we've been traveling for nine days now, six of them parisian. new york was a gentle stopover, a moment's breath before the forge ahead. we met with friends and shared last drinks, every meal weighty with the knowledge that "this might be the last time i'll have an arepa from caracas, a crack pie slice from milkbar, etc.". the. last. time. not having a return ticket makes every choice, each encounter heavy with a seemingly momentous gravity. but as our friend fiona said when i gave her a particularly sappy look and longing hug, "geez, you're not dying, you're just going to europe". sharp lady.

and while in new york the stars aligned so that i was able to attend ms. susie simpson's yoga class, complete with live ambient soundscapes provided by andy petr. it was exactly what i needed, to say the least. susie begins her class by having each participant state how they're feeling at the moment (grateful, stressed...gassy?) while holding a virigin mary mexican candle. a testament to her sincerity and exuberance is that she elicits all this while not making you feel like a total moony chump. then she leads you on a guided meditation, where your body becomes flooded by giant waterfalls of light and butt chakras root into the cement below. having placed myself unfortunately in front of the soundscaper's amp her words were sometimes lost and so i snuck a peek from my seat only to see her flicking her wrists and drawing trails of light with her fingers. which honestly made the whole thing worth it. no matter if my downward dog was a little dumpy, watching susie get so lost in a psychedelic mind-world was solid gold good times. i highly recommend her class to anyone looking for a meaningful yoga class, or a place to feel tripped out sans 'shrooms. thanks susie!

and so, yoga done and friends hugged, we boarded the plane for paris via reykjavik. our flight was pleasant and seemed quick, and after a seven hour layover during which we slept in a deserted terminal we were back on our way to paris. it was honestly hard to pull myself away from iceland, getting to see the green cliffs lift out of the ocean to meet our diving plane as we dipped through the grey clouds to land. but we'll be back soon enough, and paris plus logan's friends awaited.

and paris. what a funny city. it's hard to get a hold on her. boulevards roll endless in opposing diagonals. the building facades are as if they were straight from a movie set, and everything feels almost staged for a moment. we are staying in montreiul, which everyone reminds you is NOT in paris, but being a carrboro to chapel hill (or a pineville to charlotte--for my mom) is completely walkable and accessible to paris. what struck me is how quiet the streets are, and remain so until you get to the ring road defining the border of paris proper. then markets spring up in squares and tables with cafe loungers are flung from the doors and windows. by the time we walk to the center of paris we are surrounded by people of all nationalities, clamoring to get a piece of french life. the line for notre dame encircles the cathedral and we decide seeing the flying buttresses from the outside is enough. having post-traumatic stress born from a job too close to times square, logan is tourist-phobic, and we forge on in search of less crowded streets. which are not hard to find away from the monuments and attractions. parisians love their parks and greenspace is plenty, and so we've spent hours lounging under trees remembering what it is to relax. the french are darn good at it, so why not give it a whirl?

and so our stay has been bisected into two parts for each day: the first spent walking and walking and walking (and yeah, you guessed it, walking) to gardens and museums, free (legitamate!) art galleries in the mall, sidewalk cafes and long searches for ice cream. then we meet our hosts alex and julian back at the apartment, a sparse white box with a lofted top filled with so many skylights that i got a slight sunburn the first morning. alex and julian are incredible hosts, generous with food and drink and games aplenty. i'm quickly becoming an expert at "10,000", a dice game that i hope to play on the streets for money when we're out of cash (just kidding mom). they've taken us to a concert where the audience watched from a fake beach constructed in a parking lot on the outskirts of the city, and tonight we've got a party to attend. a FRENCH party, oui!

which brings me to that pesky thing i tried to ignore before i left, that french people speak french. a bizarre language for someone who's only linguistic accomplishment is a working understanding of piglatin and enough spanish to not order tongue at the taco truck. and so after six days, this is a maxim i have come to know: if a french word has, say, seven letters, only two of those will be pronounced. and you'll pronounce it like you're an asshole. it feels like pretending to be an american playing a frenchmen from an 80s flick, making your mouth all round and loose and thick  and apparently when you're talking you never know if a noun is plural or not. i guess if you've got this much concentrated ennui how can you even care if you've got one croissant or two. soon enough you've have none, oui?  logan and i walk the streets and most of our conversations are me saying a word and he repeating it correctly, then countless versions that are neither right and none of which i can ever reproduce again. "man-trels?" "mon-troy." "mon-trIYs?" "mon-troy." "MAHN-TRUOSIYS?" "mon-troy." also, i'm trying to say here that logan is a saint and a repository of patience. so yeah, the language is eluding me, and i tend to repeat every word written on street signs and bulletins under my breath like a creepster. but that freaky weirdness probably keeps me from getting jumped by french street thugs. at least i got that.

so far, so bon, i'd say! or is it bonne? do i say the 'e'? eh, sacray bloooooo!

let's start by a disclaimer: i've never been a faithful keeper of journals. returning emails is difficult even with the convenience of my iPhone. the very idea of writing words that are captured for time makes my fight or flight instinct switch on and i usually decide to scrap the whole thing and get a cookie.

but what the heck. what's the worst that can happen? fierce ridicule and criticism via the internet? scathing reviews and virtual eye rolls? heart palpitations and empty bags of cookies? guess if i quit my job, said "see you later" to the best friends i've ever known, and left all manner of sweets for exciting and new pastry frontiers i should just stop whining and do it. after all, it's getting a bit ridiculous that i'm wasting this much brain energy over what to say and how to say it. mom always said everyone's too busy worrying about themselves anyway and i think she's right. maybe she would want to write this blog for me...whaddya say, mom?

well, pictures speak louder than words, right? so i've included a few from the last month, that strange time where everything seemed so polarized. excietment and fear mingled whenever i thought about my upcoming trip, the pull of my friendships was offset by the push of a job that had run its course. even the weather couldn't figure out where it stood, scaring everyone with black clouds bearing torrential and spasmodic downpours that clicked off and on like a bored child with a light switch. but at the heart of it i felt lucky. lucky to have such a beautiful place to which to say goodbye, such funny and inspiring people to intensely miss. so thanks for sticking with me, going on adventures and dealing with my maniacal mood swings. everyone around me should win a medal of bravery and whatever they give people for not deserting your troops when it all gets batshit crazy.

commence eye rolls and sighs. let's go!

hi there!