I think my French needs some work. Which means it's time to drop everything and head to Paris for four months. School, work, America . . . all that can wait. Weeks after weeks of baguettes, techno, and existentialism . . . that is more important.
But seriously . . . today is the day I head out of JFK, which is perhaps the size of France, and take flight towards Charles De Gaulle, in search of exciting times, cultural learning, and eye-opening adventure.
The next 36 hours are going to be a whirlwind. I leave in about two to head to the airport, where I will say my goodbyes, and board a plane to France. After a life-changing viewing of Eat, Pray, Love and a delicious meal of semi-warm roast turkey with soggy broccoli, I will be turning 21 years of age. This will be approximately halfway through the flight and will call for much celebration and merrymaking. Around 6:30 am Parisian time, just about when all you assholes are getting to bed, I will be landing in Paris, with euros in my pocket, dreams in my eyes, and about a .09 alcohol content in my blood.
At this point, my journey will begin
After spending several confusing minutes wandering around the airport, looking for signs in English, I will remember some basic French phrases, and attempt to use these to hitchhike to my dorm, despite having no idea where I am or where that is. Arriving four hours later, short 45 euros and a pair of pants, I will get my dorm, bring my luggage up, and, out of sheer exhaustion, sleep for four months until its time to go home.
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