My Dad has always told me that you can never go back, back to the way things were, back to a different time. He’s really right, and while we can all think about possible exceptions to this rule, it’s generally a good thing to remember while moving forward through life. I am however, taking part in one of those rare exceptions to this rule at this very moment. It’s pretty cool to say that I have moved back in to Mark’s flat, the flat I spent my first seven months in Paris sharing with the McCord family, the flat that still feels a bit like home and a bit like Paris to me. I am only here for a few more hours, less than a complete day before I board the shuttle to Charles de Gaulle, and then on to the plane and finally back home to Tulsa.
The smell of my favorite Turkish-sandwich shop (downstairs) permeates this flat as I sit here with the windows open; hearing the cars, sirens, and motorcycles fly by on Boulevard Saint Martin. It all feels so familiar, so much like my home away from home… it’s nice to be back. Even as I walked down the street, the people here recognize me and even seem excited to see an old friend. It’s amazing how much things have changed; nearly a year ago I was just a nameless face with no way to communicate in this completely foreign land. Now today, I am fighting to get in all the meals, dinners and appointments with friends before I jump on that plane for one last time.
Yesterday morning I walked into the boulangerie (bakery) to have some breakfast and a young American guy was in line in front of me. The nice woman behind the counter said, “Bonjour” to which he stammered back with, “Yeah, could I get one of those Eeeee-clairs?” It was comical to see her face, and I thought about rescuing the poor guy, but instead watched the scenario play out. The kind woman did her best to communicate with this poor guy, and they were doing fine, but the older lady behind the counter was talking about the scenario, (in French) and i couldn’t help but smile and think that this person might have been me just one year ago. Now it seems that the lady behind the counter sees me more as a local, and perhaps didn’t even notice my funny accent (yeah right.) Oh how times have changed.
So tonight, I have one last meal with Francois and Geraldine here in the Republique. We’ll say our goodbyes and then somehow I must find a way to sleep. Tomorrow, bright and early, two more friends are coming to meet me for petite dejeuner (breakfast) and then they will see me off, into the airport shuttle for what will be my last goodbye in Paris. It’s amazing to think that this journey is coming to a close, and wow it has been an incredible one. But the time for a new season is here, and while I am sad to say goodbye to my friends and to this lovely city, I am deeply excited about where we all are going NEXT… God’s good like that.
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