Paris

I received a letter from a friend living in Paris today. We both went to Paris as part of Baylor in Paris in the summer of 2002. We stayed with the same host family. We had a blast. We learned a lot about French history, the language, and even more about ourselves. We laughed until our stomachs’ hurt the day I lamented at dinner with our host family, “I can’t cut the cheese.” It was the second to last course of our meal and I quite literally was having a tough time cutting off my portion of cheese for the evening. It was too difficult to try to translate the euphemism. I was grateful to have a friend who understood the humor in my slip that evening, as well as the frustration of navigating a foreign land and language with me.

I was lucky enough to return to Paris for the summer in 2003. She is just now returning for a stay longer than a vacation.

She closed her note saying that her glass of red wine had been finished and so she too must sign off. I immediately poured a tiny glass of wine to write her back. It was only 1:45 in the afternoon, and I come from a “you shouldn’t drink before 5 pm” family, so it was a bit odd. Not so odd I didn’t drink it, just odd.

Paris holds a special place in my heart because I’ve done a lot of growing there. It was my first opportunity to really figure life out on my own. It was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. It held unmet expectations. Like I always thought I’d enjoy it with my dad, walking down the Champs Elysees towards the Arc de Triomphe. This has yet to happen and I don’t expect it to anymore, but not out of disappointment. I’m amused because I realized recently that I thought I was done growing when I left Paris at the end of July 2003.

Do you have a “Paris?” If so please share.

Peace!