Bear with me as I get all sentimental:
Currently writing this on the final leg of our journey back to France from Turkey and surprised at how natural it feels – how strangely comfortable it is – to be going “home” to Lyon.
Which worries me. Before leaving for Turkey (and many of you can attest to this) I was wishing time away, thinking of little more than my rapidly (although at the time it felt much slower) approaching return to the States. For some reason, I found myself in a rut deeper than any other I’d experienced over the course of the past 9 months. And at the time, I convinced myself that this was a good thing more than a bad thing. Not because I wanted to leave France, but because I figured it’d make the transition back into American life that much easier.
But being in Istanbul and away from Lyon for six days made me realize how intensely I’m going to miss this place. After the first day, I was already going through croissant and baguette withdrawal; I was eating delicious Turkish delicacies, but part of me just wanted a 4 Saisons sandwich from my favorite boulangerie; and surrounded by Turkish, of which I don’t speak a single word, I felt an odd sense of solidarity when we passed groups of French tourists.
In general, I think the most shocking realization was the discovery that I have, and was excited to get back to, my comfort zone in France. Especially since so much of this experience has been about leaving the ol’ comfort zone back in the U.S. It’s going to be so strange going home, but I think it’ll be interesting to see how I’ve changed…
Anyway, enough of that. Mama Atwood gets here in 6 hours, and the two of us hit up Paris in just a couple of days! I will write about the magic that is Istanbul when I get home. Until then, here’s a little taste:
(sunset view from the rooftop terrace of our hotel)
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