Paris, recap.

I wandered the streets, cold, wet, and wearing a backpack, until I just ducked into a random cafe for a baguette slathered in butter and jam.

I picked out vegetables and meats from vendors I communicated with through gestures and broken tongues without a plan. I learned the word for ribeye and ate fresh chanterelles and endive from local farms. I threw a taco party for people I don't know, sang Ben L'Oncle Soul out the window in French as we drank bottle after bottle of wine.

I danced in basements and empty bars and kitchens. I drank more tequila in one week than I have all year. I walked along the Seine, I watched the midnight light show of the Eiffel Tower, I saw the city of Paris from the top of Montmartre. I sat in silence in the courtyard behind the Louvre with absolutely nothing on my mind.

I went to a coffee shop so often they knew my drink when I walked in by the time I left. I cooked alongside a host mother from Martinique in a tiny apartment kitchen, learning her French and Caribbean recipes while her son talked about his study program in Chicago and vacations to Las Vegas and Los Angeles.

My heart swelled, my legs ached. My mind relaxed and wandered and sharpened.

I lived in Paris for a week.

Not visited. Understand the difference.

Lived.

And we'll always have the gentleman in the schoolgirl skirt to prove it.