Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig
I've been home from Paris for about two hours, and I will admit to being hardly functional. I don't fly well, so I took gravol before the trip (that's an anti-nausea pill, which I'm defining here because they don't have it in the UK), and it knocked me for a loop. I've been struggling to keep awake all morning.
I have these recollections I want to record here for now, of images that aren't the typical tourist things. I remember seeing the tall African women in their brightly coloured clothes, walking calmly through the busy hectic streets. I remember the taste of crepes filled with nutelle and bananas. I remember the feeling of the wind through my hair while I was on the boat going up and down the Seine. I remember the sounds of the bells, and the young lovers ignoring everything but each other in the park. I remember the sweet fumbling English of a couple of young girls on the boat who were trying to talk to me, and of the nice man at the hotel. I remember, and it's very nice to remember.
I will write more later, once I've recovered a bit more. I will admit to having run out of time without realizing it, and I was hurridly writing postcards while waiting to clear immigration in France. I got as many as I could done, but not as many as I wanted to. I am sorry if I missed this time, but I know I will be back.