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For the
next five months we will be stationed at the Maison des Étudiants
Canadiens
in Paris.
My goal is
to write like
a madwoman and lay
claim to having studied for one term at the Sorbonne. Rod is here
to paint,
improve his French
and
support his little chou-chou. Seeing
as we've both crossed the threshold into the dirty
thirties, such
an
adventure might be one of our last, so we want to make the most of
it. As always, we are
addicted to
scribbling,
sketching, taking photos and generally leaving our mark. Dogs
have trees (and Paris
sidewalks) and we have art.
After all the massive
culture shock of living
in Asia, France
is sure to be much milder on the palate. Perhaps
less adventurous,
certainly less
detached, a shorter plane ride
from home, a linguistic sigh of relief, a more
familiar cultural
smorgasbord. We're paying to be
here instead of raking in the dough. But
one really shouldn't
compare. Aprés
tout, each day dawns for the first time in this ancient city of fresh
baguette and
new ideas.