My early 20s were spent saving up for trips back and forth to Paris. I loved this city so much. For me, it's always been the epitome of style, sophistication, class. I used to dream of owning a small flat there, riding my bicycle through narrow streets, promenading in the gardens, sunbathing on the Seine, reading on the metro, indulging in fresh baguettes every morning. Simple stuff.
When I graduated from university, I had the opportunity to assist teach in Versailles, but withdrew my application at the last minute. Time has a mysterious way of disappearing into life. Nine years rushed by and I found myself nearly forgetting how much my heart swoons for the art deco, savoir vivre, the culture, the romance. I buy into it all. I missed it without even knowing it.
On our short pass through Europe, we spent a few days in the City of Lights and it was like reacquainting myself with an old friend, the kind where conversation comes easily, picking up where we left off, not skipping a single beat. It seemed so much had changed - the air was fresher, the wine sweeter, life more romantic. Absence really makes the heart grow fonder.
Under serendipitous circumstances, we found ourselves in the lovely company of friends from home, not just 1 or 2, but 9, all said and done. When did we get so lucky.
