“How was it?”
This is the question with which I am greeted most after returning from a quarter abroad in Paris, closely followed by, “Tell me stories!”
My answer? A shrug and a hopeless smile.
It’s hard to answer such a open-ended question. Where do I begin? The food was heavenly; the weather not so much. I spent a few lovely afternoons wiling away in smoky cafes and one too many nights in the lively streets of the Latin Quarter. I stared at budding trees and black ponds. I rejoiced over the annual Parisian sales. Travelling through several countries, I learned what airlines to avoid and how to live cheaply without resorting to hostels.
The travel abroad experience is not one that can be explained by a few choice words or memories. It is just that—an experience that envelops and inhabits you. Living in Paris, I realized that I could return to the city one day and see myself riding the RER B to work, a book tucked under my arm and baguette in hand. I could see myself picking up tarama and Roquefort cheese at the local markets. I could see myself rifling through thrift stores in the Marais and skimming the racks at Zadig & Voltaire.
Ultimately, it was not the iconic sights I enjoyed, so much as the lazy lunches that lasted hours and the evening walks along the Seine. I learned how to live life leisurely but passionately. I learned how to speak French without stumbling over my tongue. So, to those who ask about my experience: I didn’t pick up any crazy stories from Paris. I picked up a lifestyle.