January 23, 2011.
"Yes, the good life, full of fun seems to be the ideal..."
Whether I was taking an audio tour on a hop-on, hop-off Gray Line Paris bus around the city, walking down the crowded, but bustling Latin Quarter on a sunny Saturday morning, or simply enjoying my second petit dejeuner next to Claude Monet down in the basement at my hotel, those very lyrics lingered on in my head like the sweet and tangy taste of red wine rolled and swished around in my mouth. Yes, that classic song took on a much deeper meaning for me when I spent my first weekend in Europe. In France. In Paris. In the dead of winter. Solo. Ever!
On the afternoon of February 27th, a Saturday, I met a couple of guys (a Black man from St. Louis and his friend from Berlin, Germany, respectively) on the Gray Line Paris Blue bus, asked the bus driver with my limited command of French for directions, sent him a Merci beaucoup, monsieur his way before he got back on his bus, and started walking around Les Invalides, hopeful that I would find my muse, a Thinker named Auguste Rodin, before I returned to the States.
Or was I really searching for myself?
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