Day 3: August 17, 2013

Last night I stayed at my host family's apartment, and for the last time in a long time I got to squeeze between my two pretty little princesses and snuggle them to sleep. There is nothing I love more than feeling their tiny hands in mine and their soft cheeks on my shoulders. Of course, I woke up a few times throughout the night as I was drenched it sweat; but it only brought a smile to my face when I remembered who was dreaming just beside me. I couldn't describe in a thousand words how deeply I love those girls.

Before I knew it Marjolaine was waking us up; all three of her sleeping daughters. It was hard not to cry as we changed out of our jammies, brushed our teeth, and packed up our suitcases. I took the girls down to the courtyard and played a few silly games while Marjo and Visal finished the cleaning.

 

Daphnee was such a helper, offering to hold the door or carry my bag or look after her little sister. Next year she'll be going to "high school," the Canadian equivalent of middle school. I can't help but grin when I think of how onery she is. She will put all the boys through hell, along with her parents. But I am so incredibly proud of how she has grown from a child to a young adolescent. 

Flavie surprised me. It was only a year ago that she was afraid to speak English, too proud to make any errors. I remember a time when I thought it was hopeless, I thought she would never have the desire to learn. But this morning, she blossomed; telling me several jokes and stories, engaging in entire conversations.

It breaks my heart that I won't get to continue watching them grow, but I leave knowing that I have impacted them greatly. I am not only their nanny, their teacher, their "guardienne anglais." I am their big sister.

After bidding "adieu" to Marjolaine, Visal, Daphnee and Flavie, I was once again gawking at all the interesting people. A few tears were shed on the metro as "Only Time" by Enya played on repeat in my mind.

Who can say where the road goes,

where the day flows,

only time.

And who can say if your love grows,

as your heart chose,

only time.

I unlocked my apartment door and dramatically flung myself down on my bed before crying myself into a deep sleep.

Six hours later, I woke up.

By this point I was starving, and I needed another shower, but unfortunately I STILL hadn't packed a bath towel. While the first night I had improvised by drying off with a t-shirt, I wasn't really keen on doing that again. The second night I was lucky enough to shower at my host family's. Tonight, I was bound and determined to find a Target "Room Essentials" equivalent. As always, I turned to Google, "Where to buy a bath towel in Paris." Guess what came up? The blog of an American student that studied abroad a while before me.. funny how that turned out. He suggested a store on Rue de Temple so it looked like I was taking the metro across town. I proceeded to text my parents in detail of where I was going and how long it should take, as always, before leaving my apartment. Soon enough I was at Hotel de Ville and within a kilometer of the store. Annnnnnd it was closed.

Totally bummed out and still starving, I walked down the street until the words "PIZZERIA" caught my attention. I stepped inside to find Antonio Banderas' twin brother manning the host station.

"Juste moi."

"Juste toi?"

"Oui, je sais."

"Venir avec moi, sur la terrasse."

And there I was with an entire pizza and a pint of Stella all to myself. I was in the city of love, surrounded by couples publicly displaying much more than their affection, looking absolutely pathetic all by my lonesome. This is about the moment I wanted to buy a pet fish, or an orchid, or something, dammit! But I casually ate my pizza and brushed up on my French via a conversation with myself. Ok, the last part is a joke.

At the end of my meal, Antonio-look-alike (yes ladies; with the illustrious black hair, striking facial features, and dazzling accent) asked if I wanted a to-go box. If any of you have been in Europe, and especially in Paris, you know that this is absolutely and positively unacceptable behavior. He must have seriously felt sorry for me and the last 1/4 of my pizza..... sympathy accepted!

I urge all of you to go visit him at:

Le Second Empire

62 Rue Verrerie

Paris, France 75004

During my meal I couldn't help but notice a tiny french girl, no more than 100 pounds, crouched on the cobblestone outside of a pharmacie across the street. I had studied her as much as I could without being a creep and officially decided she wasn't into drinking, drugs, or serial killing. I proceeded to go over and ask, "Voulez-vous mon pizza?" She smiled.

On the way back to the metro station I saw this really weird store, and what really intrigued me is that the clothes are sold by weight. Each item could range anywhere from 2€/kilo to 20€/kilo. It was definitely a THRIFT SHOP!!!

And by the way, Paris takes thrift-shopping to a level that even Macklemore couldn't touch. After wandering around for close to an hour I decided to buy just one thing that I couldn't resist; a printed scarf. I'm subconsciously becoming French.

I skipped out of the store, proud of my purchase, and saw yet another mind-blowing sight. A beach in the middle of the city, fully equipped with a giant TV. Apparently this is the way to catch up on your favorite shows, and I have to admit I'm jealous!!!

Finally, I ventured onto the RER-B Sud back to CIUP towel-less so I could skip my shower and write this blog post for all of you. Looks like I will get up first thing tomorrow morning and trek back across the city to the same recommended home furnishings store.

C'est la vie.