Wanderlust, part deux

Been in Paris for almost two weeks now, holed up on Angela's couch. I've tried macarons and Mariage Frères tea, there are twelve empty bottles of wine resting neatly on a table near me, and I have tons of photos of my trinket from Japan with French monuments:

I traveled here with a friend who left for the States today, which means my time in Paris as a tourist has come to an end. Also, I don't have a return ticket yet, but I intend to bum it for at least another month and a half.

Friends and family back at home continue to hit me up on Facebook, asking for photos, souvenirs or lavish stories about the city of lights and love, or how it was to see Angela for the first time in a year. These are normal requests, but the truth is I don't have much to say about either.

Paris is just the way I remembered it -- like San Francisco, except full of French people -- and  every time I see Angela, no matter how long it's been, it feels like no time has gone by at all.

She returned from a work thing a week after I arrived, and when she walked into the apartment with Gael (her dude), I'd just woken up from an afternoon nap. I heard her voice first, then saw her face peer into the living room from the hallway. I met her smile with a smile,  and that was it. No squeals, no giant hugs, no tears. Just big smiles. I like this about our friendship.

Outside the Eiffel tower lights up every 15 minutes, men walk by with accordions playing sad little tunes, and I can hear wine-filled laughter coming from the bar on the corner almost every night. But I'm happiest spending my evenings the way we're spending tonight---tapping away on our laptops, sometimes in separate rooms, sometimes together.

So. How's Paris? It's good. It's very, very good.