I’ve been thinking a LOT about the couple of months I spent in France last year. It feels like forever ago, but also not because I remember the sensations of being there so vividly: the RATP jingle playing in the metro, the crunch of a cheap Monoprix baguette, the grueling-but-worthwhile hikes up to the Sacre Cœur, the flowers that adorned nearly every apartment balcony…

Plainly put, France was beautiful and carefree and I miss it. And not just because of self-quarantine—before the outbreak, too, I’d daydream often about how lovely it’d be to just live there for a full year (or more!). And even though my experience there was far from perfect—the house where I spent my first 6 weeks was flagrantly unhygienic and culminated in multiple fleabites—I generally think of my short time in France positively.

Anyways, behold a photo dump of the scenes I’ve mentally returned to, over and over:

Paris

Nice