One week ago last year, I was sunbathing in a glorious shimmering Paris- eating croissants and drinking espresso every morning, (my, what small coffees they have here!) spending the afternoons climbing the stairs up to the Sacre Coeur, and my evenings having quiet dinners in side street cafes.
One (yester)day to the year, I was despondently making my last tube trip out of London after a rainy, yet unbelievably glorious, summer spent discussing Agnes Varda films around the cozy tables of the British Film Institute's cafe and trapezing around the quaint parks and high streets.
Alas, after a brief summer at home in Salt Lake, (most just drinking iced tea, buying knick-knacks at the farmer's market, and reminiscing about our days in London) a disturbingly educational few months in Istanbul, and a quiet four months of reflection, wanderlust has struck me again. With a vengeance. Today, most of all, I am Paris dreaming, remembering the warm sunshine, my love of the French language, the food, and the winding streets of Montmartre.