salut, paris.

When you leave a friend or a family member, when my HM and HF leave, and now when I do too, you say, "Salut"...and though I always thought before I got here, that Salut was just used for hi or hello, it seems it's more for going than for coming, and for me that means there's the chance of returning once more.

On the Metro two nights ago, coming home way late from a party to celebrate the end of the semester, a musician with an acoustic guitar sang in an australian accent, "feels like I'm knocking on heaven's door." And even though I never give money to musicians on the Metro, I was moved enough by the song and by the vision of Paris I was getting through the windows that as he passed, I gave him 60 centimes and said, "That was lovely." He smiled and said, "Thank you! Lovely even!" and kept walking through the car. He exited the car when the doors opened and as he walked by where I sat, with the doors just about to close, he said, "I wish there were more out there like you." and kept walking.


Today I got lost one last time - I left my house, went somewhere where I knew - the market - to see it one last time - and then took a street that I had never been on before and wandered for an hour until eventually, without checking maps, without asking, without even caring much at all, I found my way home.

living vs. posting.

I will not apologize for not blogging, although my conscience tells me that I should apologize for not writing. The weeks that have gone by are certainly worth accounting for, they were beautiful and filled with life and excitement and visits and moments and visits to bars and visits to museums and conversations with taxi drivers entirely in French and moments of absolute laughter and delight. But I won't apologize not sharing them here because I made the choice to be out living instead of writing and I am very, very pleased with every moment that has passed here.
I have ten days left in Paris. I would love to know where my semester went, I would love to stop time and let these last ten days really live out to their full potential endlessly because there is a very big part of me that wants to stay in Paris forever. But I also know that I'm coming home to a family that I love very much, to friends that I miss so much, and to a holiday season that will give me, as my father puts it, "11 hours of sleep a day, going out with friends, meeting mr. v. for coffee, driving the corolla."
It is finals time now and I am faced with writing 5 papers all in French over the next week. But I determined to budget my time so that I don't have to spend my entire last week in my chambre.
The great thing is that I don't feel like there are things left that I haven't seen that I'm desperate to see - I really accomplished everything I wanted to and I made a difference in my French, formed a wonderful relationship with my French family, and really learned to live an entirely new life. I hope I can take this energy back with me.
Dad came to visit me for a French thanksgiving and it was wonderful to wander the streets of Paris with him, showing him that I mostly know my way around as it is, and showing him my favorite spots, my favorite museums, my favorite views of the city. Listening to his stories about his life and showing him my life in this city, I wondered about my future journeys to Paris, who I will bring, who I will show the city to next, and when I'll be able to come back.
After visiting with Dad, he put me in a cab and the driver drove me back to my place and I felt sad to see my dad go but the taxi driver immediately cheered me up when he said, "You've got a bit of an accent, where are you from?" "The states," I said. "You don't sound like it," he laughed. "People in America don't speak French like that." "Oh, well I live here, or I've been living here for the past three months." "Just three? It doesn't sound like it." "I live with a family. It helps." "It must...you do not sound American, that's for sure."
That was good enough for a smile.
And at night, I dream French dreams and hope that they'll stay that way for a little while when I go back to the states, and I decide to nap with Butterscotch in the family room, with "A Christmas Story" playing endlessly on TV and Ian watching running videos on youtube.
When I think of my home in France, I will always think of the Rue de Boulainvilliers and the family that taught me to converse, to cook, to make everything beautiful as it should be, and the streets with cobblestones and the moments alone where it felt good to be alone. I am so happy to have had these weeks here, these months where being alone finally became a good thing for me, a positive thing.
Also, I will think of beating my french family in Scrabble (in french!) and just how surprised everyone was when I finally got my sense of humor to emerge en francais.