Oregon me manque

I miss nature. A lot. On my way home today, coughing past dozens of smokers and swerving around old women or greasy men on the dirty sidewalk, feeling my hips jut uncomfortably from walking (what was today 12km) on the unforgiving concrete, all I could think about was how badly I wished to be on the beach or under a canopy of trees.

This is what I've been missing.

To feel the sand between my toes, to run into the ice-cold water and be bothered by a flock of seagulls rather than pigeons, smelling the salty mist all around me - I can't wait for August. Despite having a great day at the Musée d'Orsay today (where I believe I've been in every room by now), I need fresh air. I need trees. I need to be able to go for a run and not be suffocated by smoke. I need to be able to sit on whatever grass I want, none of it fenced off in Oregon like it is here. Also I just miss being at home. I miss my family, my friends, hearing the birds outside my window.

Don't get me wrong; I love Paris. It's so exciting and there's so much culture and it's a fascinating place for someone who thinks she might be studying anthropology (ahem). I certainly can't incorporate looking at Caillebotte into my usual morning routine like I did today. Still, I'm starting to reconsider my plan to live in a city for the next substantial portion of my life.

Anyways, this wasn't meant to be a depressing post. I guess no vacation is entirely perfect, even if it is in Paris. On a slightly more amusing note, today I saw a man in work clothes riding his bike, and when he turned the corner I noticed a naked baguette poking out of the top of his backpack.

I guess stereotypes exist for a reason.