I am back

So that's it, is it? Two months in Europe and then it's over? Just like that?

Well thankfully for me, I fell in love, so it just can't be the case.

Oh wait just one moment. Hold your horses, my friend. Did you think I was referring to a MAN?

Now really, why would you ever think such a thing? (Other than the tiny fact that I do happen to Adore (with a capital A) a lovely french accent and might have an infatuation with men from other cultures, and that I am a hopeless romantic myself...)



Me and Olivier in the south of France

But carrying on... If you so insist. I will tell you "our" story. But, of course, starting with our first encounter.

And before I begin- Do. Not. Even. Start. To. Think that this will be some monotone drone-like love story. This is in fact LOVE we are talking about. Not a word you just throw around, now do you? With or without a man, love can involve passion, and riffs, and everything else involved in a torrid affair. Even rocky beginnings...

So pay close attention.

To be frank, me and France didn't exactly start out on the best of terms... No, I would definitely say we did not. Because in fact, I arrived in Paris ready to pick up my lovely blue backpack, and lo and behold, the luggage ring stopped before my bag arrived. For about a minute I stood there, in shock, thinking that there must be some sort of mistake. It couldn't possibly be. No it just couldn't be. My luggage. Did they. Oh no. That could never... happen... to... me....

Funny thing, that logic. It was SHIT.

... Because I most definitely did not have my backpack (later to be named Olivier. Pronounced, of course, with dee frrrrenche accentttte)

... Because I most definitely spent my first day wandering through Paris with a plastic bag full of all my lovely carry-on things.

... Because I ended up brushing my teeth for 5 days with a teeny weeny tooth brush in a bag that had the label "we care" on it. Which of course caused me to wonder whether they cared enough to GET ME BACK MY F-ing BAG!!!!!!!

So yes. I arrived in Paris. Sans baggage, and avec un sac en plastique. I arrived at la gare du nord located in an area I wouldn't exactly consider to be the most magical and romantic part of Paris...


A little park near the train station


I also managed to arrive on a Holiday. A day where people in France are renowned to strike and make a fuss (actually when do the french NOT make a fuss... that would be a better question). So there I was, hot, sweaty, jet-lagged and carrying a plastic bag overflowing with all the nonsense I decided to take on the plane.

Yet, somehow I made my way up to Monmartre, got propositioned by some young man, took in the views of Paris, and then with a sigh of relief got on the TGV direct to Strasbourg.


A photo taken by a lovely old parisian man at les buttes de Monmartre

It was a quick first encounter and not one that sent sparks flying, or butterflies a-fluttering. But who knew? Who knew that they very soon would be.

Cause I gotta tell you, this heart hasn't stopped fluttering since I had to leave on that jet plane.