Turning Thirty in Paris

Paris was fabulous in all the ways that it should be this weekend. Spring was just beginning to show it's face: the parks were sporting pockets of new-green against the background of browns and perma-greens, the blossoms were creeping out of their heavy buds along the boulevards and the sky gave alternating gifts of sun and showers that sent everyone back and forth from the cafe interiors to the sidewalk patios at ten minute intervals.

We did all the things that one shouldn't do in Paris - we bypassed classic French cuisine to eat Indian in the Latin Quarter (much better for the vegan), drank beer instead of wine with dinner (positively barbaric behavior, but it went better with the Indian food), stopped at a Tunisian bakery for dessert on the way home (who needs chocolate birthday gateau when you can have halva?), breakfasted on strawberries and champagne before running 10K in the Bois de Boulogne‎ (I don't recommend this), bought art in a touristy area, and tried to cover more than seven arrondisements on foot in a single day and ended up with loudly complaining feet and a general dizziness from over stimulation of the senses. All in all, truly the perfect backdrop for my crossing from one decade to the next.

It wasn't my first time in Paris and it won't be my last; I've come home with a head full of schemes to facilitate a relocation. Nothing permanent, just a brief stint; something long enough to later give me the right to start a sentence with 'quand j'habitais à Paris...' (when I lived in Paris...)'