Category: Old Travel Blog
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Posts about Croatia are forthcoming, I promise. To tide you over, it was a marvelous time with marvelous people in a marvelous country, but I’ll save the good stuff/new words/terrifying stories for when I have the time to write it all out. This week I started my internship, so I thought I’d scribble off a…
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It’s now 3 people who’ve struggled for the English words, looked at my jacket, and told me I “look rock & roll.” This is good, I guess, being rock ‘n roll, as I’ve been both rocking and rolling my way around Paris. Last Thursday was my first St. Valentine’s Day experience in the Most Romantic…
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I haven’t written in a while. I’m working on a post, but until then, this is perfect. “What are you crying for? You’re in Paris, in the rain, she’s baring her soul to you but somehow she’s not one bit sad.”
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After a good long petulant curl-up in bed, I have rallied and graciously decided to give Paris a chance to redeem itself. Because I am too lazy to write a big long post, I shall post pictures instead. Yesterday, I discovered the Marche d’Aligre, the cheapest and best open air market in Paris. I bought…
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Today, I hate Paris. Of course this day would come eventually, but did it also have to rain? And did my foot have to be bleeding at the same time? (No, universe, I don’t think so.) As background to this story, I have a 30-minute commute home from school, which is normally fine–I listen to…
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My clementine is half-peeled on my dresser and I am cold, because I just stood on my tiptoes to lean out the tiny window at the end of the hall and listen to the bells ring. I don’t know what’s happening, or why, but the night is bruised and I can see–I can actually see,…
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I have not slept yet. It has now been four days since my arrival in the City of Lights, and thank goodness it’s Sunday and no one does anything or I don’t know how I’d continue. I thought that my first few days would be difficult, as any adjustment is; I thought that jet lag…
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It is 2:32 on my first Parisian Friday, and I have a hot cup of tea to warm my frozen fingers, the remnants of une tartinette de framboises crumbled in a box near my knee, and French pop on the ancient radio. If I sit up and strain my neck, just a little, I can…
