Have I Forgotten that I'm a Francophile!?

It's four days until I fly through Detroit all the way to Paris, my cherished city. When I lived there in 2003 it hit me hard. Sunk into me. The last 9 years of my life have been eventful, however,  and I'm suspecting that with a formal education in architecture and practicing in the design field, aaaand now being familiar with life in NY and Seattle, will leave even a bigger impression than my experiences living there as an exchange student.

"Viens, viens ici," the city whispers to me. As I do a mad dash between projects to secure Paris Design Week activities, Anthony Bourdain recommended eateries, artisanal coffee roasters and cafes, and cutting edge art galleries, I ask in disbelief: "Have you honestly forgotten what a francophile you once were, oh sensitive girl? Doesn't the sound of someone speaking French make your heart beat fast? And what of your architecture thesis, didn't your premise begin with the notion of flanerie?"

I have a lofty goal of organizing all of the tours, hints of places to visit, getting lost and eating into a graphic pamphlet of sorts before Sunday morning. But that's mostly a dream as there are 3 project deadlines approaching in the next two days.