On the last big trip, I did a reflection-based summary about midway in.  Believe it or not, we’re already there.  So before I go on to give you my thoughts on the French Riviera, here’s where I am, figuratively speaking…

Well, there have been some trying times in the last 6 weeks, especially compared to Australiasia (granted that set the bar high, so it’s unfair to expect the rest to measure up, but it’s like relationships – you try not to compare them, but eventually you just do). My travels in Europe have been considerably more difficult.  It’s shocking, I know, if nothing else than because earlier travels were in countries with very little (if any) infrastructure, and now I’m in highly-civilized, highly-touristed locales.

It also might come as a surprise to you, however, because I tend to focus on (and hence write about) the good stuff, this unbelievable opportunity I’ve created to be in places usually reserved for dreams.  I set my mind on things like vineyards and sundried tomatoes and diveboats, on baguettes and beaches and beautiful countrysides, because that’s what I do.  I’m an optimist, people, a glass-half-full kinda’ girl.

But, just for the record, my visits to the heavenly Northern Italy-Southern France regions haven’t been without challenges, including, without limitation, expensive last-minute housing accommodations, complete itinerary restructurings, notably bad luck with public transport (think highway drop-off), a dead cat, and, most recently, a very costly wallet robbery (I’m fine).  It gives me the feeling sometimes of one step forward, and two steps back.

Still, I’ll take it.  As one of my best friends told me once, “all of that has to be worth all of this.”  And at the end of the day, it is.  It’s still travel, culture, my dream-coming-true.  I still catch my breath when my train races out of a tunnel, revealing lush green hills and coral-colored rooftops just above a very aquamarine Mediterranean sea.  I still eat the best croissants I’ve ever had in the morning.  I still, every now and again, have a comprehensible discourse with someone in French.  So, that is my focus.

Now that you’re caught up on the last 6 weeks, what about the next 6, right?  Having finished up the yoga gig a little earlier than planned, I’m left with a gorgeous amount of absolutely unscheduled, non-teaching, non-volunteering, warm summer-weathered time to do, well, I really don’t know.

At first, it conjured up memories of innocent childhood summer days, free from responsibilities other than maybe committing to a time to meet friends at the pool.  Days that, in the extreme excess presenting itself before me, would now be synonymous with guilt.  And though there’s some residual of that, now I also just kinda’ think I deserve them, just by being.

Italians and the French, they seem to understand this, and so do fellow travelers. There really is an art of doing “nothing” (in other words, enjoying the guilty pleasure of free time).  It’s not the most secure way of living, but it is good on so many other levels: more culture to consume, more time to pick up a few words in French, to write or read or whatever.  It’s a different, but valuable, kind of productivity.  It’s the reason we work, to hope to have some of it.

Taking advantage of this relatively no-plan plan, then, I’m going to Paris.  Though I adore the coast, I crave something, anything, that gives me an urban fix.  That whole “you can take the girl out of the city…” sort of thing, maybe.  I’ve still got lots to say on this place, though — more posts and pictures are forthcoming.

So stay tuned, and wish me luck as I work to figure out how to spend my days; it’s a challenge.  And for those of you working at your desks right now, playing that ever-so eloquent violin for me, don’t worry.  I promise I’ll be right back amongst the ranks soon.  *smile*