"I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train." —Oscar Wilde
Spending the last summer of my youth in Paris was truly memorable—seeing and understanding amazing art, making conversations with my non-existent french proficiency (‘bonjour’, ‘merci’ & ‘au revoir’ all the way), pinching myself when I saw the 14th July fireworks, watching films en plein air, making friends with people who don’t speak my first laynguage, picnicking along La Seine, being under an umbrella with six people (that crazy rainstorm!), shopping in Le Marais, experiencing Paris Plage, reading and coping with feline fear at Shakespeare & Co., strolling along Rive Gauche, contemplating life whilst having hot chocolate in the cafés, laughing so hard with lulu over classic tourist mistakes we made (e.g. being locked out of our studio), giving out balloons, drinking wine even when it’s not wine-o’clock, learning about french wine etiquettes from the local , taking a step back in time at Le Petit Trianon and wandering the narrow streets of Montmartre, as if an Edith Piaf’s song is playing in the background. For a moment, I feel like I belong here.
