Savoring

Last night I had a dream that I was eating tete de veau et son cerveau ("head of veal, with his brains--which I have had one other time and was quite tasty). The most interesting thing to me was, in my dream, I was not surprised/displeased to be eating that dish, but I was angry at the cost—it was 30 euros!

They say that you really know a language when you begin to dream in that language. But I wonder what it means when clearly specific cultural references come into play. I was as disturbed by the menu as the fact that it was euros, not dollars, and that was in my REM sleep. Maybe it really is time to come home.

With the end of our stay nearly in view and the beginnings of actual preparations for a return to the states well underway, I find myself soaking in small interactions here again—just as I did in January 2007—and marveling at the many small ways that I've come to better understand France and its complex culture.

Today, I took the usual trip to the market for dinner things, and despite the rain that was steadily falling, I almost felt giddy with appreciation. The market was nearly empty—it was a bit before Parisians were through with work and it was rainy enough to chase any tourists away—so it felt like it was me and the vendors. I even tipped my umbrella and received a real smile from my favorite butcher.

I stopped first in the poissonnerie (fish shop) and picked out two perfect pieces of salmon for dinner, then splurging two doors up at the fromagerie for one of my favorite cheeses (fresh cheese with a fig filling), then continuing up the hill to buy my demi-baguette.

I did some version of this walk in January 2007, but now, armed with approximately 17 more words of French and a few well-learned lessons in French culture, the street has lost all of its intimidation yet kept all of its charm. Though it sounds silly, it feels like a real accomplishment, especially when I recall the literal cold sweats that greeted my first solo trip the grocery store. (http://hisandhersparigi.blogspot.com/2007/01/q-and.html)

We've started to be asked the question: are you ready to come home? Yes, is the short answer. Paris has been a dream in 1,000 ways, but its not quite home and I don't want to be an expat. I am also increasingly aware that my French doesn't cut the proverbial mustard for the long term. I am looking forward to seeing familiar faces and I'm even ready to work again. It’s a bit like the song from the TV show Cheers. "Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name and they're always glad you came." I am anxious to return to coffee with "The Girls" and having family a brief car ride or short plane ride away.

But in other ways, it will be a sad trip to the airport in February. I am reluctant to say goodbye to this time. I am sad to think about saying goodbye to my favorite fountain in the Luxembourg Gardens and the many French friends who have become regular parts of my life here. I am worried about all of the usual "return to life" questions of work and life and balance. The reality of trips to the gym, commuting and potentially long hours will replace the Paris reality of fresh baguettes, a light workload and fascinating bilingual and even trilingual conversations.

We still have time, however, and I am not bidding "au revoir" until the last possible second. I still have time for at least 3 trips to the Louvre, 26 bakery runs, 14 trips the butcher, 53 coffees, 3 trips to Notre Dame, 1 glance at Sacre Coeur and at least 10 bottles of wine, by my rough calculations.

Still savoring each second,

sPg