This weekend, I went to Paris again to visit two friends. I walked through gardens and went to Musée de l’Organgerie, I ate chocolate-covered olives and went to brunch at Tuck Shop (where I spent an hour staring at the all-female, undercut-bearing trio of Australian owners and wondered how hard it is, really, to open a brunch spot in a country that’s so obsessed with the idea of adding a new meal to their repertoire that ‘le brunch new yorkais’ is acceptable to see on a menu)… I went to a yoga class taught by four teachers in two languages, I had duckling and escargot for my friend’s birthday, I ate une crêpe on la chandeleur (a real holiday), and I was content to return to Lyon, knowing perhaps better now why I’m happy to be here.
This week is growing into something good – I’m settling my classes and planning a small spring break trip, doing battle with McGill over course credits and spending more time in internet cafes than I’d like to admit.
Right now it feels like I’m sitting in one of those diagrams that science teachers drew for us in middle school when they were explaining the difference between potential and kinetic energy. Can you tell where I am?