A Cool Holiday

France may just be the best place to be if you are feeling nauseous.  You may say with such delicious food and wine, and so many things to see and do? You want to be nauseous there?  Well, I’m talking about its ability to make you feel all better.  Thanks to differences in health care you can walk into a pharmacy ask for something to fix your stomach and, ba-da-bing, you have in your hand the medication they give to Chemo patients to fight their nausea.  One of these bad boys and you are ready to eat and do everything.  You can live like you are dying of that cancer that you no longer feel nauseous from, and with so much to see and eat, Paris may be just the place to do it.

I met up with Matt in Paris for one week of holiday from life here in Togo.  I must say I had a pretty good time and I think Matt did too, but I am still convinced he may have been experiencing a bit of a high and euphoria from those French drugs.

Of course one perk of leaving the equator is the weather.  For the week, Paris was a pleasant forty-something degrees during the day and thirties at night.  I was able to snuggle under blankets, wear warm clothes, and walk around throughout the day without sweating to death.  It was wonderful to wander through the city and explore without feeling like you are going to die of dehydration and sun poisoning. A nice warm hand to hold is not too bad either.

Being the wanderers we are, we walked all over the city seeing many of the typical touristy sites and exploring neighborhoods.  For lunch we tried to decide between the dozens of nearly identical cafes we passed and started thinking about what we would be doing for dinner even before we had lunch.  Of course the food was delicious and an apple crumble, with a topping that may have been a stick of butter, got us to come back for more.  I wish I could have more of this French food back in Togo, but without many of the ingredient like real butter or cheese I’m out of luck and can’t even make them for myself. 

As convinced of how delicious the food is, I am equally convinced that every table in Paris wobbles.  Hardly a problem for the average person a wobbly table can be fixed with a sliver of cardboard, but, put in the hands of one such as myself, a wobbly table is dangerous.  I will jar the table the precise moment you are trying to pour yourself a glass of wine or pick up a utensil, and I will enjoy it, then I will accidently do it again.

Together Matt and I saw weapons, bones, towers, and pigeons fighting over hotdogs and much more.  I finally was able to get clean and stay that way for longer than ten seconds and I got to see Matt after seven months of being apart.  Spending time in Paris made the idea of coming back to humidity and dirt feel extremely difficult, but it’s good to be back, getting a bear hug welcome home from my landlord’s wife and sitting propped in front of my fan listening to my tiny neighbor wail away.  Ah, Togo.

I’ll miss Paris, and even though I may be sweaty and covered in dust, I can’t imagine starting the New Year anywhere but here. Souhaitant une bonne et heureuse année pour tous.