I am finally back to work after an almost three week break, and coming down from a serious holiday high. I feel as if it were all a dream as Christmas and New Years found me wrapped in my love's arms once again, France. Originally, I didn't have vacation until January, but an offer too good to turn down popped up from my mom to go to France and be my dad's surprise Christmas present. It took some maneuvering and a lot of effort on both my and my company's part, but the change was made and my return trip to the land of unpasteurized cheese and red wine was set in motion.
After a long night's celebration of goodbyes and Merry Christmas-ing in Hong Kong, I hopped on a ten hour flight to Moscow, switched planes, and landed in Paris around nine at night. I immediately felt that all was right in the world walking off that plane and into the cold, fresh, unpolluted, night air. My adrenaline was pumping so hard from the excitement it completely masked the effects of not having slept at all the previous night or the ride over.
All my traveling efforts were well rewarded when I got to see the look of utter shock on my dad's face as he came to the realization that it was me walking towards him, not some directionless crazed lunatic. His body reacted much faster than his brain could filter as his arms shot up into the air and his vocal chords starting yelling my name. He surprised even himself by this reaction, he later confessed. His smile was the biggest I've ever seen it as he dumbfoundedly asked me what I could possibly be doing in Paris, as if it were only by coincidence that we happened to run into each other at the Charles De Gaulle airport. It's one of the best memories I will ever have of him - I can already tell.
My parents and I hopped on a bullet train to Brittany where we spent the following week in a haze of merriment with wine soaked, five course, four hour meals, lazy afternoons, aperitifs by the fire, and the general lapping up of affection from my family on my part. (Can you tell I'm the baby yet?) It was difficult, at first, to go from the hustle and bustle of metropolitan Hong Kong to the calm, rustic, tranquility of the French countryside. I quickly adjusted to its simplicity and it even inspired me to spruce up my doodling skills. There were also long, refreshing, sea side walks where we battled against the cold wind and rain. Countless coffees and chocolat chaud were consumed to counteract the damp Brittany chill. Most of the nearby villages were closed for winter so you can image how fortunate it is that we all like each other as a family, since we were our only source of entertainment. .
After a week of rejuvenating family time, I felt as if my depleted heart and soul were charged to full capacity. It was time to take the family party to Paris to shake up the scene with a few Fat Tire Bikes. Both my mom and my dad were anxious to take a day bike tour of Paris as neither of them were able to when I actually worked for Fat Tire in 2010/11. I was just as excited to show them a small portion of what my life consisted of for two years. Right off the bat, I came to realize that getting my dad around 1) English speakers and 2) a bike, was like releasing a six year old into a candy store with an unlimited budget and sampling capabilities. He was swerving in and out of bikers, asking as many questions to the tour guide as possible, and just being an lovably embarrassing tourist in general. My mom and I rode together in the back as my dad flitted about and played the social butterfly.
Sadly, my parents left a week before I did - and I truly do mean sadly. It had been a year since I had seen either of them after I left their Houston home (after crashing on their couch for eight months) to teach English in South Korea. The older I get and more 'real world experience' I gain, the more I reflect back on how unique my parents are and how much I truly cherish my childhood. Although I am far from being a "baby girl" now, I'll definitely always be their baby girl. (sorry bros - it's special.) Besides, let's be real for a minute, it's always good to know at least two people in the world think you are unconditionally amazing/talented/beautiful/thebestpersonwhowalkedthefaceoftheEarthever.
After a week of rejuvenating family time, I felt as if my depleted heart and soul were charged to full capacity. It was time to take the family party to Paris to shake up the scene with a few Fat Tire Bikes. Both my mom and my dad were anxious to take a day bike tour of Paris as neither of them were able to when I actually worked for Fat Tire in 2010/11. I was just as excited to show them a small portion of what my life consisted of for two years. Right off the bat, I came to realize that getting my dad around 1) English speakers and 2) a bike, was like releasing a six year old into a candy store with an unlimited budget and sampling capabilities. He was swerving in and out of bikers, asking as many questions to the tour guide as possible, and just being an lovably embarrassing tourist in general. My mom and I rode together in the back as my dad flitted about and played the social butterfly.
Sadly, my parents left a week before I did - and I truly do mean sadly. It had been a year since I had seen either of them after I left their Houston home (after crashing on their couch for eight months) to teach English in South Korea. The older I get and more 'real world experience' I gain, the more I reflect back on how unique my parents are and how much I truly cherish my childhood. Although I am far from being a "baby girl" now, I'll definitely always be their baby girl. (sorry bros - it's special.) Besides, let's be real for a minute, it's always good to know at least two people in the world think you are unconditionally amazing/talented/beautiful/thebestpersonwhowalkedthefaceoftheEarthever.
That being said, I had a ball with my remaining friends and time in Paris. A lot of my time was spent exactly how I wanted: wandering with my head in the clouds, drinking coffee, wandering some more and people watching. I rung in the New Year at the Fat Tire office in the midst of a dance party, champagne, charcuterie, fois grois, suits, ties, fur, glitter and of course, hundreds of dirty bikes, Segways and helmets.
The atmosphere was jovial and utterly carefree. I attempted to pull an Irish goodbye, but on the way home ran into a new friend from the office party. He completely saved me from a night of desperate attempts at flagging down an impossible-to-get NYE taxi by securing me a velo, which I rode across town with my floor length red hot dress tucked into my waist high control top tights.
We continued the party until six in the morning in the cave of a local gay bar in the Marais. I danced like a mad woman and probably offended plenty of dignified men who were completely uninterested in anything I had to offer by flailing my limbs around in their space to the pulsing music. YOLO. Finally, when the sun was peaking up over the Seine I dragged myself home, head ringing from the impossibly loud Madonna/Britney Spears, eyes blurry from too much champagne and lust for la vie Parisienne.
The best part about having walked home at six in the morning in Paris were the cobblestones. They were still glistening from being freshly washed and swept by the green street sweeping monsters and reflected the early pink glow of the sunrise. The city itself was cold and quiet while everyone was tucked into their own, or someone else's, bed to sleep off the night before. I was beyond tipsy and at this point my floor length red dress was in a knot at my waist. Caked on sweat and mussed up dance hair had obliterated any chance of looking sober or acting cool. In a fleeting moment of clarity I tipped my head back to the sky and whispered a little thank you to the universe and prayed for one more life in Paris.
......which didn't end up landing in my lap before my incredibly exhausting 30 hour journey back to Hong Kong. Ten of those hours were spent medically knocked out the Moscow airport floor surrounded by ridiculous Russians in track suits. Five of those were spent praying to the Gods of flight because I was entirely certain my plane was going to crash. All were spent already missing vacation. WOMP WOMP.
Suckas. Thought you were getting a romantic ending.
The atmosphere was jovial and utterly carefree. I attempted to pull an Irish goodbye, but on the way home ran into a new friend from the office party. He completely saved me from a night of desperate attempts at flagging down an impossible-to-get NYE taxi by securing me a velo, which I rode across town with my floor length red hot dress tucked into my waist high control top tights.
We continued the party until six in the morning in the cave of a local gay bar in the Marais. I danced like a mad woman and probably offended plenty of dignified men who were completely uninterested in anything I had to offer by flailing my limbs around in their space to the pulsing music. YOLO. Finally, when the sun was peaking up over the Seine I dragged myself home, head ringing from the impossibly loud Madonna/Britney Spears, eyes blurry from too much champagne and lust for la vie Parisienne.
The best part about having walked home at six in the morning in Paris were the cobblestones. They were still glistening from being freshly washed and swept by the green street sweeping monsters and reflected the early pink glow of the sunrise. The city itself was cold and quiet while everyone was tucked into their own, or someone else's, bed to sleep off the night before. I was beyond tipsy and at this point my floor length red dress was in a knot at my waist. Caked on sweat and mussed up dance hair had obliterated any chance of looking sober or acting cool. In a fleeting moment of clarity I tipped my head back to the sky and whispered a little thank you to the universe and prayed for one more life in Paris.
......which didn't end up landing in my lap before my incredibly exhausting 30 hour journey back to Hong Kong. Ten of those hours were spent medically knocked out the Moscow airport floor surrounded by ridiculous Russians in track suits. Five of those were spent praying to the Gods of flight because I was entirely certain my plane was going to crash. All were spent already missing vacation. WOMP WOMP.
Suckas. Thought you were getting a romantic ending.
