my cousin C thought everyone was saying “vonsoir” instead of “bonsoir” in france. how hilarious is that?
so, hi, hello, bonsoir, now that i’m back from the franceland. B works late tonight so when i got home i had 2 and a half uninterrupted hours to think, be, rearrange my perfume in the wine unit. i mostly bought perfume overseas; i didn’t buy any clothes except for a turtleneck sweater from h&m and some cheap scarves from eurodif. i was on a perfume mission and came back with chanel no. 19 edt, premier figuer edt by l’artisan parfumeur, number one and jasminade by parfums de nicolai, diorissimo by dior and bois de violette by serge lutens. they were heavy but so worth it. i wrapped them up tight in those cheap scarves and the rest of my dirty clothes so they wouldn’t break on the way back home. B said i smelled french but was referring more to the laundry detergent i used more than perfume. (the detergent was ariel and does smell distinctly french in a very nondestinct way, if that makes any sense. it’s like it carries an air of france and the french. i love how most detergent comes in the form of a cube instead of liquid or powder. they’re individually wrapped and very handy for travel. i wish i’d brought some home.)
it was a wonderful trip, truly. so enriching. i barely wrote at all. obviously i didn’t blog much, but i also didn’t write too much in my journal. i just lived and that was enough. i felt so satiated; i didn’t feel a need to channel writing to enhance or magnify my experiences or squeeze out any inspiration. it was inspiration enough to simply be. how fucking cool is that? i can’t remember the last time i felt that way for an extended period of time. every moment was packed, as packed as my bag at the end. it all feels like a dream now.
when i got to paris everything made sense. i found my way around, could magically read maps, street signs spoke to me and the days unfolded intuitively. i never stopped walking. i took in every smell and sound. now that i’m back home, there are moments in the mornings now when i can smell paris; its exhaust and pavement, its melange of people’s perfumes, its wet dogs and cool mornings, its coffee, newsstands and coal smoke.