A cruise, a photo and some humble pie

8/3 - As the violin and piano dueled, the lights on the Eiffel Tower seemed to be in the same chaotic tune, blinking quickly with frequency. 

As he sat there, transfixed by the sight, he was reminded by how fortunate he was. His parents sat opposite of him and without their help and influence, he would not have been on the boat then, or six years ago during a much different time. He owed everything to them.

Without his parents' help, he wouldn't be infected with the chronic travel sickness he is today. Without them, Planet Earth wouldn't have shrunk. Without them, he wouldn't have connections on every continent in the world (besides Antarctica). 

This was a first for him. Paris is a familiar city, as are the cheeses, escargot and merlot wine. But the fine dining on the Seine River, piano and violin, were not. At times, the melancholy sounds emanating from the instruments seemed appropriate during the cruise, however cliche they came across. All of this combined to humble him because if its absolute bliss. 

As they sailed down the Seine, he was again reminded of his desire to live in the City of Love, how he ached for a companion to sit next to him while he drew her close with his arm. Paris, just then, had passed London as the city he'd most like to inhabit.

10/3 - It was an honor and a pleasure to show my parents around Normandy and Paris. I've been lucky enough to be able to live here and visit Paris many times, but it was satisfying to help others see all of it for the first time. 

Perhaps it was fitting, then, that our last few moments together were spent battling the current of rush-hour metro foot traffic. I watched them struggle to get their luggage through the ticket barrier, then watched until they turned a corner and disappeared.

I had been waiting months to host them, excited to show them my new home. It seemed we were closer than ever, despite being farther away in distance. It seems they too have caught the travel bug, finally. 

France has been a place of firsts for me, and the discovery of photography has been another. There was one photo during the past week in Paris at the Palace of Versaille, that shocked even myself. I had never done anything like it. 

I found myself in a room with a work of art acting as the ceiling. I went to sit on the ground in the corner because it felt right. I'm starting to see that I can see a picture before I actually take out the camera; sometimes they look better in my head, other times not. 

But this picture was lucky. I took only two or three shots. As a result, my mother looks regal, like a model of a sophisticated photoshoot. 

I now have the fortune of keeping this camera for the next few months so I can practice with it. It will be fun to take it to Norway. 

But now, it's time for me to head south to Vichy, for the week of language exchange with the Reichmanns.