I still haven’t really talked about Paris.

I think I’m still absorbing it.

When I got back from my last big vacation – London a couple years ago – I hated being back in North America. I watched the BBC because all accents that weren’t British felt like they hurt my ears to hear.

I actually wanted out of Paris, bad by the last couple days – but not because I hated it.

I was sick with pandemic flu, exhausted, overwhelmed and wanted my own bed and North American drugs!

But being back now, living our lives here, every once in a while I am reminded of a moment, a view, a time on our honeymoon, and am transported back, quite distinctly.

Yesterday I was hit with a remembrance of perching on the edge of a crooked little cobblestone street – more of an alley, really – in the old Jewish neighborhood, with night time revelers, and scooters flying past us while we gobbled up some of the messiest and most delicious falafels of our lives.

I think that little trip of ours is going to carry us through our lives. Which I guess, is exactly what a honeymoon should be.