Last night Madame got back from Sicily, where she spent the last week and a half vacationing with eight of her friends. This woman, I feel I should insert here, is 81 years old, and just spent a week and a half in a rented villa in Sicily with eight of her best friends.

It kind of reminds me of the trips I take with my friends in the US, only far more glamourous, and completely amazing. It’s like spring break for her, I guess– so she got back last night, and I went to see her as soon as I got home to say hello. I walked into the room where she was unpacking, and her face absolutely lit up– "Ahh! Chèrie! I am so glad you came to say hello! I have missed you! How are you? Was everything ok while I was gone?" she asked as she kissed my cheeks. I assured her that things had been fine, and tried to ask her how Sicily was, but before I could even get a word out she was inquiring about my family, my exams, etc. I grinned and told her, asked her about Sicily and she said, "Oh, my dear, the weather was just terrible! It was cold and rainy, but we were like little archaeologists– we went to the temples, and saw columns, and ruins, and churches, and ancient little towns, it was wonderful! Oh, and I brought you something!" She hopped over to her suitcase and pulled out a bag of the most delicious candied almonds I have ever tasted, and a beautiful jade-colored bracelet. I can’t remember if I had told her I have been looking for a jade bracelet for weeks now, but I haven’t been able to find one that doesn’t cost a million euro and is still cute. I love this woman!

Unfortunately, all this made me start thinking about the fact that it is THIS MONTH that I will be leaving France, and I don’t like that plan one bit. May 27, I am gone... The countdown is on, and I hate it. I am still thrilled to be going to California for the summer, but leaving France is something that I can’t even fathom when I stop to try to think about it. This place has become such a part of me– this place has BECOME my life, and I don’t even know anymore what it will be like to leave.
I was talking to one of my French friends yesterday and she asked if I was sad about it yet– I told her I probably would be if I let myself stop and think about it, but I just don’t have time to dwell on it right now. Right now there is housing, and finals, and tons of other things to deal with, so I won’t let myself be officially sad about this until I am sitting on a plane to the US. Then, I’ll get off the plane and have a whole nother batch of things to take care of– unpacking from a year in Europe, repacking for a summer on the West Coast...
So that eight hour plane ride will be devoted to being miserable.
Other than that, I just don’t have time for emotions. Ha.

Also, I went to the Bois de Boulogne last week with one of my good friends from high school. We decided to have a picnic there, since the weather is so beautiful and the Bois (which means woods) is so gorgeous. Unfortunately, the Bois de Boulogne is also hands-down the most dangerous place to be in Paris after nightfall. I’ve never known of a place that can make such a turnaround between day and night– in the daytime it’s full of joggers, fishermen, picnickers, and lovers laying around on blankets on the shore of the gorgeous lake, feeding each other grapes.

At night... Well, I’ve never been at night, because I’ve heard the stories and pretty much if you set foot in there at night, you’re liable to not come out alive.
That’s probably an exaggeration. But not by much. At night it’s filled with prostitutes, drug dealers, petty criminals, homeless people, and the assorted fellows that hang out with all of the above. But during the day... it’s wonderful.
So Emma and I went– our lunch was comprised of a pain au chocolat which we split, a couple carrots, two apples dipped in peanut butter, and a tangerine. Ha. Then, as we sat there watching people go by in there rented rowboats, I mumbled something about how I had always wanted to go for a ride in one of those boats before I left Paris. They are kind of the more glamourous French equivalent of paddleboats at an American park... straight out of The Notebook, I can not imagine anything more cinematic. (There is also a lake that rents them at Versailles... That’s another dream for another time, but I will make it on to that lake sometime.)

But Emma being Emma, and me being me, we decided to do it. So what if we were the only two GIRLS to ever rent one of the rowboats, so what if we were both in skirts, so what? We didn’t have enough money to leave the required deposit on the boat (50Euro that they give back if you return the boat in one piece), but luckily the guy accepted our passports as collateral (the general thing to be left at a restaurant/hotel/etc. if you can’t pay). The boat ride itself was only 10Euro for an hour, so we climbed in, skirts and all, Emma as Captain and me as... "What is it? Who are you again? Second partner?"
"I think you mean First Mate, thanks," I answered, though it was clear that I was going to have just as intense job as she did– neither of us had ever rowed before, so I had to steer us as she paddled.
"First mate, ok... you can be Smee."
"So that makes you Capitan Crochet, I guess?" (The french title for Captain Hook.)
"Yeah, exactly, Smee." So we rowed along, my feet dangling in the cool water, sun shining down brightly on us, laughing hysterically as a boat of guys who looked about as capable as us floated toward us too quickly for either of us to do anything about it. We looked at the guys apologetically as their boat collided with ours, and then as soon as they were out of sight burst into giggles at the fact that, in the huge lake, we still managed to collide with someone. At least we didn’t capsize. In some weird way, it felt as though we were somewhere in New England that only FELT like Europe– the whole thing was vaguely reminiscent of the scenery from Ever After, but almost too much so... surreal to the point that it seemed it shouldn’t really BE Europe in the Spring.

I love this place,
B