What started out as a relaxing ‘get away’ with purpose, time to breath, time to find myself, time to re-evaluate my life. Has turned into something a lot different.
It seems like a cliche or another one of the dozens of travel narratives I have read; the husband runs off, the girl is left standing or in my case in a foetal position on the lounge room floor and off she goes, on some exotic getaway.
Too many nights of falling asleep or should I say passing out on the lounge room floor drunk and burning myself on the heater had to stop. The latest and last has become a scar on my wrist – ‘my heart on my sleeve’ I call it and I suppose this is what this blog will be.
A couple of girls got in my ear – one suggested Paris, reminded me of how I love that city so much – people are always asking for tips and places to go. Another suggested a blog.
Silly girls.
I trawled the internet all night and booked a flight. I will arrive in Paris on Christmas morning.
Now I need a place to stay and the panic is setting in. Am I mad, no where to stay, no plan?
Probably no madder than when I had agreed to meet some random guitar playing back-packer who I met on a beach in Greece.
We were to travel the world and meet under the Eiffel Tower. Thankfully he didn’t turn up. That was 28 years ago in a time before mobile phones, emails and blogs.
If anything, all of this has taken my mind off ‘him’ and got me thinking about Paris and me.
So many things to think about – what to pack, it will be freezing, where to stay that isn’t going to cost a bomb, brush up on the little French I have and the list goes on.
Come with me on this journey and I will show you my Paris, not the Paris I have had with other people, or the Paris I had 28 years ago but my new found Paris, the new Paris I am going to discover and the new me I must find.
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| ‘my heart on my sleeve” ‘ |