Not all was perfect in Metz. My boyfriend and I didn't see each-other as often as we would have liked and the days we spent together were often cut short. Combine that with my inability to find work, and I had quite a few low days. One day, Mickaël brought me roses his aunt had picked. Both had gone out of their way (their days are mentally and physically demanding, and often long) to pick and bring the flowers. It was a beautiful gift, given with no expectation other than the wish to make me happy, plus, it was a low day, and it had been awhile since someone made an extra effort to make me feel special. I cried. I pressed two of them for easy transport home to California.
The rest of the flowers have been dried, and are currently in a town in the French Alps, near Geneva, with the bestower of the second kindness. Didier is one of my oldest friends. I have not seen him in over 20 years, but he is storing four boxes totaling four square meters and 20 kg of my junk for me (his mother has a large home). I was at another low, and feeling stressed about having to move back home and he swooped in, my knight in shining armour, to help an old friend in distress.
Right, one of my final views of Paris on this trip, from Gare de l'Est. Across the street at l'Ecu (on the right), my new favorite Parisian waiter, Chris, works breakfast. Okay, technically, he isn't Parisian, he's English. If Chris worked at l'Insulaire, my favorite restaurant (thanks to my sister for bringing me there), that would be the perfect combination for me.
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