy sweats and looking too cool for school.

YES. HIP HOP. We meet again.

I went back to dance a few years ago after a long hiatus, and I am absolutely in love with hip hop.

I completely accept that I look ridiculous.

So I stood there waiting with the others, and was so excited and so completely nervous about how the next hour and a half was going to play out. Finally, the crowd started moving into a teeny studio, and the instructor, THE COOLEST GUY ever, showed up in a bright red addidas track suit. He walked over to the stereo, fiddled with it for awhile, and suddenly the small space was full of AWESOME. I don’t know how else to describe it.

I tried to blend into the back lines, and then it was go time.

It ran pretty much as any other class would, and I kind of forgot that everything was happening in French actually. Well, that is until at one point, he told me to straigthten my legs instead of bend them. I can’t even remember what the word was, but overall he was a great teacher, and I wish that I could have gone every week while I was here, but at about $40 CAD a class, it would add up quickly.

Anyway, if nothing else, it made me excited to start dancing again when I get home,  which is happening in the middle of October.

All in all, I am feeling really good about it. Aside from being a bit worried about finding work, and sad to be saying “so long” to those I’m close to here, I can’t wait to see PC, and to live in the same city (let alone the same house!) again. I have about one month left or so, and with the chill in the air and the colors changing, it seems to feel like the right time to move on.

In other news, I have another old roomate coming to visit. She arrives on Oct. 1, and I will have finished up work at the animation studio. I think Portugal is going to be in our future, but with our combined chaotic states and tendencies to generally lead our lives in disarray, this could change at the drop of a chapeau.

I will keep you (and myself)…posted.

xo

Life at the animation studio has mysteriously picked up and I randomly worked late tonight. Oddly enough, I am starting to do what I used to do in Canada, and am already thinking about what needs to get done tomorrow…There have been a few busy times  like this at the studio, but for all of the unorganized chaos that IS France, sometimes the rigidness of certain things never ceases to amaze me. In this case, it’s the rapid-fire switch from vacation-mode to work-mode. September 1st and we were all back at it.

What a week to resign…

It actually went really well. My boss was like “But you’re going to be so cold!” and my other boss was like “I get that.” so the scary part is over. I also told my landlord that I will be out by the end of the month, and we are working together to make it as uncomplicated as possible. Why is it that now, as I decide to bow out gracefully, that everyone is all “We get it, let’s try to make this easy for you.”

A sign perhaps..?

Anyways, although I did want to give a bit of an update, I also have an ulterior motive. I had an idea as I was biking around the other day…and I think I am going to throw it out there.

Folks, I have one month left in one of my favorite places on the planet. My only regret is that I haven’t done an honest-to-goodness activity with every free day that I had, so I started putting a list together. Now, I have been reading a lot of websites and other foreigner-in-Paris blogs, and although I probably won’t be able to do it all, I think I may just “open-source” this whole operation just for funzies.

Have a favorite restaurant? Pass it along. A park I shouldn’t miss? Fire ‘er over. Read a great foodie blog or are currently living vicariously through a travel writer? I want the goods! Otherwise known over here as les bons adresses, I want to try to soak up every ounce of France goodness before I go, so if you have an idea or something to share, let me know!

Just to get your wheels turning…here are a few things I still need to do:

- Musee Rodin

- Picasso Museum

- Les Puces (the flea markets)

- Get to a dance class

- Buy an Eric Kayser baguette

- Go to Palais Tokyo

- Eat Foie Gras

- Go to the Opera

- Take a bateau mouche tour

Nowwww you go!

And for you foodies out there, I indulged last weekend and ordered a Petit dejeuner complet or a full breakfast (instead of your standard croissant and coffee.)

This breakfast, plus the latest Vanity Fair…I was in heaven.

It was the best croissant I have ever tasted.

Pain et Chocolat, 7e arrondisement.

Aaand…haven’t really written in ages either.

At one point I tried to be really diligent about making sure I had a new post up every week, or always had a story to tell. My recent lack in dedication to the blog is less rooted in being short on stories, and more in just doing whatever I feel like doing, everyday, for the rest of my time here. Although, I will admit discovering Mad Men definitely had something to do with it.

In the spirit of doing whatever I want, tonight that means Le Fumoir after work. For under 5 euros, you can sit in the bar and have a glass of their Wine of the Month, and it’s bustling tonight. I’m sitting on a banquette, and to my left an effortlessly trendy young couple are telling stories about fishing on their respective vacations, and on my right, an elderly couple, in their seventies are on their way out. I love older French women – they so often look like they are going to get into a vintage Rolls Royce and go somewhere heartbreakingly glamorous. This woman is no exception, she had her short white blond hair styled and set into place, and was wearing an outfit that I am confident no seventy year old woman would dare to try and pull off elsewhere – red lips, a teeny fitted white halter top, and a matching white skirt that grazed the floor as she left.

The last couple of weeks have been stellar. The castle tour weekend was absolutely awesome, and it was probably a good thing that it was just my Dad and I in the car, as we basically missed turn offs and exits any time we were going anywhere. In a few words, we saw three or four castles, roamed street markets, went to a wine fair, pulled over for warm baguette sandwiches made in village bakeries, dodged wild boar on the highway, and listened to jazz as we took in the views of the French countryside.

But it has been back to reality for a little while now.  Work is slowly starting to pick up again, and I have been spending a lot of time putting my writing together, so that I can try to find work in a creative environment when come home. I’ve told most of my friends in the city about my plan to return home, though I haven’t told my boss yet. I think that I am probably more worried about it than anyone else will be, but I still don’t want to have the conversation.

Sidebar: There is now a table of four sitting next to me, and a completely respectable looking French guy in his 30’s is SLURPPING the hell out of his cosmopolitan-looking drink. I will never feel unrefined in here again.

Anyway, other than telling my boss the plan, I am checking things off the to-do list. This weekend I got lost on my bike on the north side of the Seine (I live on the south side) and had an awesome night picnic on Pont des Arts with some friends. Good food, nice wine, good friends and hysterically funny conversation. I am not sure that anything will ever make me feel more assured then hearing other people’s stories of living in Paris. My experience with bills and banks isn’t unique, and some have had it far worse than I have…Actually, I’ve been really lucky. For example…

The other day, I was riding the bike to work. I have the pleasure of riding down the Boulevard St. Germain to work every morning (which is kind of a major thoroughfare).  Late as usual, I was rolling up to an intersection and made the split second call to run the red light, just as the cars started moving from the opposite side. But I made it.

Shortly thereafter, I saw two French policemen standing to the side of the road. One of them squinted at me, the other waved me over with the point. You know the one – YOU. OVER HERE. NOW.

No need for a translation.

Merde. MERDE! was all I could think as I slowly rolled towards them, the clicking of the chain slowing and then stopping, signaling the beginning of the end.

The whole thing went down in French, and I stumbled my way through it. Genuinely nervous, I answered as wide-eyed as I could.

“Do you know why we pulled you over?’

Obviously.

No! Gosh sir, what did I do?

“Are you a French National?”

Only when sneaking into museums.

Canadian.

“Vous ne respectez pas les feux rouge au Canada???’

Um, as a matter of fact…

I mean, of course sir. Yes, yes we do.

After a little bit more back and forth, and a lot of smiling, he thankfully let me go.  As I rode away (90 euros richer) they told me I was lucky they liked Canada.

Yeah – but what’s not to like??? I wanted to answer.

A lot of my time is spent thinking about going home, as it is more or less one month away, so it’s in that weird ‘have-to-start-planning-for-but-not-really-real-yet’ phase. I still have lots to do here, and soon I will be tying up loose ends, while trying to squeeze as much awesomeness as is humanly possible out of Paris before I go.  I think I am off to a good start: tomorrow I am going to one day of a festival called Rock en Seine, and I am hoping to go to the Champagne region in a few weeks with some girlfriends to do the factory tours (AND tastings!)

Will try to do a recap this weekend, but if I don’t, it’s only because I’m sitting on a terrace drinking coffee or reading in a park somewhere instead.

xo
JM

Concert tonight will probably mean no post tomorrow either…but soon! SOON!

This just in: I think I just had the best lunch hour of my life. I ate delicious left over salad in a park in the sun, then walked over to a café for a coffee and read my book, then stumbled upon an antiques store with beautiful things in it that make me want to decorate my house (wherever in the world it may be) like an old fashioned salon de thé.

More to come…
– JM

Yep. I. was. horrified.

If there is one thing that can make me lose my appetite (it takes a lot) it is this sight: a gross, slimy rat, slinking into a perfectly rounded rat-shaped hole, about 15 feet away. The whole thing lasted maybe three seconds, but it was burned into my mind for hours. It didn’t even run! Just slinked along like it owned the place.

I think I can handle inconvenience. A really tiny shower? No problem. No laundry machines or dishwasher? That’s okay. But this was too gross, and though I realize I am not in a third world country or anything, I just couldn’t block out the images of the condo that Prince Charming just moved into with Lovely Roomate. A steam room. A gym. A doorman who shows up at night. It was just all too fresh in my mind, and I needed to snap out of it.

I remembered that this was Paris after all, had I forgotten all about Ratatouille? The city is famous for rats, and when I cried to my mom, she kindly reminded me that there are two rats for every Parisian. I wondered if there were also rats in my decrepit wooden storage space…Oh well. I had a solution. Simply leave my suitcase in there for the rest of time.

But I was still freaked out. I lined up my shoes against the tiny space between the floor and my front door. Logical? No. Somewhat reassuring? Yes.

The rest of the week sort of flew by, and before I knew it, it was Friday and my Dad was here. I met him at a hotel not far from where I live, and he greeted me with a huge hug. Though it had only been a couple of weeks since I had seen him, it felt great to have some family in town.  I showed him around the neighbourhood a little, and then back to the Rat Cave (thanks Mo). When it was time to find some dinner, we hopped on bikes and cruised over to the Seine. My Dad has been to Paris a few times, and has had some unsuccessful attempts at renting bikes, so needless to say, he was super excited to see Paris en vélib. I have to admit, after being a “walk everywhere” person and taking the metro here and there, biking through Paris is by far the best thing about living here.

We packed the weekend with awesome activities. We grabbed a delicious dinner that night, took in a set at a jazz club, had a fantastic lunch in the Jewish quarter, roamed around the Eiffel tower, caught a Latin mass at Notre Dame, and went to an outdoor movie. My Dad was really relaxed about everything, and I definitely got a little spoiled with nice dinners and more than a few glasses of wine. I also took my Dad on a tour of the animation studio, and he was beaming with excitement as I showed him the different parts of the offices. When he sat down at my desk and looked out the window at the rooftops – he suddenly leapt out of the chair and told me how proud he was. Suddenly, rats didn’t matter, and I was so grateful that he got to see what life was like here for me.

My Dad’s support is like a force of nature. His life changed completely a few years ago, and though there were really crappy days, it has been inspiring to watch him slowly put things back together. While we were biking around on Sunday, I took him down a road that is only open to pedestrians and cyclists on weekends. It runs a good couple of kilometres along the Seine, and after slowly pedalling along, we zipped down a hill, and all of the sudden my dad bolted in front of me. He had the hugest smile on his face, and looked like a little kid who just got his training wheels taken off.

Seeing him this happy made me question (for the millionth time) my plan to head back in October. I think I am ready to go home, but am I really ready to trade in bike rides along the Seine for getting stuck on Deerfoot? When we sat down for some wine, I was preparing myself for the “hang in there” speech, but I was surprised when my Dad offered something that hadn’t crossed my mind.

“Well, if you think about it, you have kind of been here since last summer. Of course, only you can know when you are really ready, but you never really came home the first time, you just wanted to get back over here…”

And he is absolutely right. I laid low for a little while last year when I got back, but I could not get the image of coming back to Paris out of my head. After a couple of months in Calgary, I was hell bent on getting here – I filled my evenings with job searching, visa applications, and random ways to earn some cash. Now when I think about how long I have been here, it makes sense that around six months seems kind of short, because for over a year, in one way or another, I have been living in Paris.

Lately I have been trying to figure out why just being ready to come home doesn’t feel like a good enough reason. If nothing else, I know should walk away from this experience with more confidence in the decisions I make, and not care so much about some imaginary “I Was Away for This Long” badge of honour. If I think back to the first time I ever thought about coming to Paris, registering in the French course at the Sorbonne, and all the things that came after, this all sort of started around April of last year. With the colours already changing in some parts of town, it really does feel right to start planning my next move.

For now, however, I am back in the swing of things. I am feeling much better, and am slowly crossing things off both to-do lists, including going to Versailles this weekend and checking out some castles on the road with my Dad.

Plus, the other day when I came home, instead of seeing rats outside the window, I saw a nice man with a hammer and nails. He came back a few minutes later with a long board, and started covering the hole where I had seen the rat.

“WONDERFUL.” I said. Well actually, I said “C’est pour les rats? Génial! Merci!”

He responded: Yes, but I’m only doing this one. Not yours.

Oh yes. France. How quickly I forget.

I nodded and went back to what I was doing. After a few moments, he added “It’s not that I’m trying to be rude. It’s just that your landlord is a jerk.” Noticing the perfect rat-shaped hole in the door of my storage space, I smiled as nicely as I could.

“I understand.” I replied. “But, like how much would you charge, if say, I asked you to do it?” Was I willing to sacrifice my cheese budget on rat prevention? Yes folks, yes I was.

“It’s not about money.” He answered, and I suddenly regretted this angle.

A few minutes later, he left and came back with another board. He started measuring, and sawing, and then hammered the board into place over the door to my storage space, making sure it would still open. I started thanking him and told him that he had totally made my day.

“You seemed nicer.” he said as I passed him a glass of juice.

“You seem badass.” I said in my head.

Instead I just kept smiling, and I still am.

Had a packed weekend with JM sr., and lots to tell so stay tuned!

xo

Justine

Go pee now if you have to. This is going to be a long one.

My trip back to Calgary was a jampacked, crazybusy, wonderful whirlwind, and I made use of every minute. I planned back-to-back coffees and lunches, got all caught up with friends and family, and enjoyed the little luxuries home had to offer. Breakfasts at Bumpy’s, a homemade meal at my mom’s, reasonably priced everything…

Prince Charming and Lovely Roommate met me at the airport, and it was outstanding to see them both. There were no tears when I saw PC this time, probably because we were both just too excited for the weeks together that we had ahead of us. Amid the chaos, we managed to squeeze a few dates in – between moving, going to a wedding, and going to B.C. for a few days, we watched jeopardy, went to the movies and took some long walks. All in all, going home felt absolutely wonderful.

Almost too wonderful.

Although it was tough, saying goodbye to Prince Charming at the airport was probably the easiest it’s been so far. Though both of us were still obviously upset, I think we realized over the time that I was home that we’re now in the same place, and that the hardest part of this whole operation is probably behind us. This time when I passed through security, I was okay. I wasn’t sobbing, I had my shit together, I was ready to go back and finish what I had started.

Or so I thought.

When I boarded the plane and walked down the little accordion thing, it really hit me that I was leaving. Suddenly, huge marble sized tears filled my eyes and started rolling down my cheeks.

WHAT? Wait! I was fine! I was fine!! What IS happening?!

I mean I was sad, yes, but this was a totally unforeseen physical reaction…25 years old, and I am unsuccessfully trying to hide the fact that I am full on crying as I flash the flight attendant my boarding pass.  Perfect. Thank you, emotions.

I settled into the seat I would call home for the next 8-9 hours and tried to reassure myself that I had made the right decision. In my gut I knew that I wasn’t ready to wrap things up in Paris just yet, but it didn’t make leaving PC and everyone else that I’ve missed terribly any easier. I tried to ignore myself by watching the end of a Zac Efron movie (which I’m pretty sure is only okay to do on a plane) and eventually fell asleep. When I woke up on the other side of the Atlantic, I still felt like there was a boulder on my chest. Not even buying wine gums at Heathrow’s beautiful Terminal 5 could cheer me up.

When I finally touched down in Paris, the first thing I did was try to call PC. I didn’t get through, but I did get a text message from Australienne telling me to get in touch and get back in the game. I looked up from my phone and looked around. Families were kissing each other on both cheeks, and Parisian French was filling my ears.

Yes, I thought. I can do that. I will do that.

Luckily I had some Canadian friends in Paris, which made that first night back a bit easier too. I met up with them after landing, and we shared some wine on the quais that face the Eiffel tower. I was so happy and grateful to have them in town for the first few days of being back, but when they all left for Amsterdam, it was back to flying solo.

Being over here has actually taught me that I can do that. Though I am a pretty social person, I have had to learn how to stay sane when I don’t have much going on, and that’s what I needed to do this week. Normally it only takes me a few days to get used to being by myself, but this week I didn’t bounce back as fast as I normally do. In fact, I didn’t bounce at all.

This week I was a flat basketball.

I didn’t want to get out of bed, I didn’t exercise, I was always late so I took the metro instead of biking, and I called Prince Charming bawling at 2 a.m. Twice.

Going home had been great, and even when the not so great parts of life at home started to sink in a little bit, it was still worth it because at the end of the day, I saw PC and together we could either hash it out or laugh it off.

But that’s not an option here. And neither is showing up for work at 11:00 a.m. or eating ONLY desserts as meals.

I needed to make a plan. STAT.

Though the original idea was to stay in Paris until December, before leaving for Calgary, I had been tossing around the idea of coming home in October. I don’t feel like I am done with Paris just yet, but I do feel like I am getting closer to the end. When I arrived in February I felt overwhelmed by life, then during my time here, on bike rides and in cafés, I established a kind of peace with everything. I now know exactly what kind of work I want to do be doing, what I can handle and what I can’t, and how to pull myself together when my chips are down. In short, I am feeling more “figured out” then I ever have, and now that I know what I want, I don’t want to waste any time.

I started by changing my perspective, which is kind of like pulling yourself of automatic and throwing it into manual. Deep down, I know I still want to be here, so now I’m trying to make the most of everyday. I had dinner chez l’Australienne on Friday night and we biked back to the pub we worked at for a few drinks. Being out and about on the bike at night certainly made me feel better, and today I wrote half this post in a vintage brasserie near my flat. I started a list  of all of the things I want to do before I go, and I am looking forward to filling my days with things I have been meaning to do for months. Some of them are pretty standard (Get my butt to Versailles already!) while others will just be absolutely joyful (i.e. trying a pastry from Eric Kayser, and taking a few hip hop classes)

This week promises to be better, not only because of this to-do list approach, but because my Dad is coming to visit next week! We are going to do a tour of the Loire Valley castles, and I am totally excited to show him all my hangouts.

When I think about October at 2 a.m. it feels like years from now, but when I think of filling my last 8 weekends in France, it doesn’t feel so far away.  Although I value home more than ever, I know that it can wait just a little longer.

Here’s to 8 weeks of Parisian bliss.

XO,
JM

The temperature was 32 degrees at 9:45 p.m. when I was leaving my flat last Friday night. Anglaise was having a house party/birthday party, and by the time I hit the second metro stop on my way there, I was already glistening.  As I walked up to the more modern apartment building in the 19th arrondisement, I heard voices echoing off the balcony and classic Michael Jackson. This party had a theme: Obama’s America and interpretations included White Gangsters, Cowboys, George Washington, and the Statue of Liberty. I felt like a little bit of an underachiever in my Obama T-shirt, but the standard group of non-costumed partiers showed up (as they do at every theme party) and it was easy to get lost in the crowd.

And maybe it was because of this crowd, the deejay, the dancing, the costumes, and the lack of fridge space, that we were all boiling. Cold drinks were at a minimum but the party roared on regardless.

The next day I met up with Rida. She and I worked together in Calgary for awhile, and she was passing through town on her way to meet her family in Lebanon. Rida En Route, waiting for me near my office, was a great companion for the weekend. We started by heading over to the Marais to investigate the boutiques and see if we could find some cute stuff on sale. We did fairly well for ourselves, but I think the real find of the day was Rue des Rosiers. I had heard about THE falafel street in the Marais, and was ridiculously excited when we just happened upon it. Located in the Jewish quarter, there were a few spots to choose from, so RER and I grabbed some pitas and parked it for a mid-shopping snack. The ingredients were so fresh and the ambience was perfect – I was in heaven – savouring the roasted eggplant, garlic and fresh hummous.

After a little bit more poking around here and there, we finally pulled over for a nap in the park. We both felt a little vaped, and I couldn’t figure out why until we got to back to Rivoli and I saw a city billboard that read ‘37 degrees.’

Apparently walking around and shopping all day in the heat had rendered us practically nonsensical, so we both retreated to our respective flats for quiet nights in. We caught up with each other on Sunday afternoon to check out the FondationCartier, an art and design exhibit space in the 7th arrondisement supported by the jewelers/watchmakers of France. However, when we arrived we learned that the space had no permanent collections, and it was closed for the private opening of an international graffiti exhibit. Both RER and I wanted to see it, but it wasn’t open to the public until Tuesday.

Just when we started considering other options for the afternoon, a fabulously glamorous French woman stopped us on her way out of the centre and said “Here,” as she passed us a glossy cardboard invitation.

“Uh – Merci!” I blurted out – turning to RER in amazement.

“Have fun.” She said, continuing on her way.

Hardly believing our luck, we waited for the exhibit to open and exchanged several hypotheses on who exactly that woman could have been…Whoever she was, we owed her more than my simple Merci  – the exhibit was an outstanding collection of graffiti, exploring everything from styles seen on skyscrapers in Sao Paolo to subway cars that circulate the suburbs of Paris.

We wound down the weekend with another park break, and a failed attempt at getting out hands on a planche of cheese and charcuterie. When I got home, I settled for Babybel and embraced the cool air in my flat while making a list of stuff to pack.

I pulled out my suitcase and it was half full by the end of the night. Making lists and checking train times to the airport got me so excited I couldn’t sleep. I started going through all of my important papers, folding up old Calgary work clothes, and wrapped up some souvenirs.

I looked around the flat, and everything that I had accumulated in the months since I arrived.

It was surreal to think that I now had less than 72 hours to go until I could hug my friends and family.

Not even Paris can contend with that.

So this week’s post will have to wait, maybe until I hit an airport lobby sometime in the next 48 HOURS! Whooo.

See you soon.
xo
JM

It’s definitely possible to do here, and what girl living in Paris wouldn’t dream of working at Louis Vuitton or Dior.

When I got the job at Marathon, it felt like such a good fit that I stopped looking around and truly, just thanked god that I had found a job at all. Though sometimes I have thought about what else I could be doing here, work has been pretty cool lately. I have had my voice recorded as a placeholder for a trailer, gone to a sound studio and sat behind one of those big control panel Enterprise style boards to watch an English screening, and most recently (as in this a.m.) I went to the premiere of the animated movie that we’re releasing this summer.

I met up with a girl I work with outside the Grand Rex. This theatre is gigantic, and with a pink carpet and a decent amount of press, it felt like the real deal! There were tons of kids running around, and it dawned on me when the announcer started his introduction that this was a real movie, that this theatre full of people recognized these characters like we would recognize Mickey Mouse. Tucked up on the 5th story of a building downtown, it’s easy to forget that the studio actually produces a finish product – and this was it. Not high fashion, but not half bad.

Bad lighting, but he's the guy with the white ponytail...

And then, Karl Lagerfeld was onstage.

He recorded one of the voices in the film, and I had half-wondered if he would be there, but had forgotten until I saw him.

(If you are a boy – or my sister – Karl Lagerfeld = Chanel. He is the creative director and head designer.)

So. Maybe a little high fashion.

It was cool to see him standing alongside the people I work with everyday, and everyone was just buzzing with excitement. After the movie I hopped on a bike and took the long way home. It was beautiful out today so I lazily rode my bike on the pedestrian quais along the Seine and took in the views…

With the beginning of July around the corner, and my flight back to Canada only 10 days away, I thought about everything I’ve learned. I’ve been here for just over 4 months, having left home with no idea what would happen, I seriously can’t be more grateful for the way things have worked out. I know I was griping a lot for awhile, but the challenges that I have faced here forced me to get to know myself better.  I know I can roll with the punches now, and I know what my limits are. So…in no particular order, some reflective and some just silly, 20 things I have learned.

1.    How to iron a shirt for work with a flat iron.

2.    How to order an extra hot latte with no foam in French.

3.    That I can stop ordering lattes, and still make it through the day.

4.    That I love writing, and miss it when I’m not doing it everyday.

5.    That I can keep walking past a bakery at dinnertime just as they are pulling out the warm baguettes.

6.    How to pour a pint with just the right amount of foam.

7.    That you don’t have to explain yourself to everyone.

8.    How to open a bank account, find an apartment, and pay the electricity bill in foreign country.

9.    That you can be happy and homesick at the same time.

10.   How to cook decently on a budget.

11.   That I am forever indebted to my ipod. God bless Apple.

12.   That it’s okay to ask for help.

13.   How to break up with shopping all the time.

14.   How to make amends, and shop sometimes.

15.   That some things are a big deal, and some things aren’t, and surprisingly, it’s usually the latter.

16.     That in a city of 11 million people, earplugs are indispensable.

17.     How to pull myself out of a bad mood when there is no one else around to do it for me.

18.     How to stop looking backward, and start looking forward.

19.     That though some may disagree, 4 months away from home is a long time.

20.    That when you are five and they tell you  “You can do anything you put your mind to” they are not full of shit after all.