France. Je t’aime you-ish kay?


Eurocup. Paris. 2016.

Europe. Many dream of feasting their eyes on the Sydney Opera House or exploring an inconspicuous city like Iquitos, Peru – thanks Google search – but I’ve always imagined Europe to be my magical journey.

Completely aware that a mere seven hour flight from Toronto could have parked my ass in front of the Eiffel Tower, the idea was more about timing for me. Half the journey is company.


Buildings right out of Hollywood sets (or more accurately, Hollywood sets modelled after European architecture perfection) instantly left my Thailand accustomed eyes wide open. How was it possible every balcony I saw immediately left me squealing to my sister that this was where I would eat croissant donning a fluffy white bathrobe? A girl can dream.

My impression of Parisians after many warnings from French homies in Bangkok kept my pain au chocolat radar high and expectations low. The city felt cold, both literally and figuratively. Waiters didn’t smile, people were pros at avoiding all human contact getting from Point A to Point B and the nicest guy I encountered was Mr.Crêpe maker who dawdled a teeny bit too much (no offense!).

I will be the first to admit that 1.5 days in Paris couldn’t possibly determine my entire feeling towards France so until next time, au revoir dear Paris!

Oh, Eiffel tower sighting, check. Happiness factor level 9000.


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