Au revoir, Paris

The past three days have been a whirlwind of activity. From a Belgian monestary to quaint villages in the French countryside to the rocky beaches of Normandy to Monet's favorite cathedral, I've gotten around. I was happy to see more than just Paris, glad to finally see warm, friendly French people, as Parisians never smile, laugh, or have any facial expression at all. The weather was perfect, the rolling green farmlands sublime, the herds and herds of cattle charmingly polka-dotted.


For my last night in France, since we were in Rouen, not too far from the ocean, we decided to go to a nicer seafood place for dinner. We asked the man at the front desk of the hotel for a medium-priced recommendation. After a bit of a walk, we found the place, and it was fancier than expected. I was worried. When I opened my menu to find no prices were marked at all, I could only think of the expression, "If you have to ask how much it costs, you can't afford it." Turns out I was given the menu for ladies. Only men are given menus with prices. Apparently it would have offended my delicate feminine nature to see anything so garish as a price tag.


Now I sit at the Charles de Gaulle airport, waiting for my boarding time. In the past week and a half, I've eaten enough bread to fill a bathtub, I've spoken more French than I realized I could, I've gone to church more times than I had in the previous few years put together, I've consumed at least a kilogram of cheese, and I've seen more breathtaking sights than my memories can hold. I've said my last "au revoir", buttered my last croissant, asked directions in this strange land for the last time, this visit anyway. It was a great trip, but I'm ready to go home. I miss the laughter of my friends, the warmth of my family, my garden and my bed, my city and my home. I can't wait to land in that dry, brown city, and run into the hug that will be greeting me at the airport.