Today, I am sad.
We got up before the sun rose, packed our bags, turned our keys to our hostel, and took a long bus ride to the airport. And we left Paris.
I know it was time to go (because, well, there are other things that must be done, and one can’t be on vacation forever), but I already miss it.
I miss the L’Ouvre, and wish I had been able to spend a few more days there.
I miss the bookstores, because it is very hard to find good French books.
I miss the coffee, because I’m even more of a coffee snob now than when I arrived.
I miss the history, because while we might make fun of the French, their love of wine and cheese, and their tendency to surrender, the world actually owes a lot to them.
I miss talking with a World War II vet, even though I might have insulted him.
I miss the food, because it was good, and because while we make fun of the French for their love of wine and cheese, they make darn good wine and cheese.
I miss figuring out the corners of the city where the non-famous, but important things are. Like, where the Asian markets are so I can find hot sauce.
I miss the preponderance of rose flavored things.
I look forward to going back home, because I miss school, and I miss my flatmates, and I miss my own corners of my little city, where I don’t have to take the metro to get around.
So here I am, missing two places as once, happy to be going to one, sad to leave the other.