How do you say goodbye to a place you'll never see again? It's surreal, walking down a street you knowyou'll never pass down again or catch a last look at a scenery too beautiful to be captured by a simple picture. Even if you didn't like the place as much as you'd hoped, there is some sort of invisible connection that can't be denied. And the city won't even realize your passing. Bittersweet is the perfect word for it. Nice has been a rollercoaster of emotions, to take advantage of the cliche. Hated it from the beginning, softened a little towards the middle, and now I'm happy to be moving on. Here's a brief summary of the past two days... On my third day I dedicated myself to the modern arts. Ok, dedicated is a bit ... read more

Je t'aime Paris mais je suis vraiment contente de le quitter! (I think that's right. Grammar police anyone?) What happened on the last day in Paris? What could possibly be the epitome of my time there, the golden nugget, the perfect moment of it all? ... I stepped in dog shit. Sorry, sometimes that word is just necessary. Yes, yes, that warm, squishy (some might say moist) sensation on the bottom of your shoe and you're afraid to look down because you just know what you'll find. I feel like I'd become part of the city for real. Luckily I can't regale (or maybe a better word would be bore) you lovely people with stories of touristy visits, museum experiences, and the panoramic views of the beautiful Parisian cityscape. Because I didn't do any of that! ... read more