“Frogger” is a nickname I got after my first trip to Paris, when my overeager self dashed through traffic across a 4-lane rotary, narrowly escaping death in a way that reminded my girlfriends of the quintessential Atari game. I’d like to think I earned a 100-point bonus.
In 30 days, I’m on a plane back to Paris and the emotions are overwhelming. I’m sure Paris changed over the years, but I’m confident Paris will remember me. I’m the one who ran to the Eiffel Tower straight from the train, bags in hand, to breathe in the breathtaking structure I’ve dreamt about. I’m the one who went running down the Champs-Elysses after a night at the Buddha Bar. I’m the girl who fell into the luxury of French lingerie in the 18th arrondissment. I’m the girl who cried when the time came to leave you.
Paris is my first love. It stole my heart nine years ago and I’ve never recovered.
This time, when you enjoy your parisien cigar…don’t inhale.
Oh – and make sure the tour de france isn’t going to complicate your trip home!