Zurich the Weird

Okay, I'm just going to say it. Zurich was weird. Neither Reagan or I had been before, so we thought why not tag Switzerland onto the end of our travels? Note to self: do not wait til the end of a ten-day trip to go to the most expensive city in Europe. After a few surprise expenses in Vienna and Innsbruck, we ended up pretty much broke by the end of our trip. No, but really. The panic was beginning to spread. We made a fun little game called, "Is it free? Can we make it free?" Because it's fun to be poor! Maybe it was our tight-strapped wallets, but Zurich left something to be desired in my wanderlust.

Innsbruck the Majestic

Another lookbook edition to the blog. Sometimes words distract from the story, so I'll sum up our time in Innsbruck in as few words as possible.

A French Wine and Cheese Festival

It's been a little while since my last post. I'm still trying to figure out when to write about all the adventures I'm having in between all the adventures I'm having. This past weekend alone, I meditated on Monet's water lilies, fought for some face-time with Mona Lisa, helped rescue the old man who feeds all the cats of the Montmartre Cemetery, hunted down Vincent Van Gogh's old apartment, and learned how to "really" eat Thai food in Paris. But my favorite experience, perhaps since arriving one month ago, was what I consider to be the quintessential French experience: a wine and cheese festival set to the lovely autumnal scenery of a small French village.

"P" is for Palaces

Something I absolutely love about Paris: There are palaces everywhere. 

Having grown up in Ohio, palaces are not exactly a daily encounter, but in Paris, you must go out of your way to avoid one in your daily commute or stroll through the city. Most have been turned into museums of art or history, but in cases like these, the buildings are as beautiful, as inspiring, as provocative as the stories and relics they house.

Exploring the 2nd

Let's take a walk down the streets of one of the less famous arrondissements, the 2nd. Largely neglected in favor of its illustrious neighbor, the 1st, this area has only recently begun to attract tourist attention. Following Janelle McCulloch's advice in her book Paris: A Guide to the City's Creative Heart (which I will be using for most my arrondissement-specific ventures), I took an afternoon to explore the heart of this "lesser" sector of Paris. This was also my first time whipping out the big leagues camera since arriving (okay, it's just a Cannon Rebel t3i, but it's big leagues for me), so this post is more picture-book style.

Bonjour, Paris!

Am I really here?? The first few days I really couldn't believe it. Besides the jet-lag, I was in a bit of culture shock. After 6 months of planning and a lifetime of dreaming, I was finally in Paris. And not just for a weekend getaway, or even a month's vacation. I'm here for a whole year.

Last Days in America

Sitting on a cushiony velvet sofa, listening to the cool blasé buzz of the city streets below, and reminding myself that the past few days weren't a dream. I really am in Paris, and this is my new home for a year. Let's recap.

Saturday: Family wedding for my cousin Ryan and his gorgeous wife Ashton. The venue was a romantic rustic brick summer home tucked in the backwoods of Xenia, Ohio. 

Just look at that happy groom!

Sunday: Goodbyes with my parent's church and my grandparents. So much encouragement and prayer from my spiritual mommas and poppas who have watched me do crazy stuff like this since I was born. And an impromptu early Thanksgiving dinner with my family at my grandparents...how perfect! Thank you Bob Evans and Starbucks (especially for the early PSL release date).

Monday: Playing games and recovering from a full weekend. Goodbyes with my sister and brother-in-law, who are, may I just say, completely awesome. Watch the Sound of Music, a most appropriate choice given the circumstances. Realize how much I have let me driving skills slip in a final Payne family MarioKart Wii tourney. Say goodbye to my baby sister. That was hard.

Tuesday: The big day. Desperately trying to slim down a 66 lbs suitcase to 50. Running last minute checks and getting my parents up to date on all things technology for cross-sea communication. 

--Pause--

We live in amazing times, people. Like, just stop and think about it. Really think about it. I am an ocean away from all my loved ones, yet I can still instantly converse with them, even have face-to-face interactions, in a few simple clicks of the button or taps on a touchscreen. We live in unprecedented times. 

--Continue--

We drive to the airport, stopping one last time for a single combo meal from Wendy's. Because they sure don't have that in the land of crepes and boeuf bourguignon. The drive to the airport is quiet. There comes a point where there isn't anything else to say. Just holding hands and holding back tears.

My friend Hannah came for a few minutes to wish me goodbye. She is my travel buddy, having studied abroad in Europe and Asia, so having her there made me feel a little more confident. Then we go to check my one suitcase. It's 3.5 lbs over.

Travel tip 1: Take the baggage policies at face value and don't overpack.

Travel tip 2: If you're like me and blatantly disregard the first tip, have someone come with you to the airport with a suitcase for things you have to ditch last minute. 

With my suitcase checked and an hour until boarding, my parents and I waited as long as possible before I had to go through security. I wish I could tell you I was full of excitement and anticipation, going on the adventure of a a lifetime. I wish I could say all I could see was life in pink waiting for me, like the name of this blog.

But sitting in the chairs outside security, looking into the eyes of the two people who have loved for me, cared for me, treasured me the most in this life, I felt my heart tearing. We held hands as I sat there, mourning the year of separation that security line meant for us. I felt silly, but somehow rightfully so. Even technology can't imitate the soothing solace of sharing moments with the ones you love and who know you.

I have had trouble with my family relationships in the past, due to my own selfishness and immaturity. This past year, God has mended those relationships and renewed my love for my family in astounding ways. And now that I felt I truly understood their significance to me, I was leaving them. It's hard to be excited about the unknown when you're in love with the life you already have.
But perhaps that's why I had to leave, to know that life is more than I think it is at 23.

Finally I walked through security. Every time I looked back my parents were there, waving as high as they could, straining to see me until they couldn't anymore. I think I may have hyper-ventilated once or twice as I turned around for the final time.

No going back now.

Mattresses and Memories

Let me tell you a story of a young girl who was lost and broken. She moved into a new house and said goodbye to a dear friend and an old life. And every night in her new house, she mourned and wept and pressed deeply into her bed as if to press into another world far from the pain. And one night, amidst streaming tears and a snotty nose, she heard God whisper, I'm here. And she pressed so deeply into her bed that night that she found herself pressed into the very heart of God, the very arms of Christ, never the same.

I sold that bed today.

It's funny how different things affect us during the moving process. I never thought once that I would mourn for a bed. Yet here I am, wiping back tears and trying to feel it as if it were alive and could tell me things, tell me how many tears and laughs and secrets were shared with roommates and best friends on its soft, cushy surface.

I remember my mother telling me once that a bed is a sacred place. I've always considered that statement in regards to marriage. But truly, it goes beyond that. A bed is where you are most vulnerable, unconscious in your dreams. A bed is where you go when all the world is grey and wrong. A bed is where you first see the sunlight of every day. A bed is where you feel the sweet reward of rest after a long day's work. A bed is where you find quiet and a settling of the soul. A bed is a very special place.

I know it may sound funny, and perhaps you may think I'm being dramatic. But losing this bed feels almost like losing a friend, with very sweet memories woven deep into its every curve and edge. I experienced God in the most radical and intimate way over the past three years. Starting that night I felt Him hold me, in this bed.

I can only hope another little girl somewhere, perhaps also lost and broken, will find Him there, too.

Update:

Another way that being in God's family is so amazing-- when this family came to pick up the bed, they asked to pray for me. So right then my mom and the three of us joined hands and prayed in my cluttered half-packed apartment. It's like I can't go anywhere without getting prayer for my trip!

When you tell people you're moving to Paris...

A hidden treasure in the whole process of moving is how much you learn about your friends and family when you tell them you are moving (in particular, moving to Paris). What people don't realize is how much their reactions reveal about themselves and their view of the world.

Since making the big announcement that I am moving to Paris,  I have found that I can categorize most people into two camps: the dreamers and the realists.

The dreamers say things like:
"You are definitely going to meet your hot French husband over there."
"You are never going to come back."
"I am totally gonna come visit you."

The realist say things like:
"Do you even speak French?"
"I could never do that."
"Have you told your current job?"

Both have their pros and cons. The dreamers will promise the world, then disappear on delivery day. The realists can come off an unsupportive and bubble-bursters.

I definitely land in the dreamers camp. Caution to the wind, and what is bureaucracy? When they think of Paris, they see the tourist sites, espresso at the outdoor cafe, and of course, everyone in love. The realists are already calculating the cost of such a trip, and how on earth you are going to get all your paperwork done in time? They are quick to reassure themselves of their contentedness in their routine schedules and familiar grocery lists, and they ask "helpful questions" hoping you will reconsider career suicide.

Now there are occasional exceptions to these camps:

*The dreamers-turned-realists.
Usually older, they wanted to travel but instead chose the American dream, and ended up with a mortgage and PTO meetings. (Families are wonderful, don't get me wrong. It just makes travel immensely more complicated and expensive). "Do it while you're young; you'll never have this time back," they will croon, with a sad far away look in their eyes. Not regret really, just wondering how life may have been different...

*The people with no cultural interest whatsoever.
They probably have lived in the same town their whole lives and frankly could care less about your little life escapade, because why on earth would you want to leave America? They'll respond with a "Wow, that's cool" before promptly turning the conversation to football and hunting season.

While some people might get defensive about their decisions to move when confronted, I find it much more enjoyable to look at these different reactions as gifts, a new way to get to know the people God has placed in our lives. Travel is not for everyone, nor is living in another culture. Love the people your given, even when they don't process your big move the way you wish they would. And remember... you're moving to PARIS.

I know something you don't know

Last night I sat amongst friends during bible study and wept. They didn't see me weep. Or at least they pretended they didn't notice, to give me privacy, I think. Or maybe they just aren't surprised anymore. Most had their eyes closed and voices lifted in worship. And so I wept.

This is now the second time where I find myself sitting amongst a group of people I love knowing that I will be all too soon be leaving all their quirks and inside jokes and familiarity. I sat marveling at how each person sang in their own world, making the words matter so much more than they knew. I wept for the love that I had for each person that had slowly crept in these past 6 months. It's funny how quickly love can rush in, yet how long it lasts.

 I wept for the knowledge that they would go on and live their lives without me and be perfectly fine. Sometimes it is healthy to recognize one's own insignificance. That when you leave, the impact stays. The work, done. The season, closed.

I almost told them, as we lazed in happy summer dreams and planned out the next few social months together. I almost told them, as we talked of camping trips, pool parties, and baseball games. But God put me at peace. Nothing needed stirred up here today.

Here friendships have been planted. Here bonds have been made. Here love has inhabited. And my part in it is coming to a close.

One more week. And I will tell them.