I have always dreamed of France. Of visiting there, of working there, of one day living there perhaps. I have always dreamed of strolling through street markets that spill out across cobble stone streets, looking for the perfect block of French cheese. I have dreamed of finding a favorite patisserie, of having lunch overlooking the Eiffel tower, of taking an art class along the Seine (although I’ve never painted once in my life). I have dreamed of walking to a small boulangerie in the morning and buying wonderfully hot bread, of stopping at a café in the evening and basking in the comfort of a novel and a café au lait. Because in France, time stands still for a café au lait.
Or so I’ve heard. This Saturday, I will head to the airport, passport in hand, adrenaline through the roof, trying to wrap my brain around the fact that my final destination is Paris de Gaulle, France. I am lucky enough to be spending a week in Paris and Normandy before heading north to study in Lille as part of a study abroad experience. I still don’t quite believe it’s true.
I’ve swooned over Hemmingway’s A Moveable Feast, watched and re-watched Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, poured over Fodor’s guide to Paris 2014, and planned out a route that will take me past incredible landmarks in the Latin Quarter: Hemmingway’s old residence at 74 rue Cardinal Lemoine, and Le Pré aux Clercs at the corner of Rue Bonaparte frequented by Hemmingway and Fitzgerald. The Café de Flore frequented by Faulkner, and the Luxembourg Gardens through which the writers of the Lost Generation often strolled. And there is Gertrude Stein’s apartment at 27 Rue du Fleurus, where Picasso and Matisse were often entertained. The list is endless, as is the list of places I want to go and things I want to see, a feat impossible to complete in 6 days. But I will try my best to drink my fill of Paris, and look forward to all the charm that Lille has to offer.
It’s exciting and exhilarating. And at the same time, it’s terrifying. All of my little dreams and romanticized perceptions will be spun into strands of the absolute truth. There is danger in falling in love with a place before you ever see it: there is always the chance of being disappointed.
So does time really stand still in France for a café au lait? I’ll let you know…
Or so I’ve heard. This Saturday, I will head to the airport, passport in hand, adrenaline through the roof, trying to wrap my brain around the fact that my final destination is Paris de Gaulle, France. I am lucky enough to be spending a week in Paris and Normandy before heading north to study in Lille as part of a study abroad experience. I still don’t quite believe it’s true.
I’ve swooned over Hemmingway’s A Moveable Feast, watched and re-watched Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, poured over Fodor’s guide to Paris 2014, and planned out a route that will take me past incredible landmarks in the Latin Quarter: Hemmingway’s old residence at 74 rue Cardinal Lemoine, and Le Pré aux Clercs at the corner of Rue Bonaparte frequented by Hemmingway and Fitzgerald. The Café de Flore frequented by Faulkner, and the Luxembourg Gardens through which the writers of the Lost Generation often strolled. And there is Gertrude Stein’s apartment at 27 Rue du Fleurus, where Picasso and Matisse were often entertained. The list is endless, as is the list of places I want to go and things I want to see, a feat impossible to complete in 6 days. But I will try my best to drink my fill of Paris, and look forward to all the charm that Lille has to offer.
It’s exciting and exhilarating. And at the same time, it’s terrifying. All of my little dreams and romanticized perceptions will be spun into strands of the absolute truth. There is danger in falling in love with a place before you ever see it: there is always the chance of being disappointed.
So does time really stand still in France for a café au lait? I’ll let you know…