Just peeking out, it’s hard to miss the characteristically cheery vocal intonation and the sudden dearth of distinctive facial features—I must be back in Scandinavia!
It appears I’ve returned home in one piece (accidentally leaving my 3 mW phone on during the flight didn’t mess with the plane’s navigation system or cause it to crash!) after weathering a week in Paris. I chose to go with the verb “weathered” because the entire experience—while admittedly exciting—was remarkably draining. Intellectually, I had much to do there which kept me occupied for a large chunk of my time. I spent the rest gallivanting between the usual tourist spots and tagging along with friendly locals to some of the more intimate nooks hidden-away in the city. Apart from a couple of exquisite pieces at the museums, it was getting to experience these little gems—the tiny, crowded pubs heavy on the attitude and the atmosphere-rich cafés that were the highlight of my trip.
All in all, I have to admit that good times were had. It’s just, since there’s still so much to see and experience, I’m going to have to plan multiple trips back if I ever intend on scratching beneath the surface. Some months just for soaking in the plethora of art, another couple for relishing the various shows, even more for sampling the variety of local fare, … I clearly enjoy places rich in history, culture and character (even if the locals aren’t the friendliest when you first get to meet them).
I better start saving if I ever intend on pulling this off. And I also have to start spacing things out a little better. This past week, each of my days began 7ish in the morn and proceeded until 3–4 the subsequent morn. I’m barely able to stay up as I write this; I really need to get some sleep.
Boy am I fucking old.