Paris, I believe, is a man in his twenties in love with an older woman. -- John Berger
I'm feeling a bit blue, today. It's my last day in Paris. My train leaves for Avignon at 7:46 tomorrow morning, but I've been putting off packing. I'm trying to eat the rest of my food, although I might be gifting quite a bit of stuff to Darlene and the next tenants. I've made my last pot of tea.
It really hit me yesterday, when I scanned my Navigo card at the metro. It told me that my monthly pass would be finished today. "I'm leaving. I'm not ready to go yet," I thought.
When I left Amsterdam, I was wishing I could spend another day there, but I didn't feel sad about leaving, because there was more to my trip and adventures to come. This should be no different: I still have a month and a half of this journey to go, and so many more great things ahead of me. And yet, I don't feel excited. I know that will come, but right now I just don't feel it.
People have been asking me what my favourite thing about Paris has been. I can only shrug, gallically. Aside from all the beautiful things I've seen and incredible places I've visited and stairs I've climbed, there are so many intangibles. The smell of fresh bread wafting from the bakery across the street every morning. The moment on Rue Chappe in Montmartre when it really hit me that I was in Paris. Watching "MacGyver" in French. Casually listening to French conversations on the metro. My first taste of rose petal macaron. The day I realized I could navigate the Latin Quarter and my 'hood the Marais without a map. The times I have been asked for directions, by Frenchmen.
But it's time to go. Today I'll throw some things in my suitcase and do a last load of laundry, then go out and say goodbye to some of my favourite spots. Tonight, I'll wander along the Seine while listening to Edith Piaf singing "La Vie En Rose," then come home to finish packing, and the melancholy will not lift until I meet the guides for my bike tour in Avignon tomorrow.
It's May Day. In France, they celebrate by giving lily-of-the-valley to people they love, for luck. Muguet pour la bonheur. I hope that my luck will eventually bring me back here.
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