8:00 AM → 8:00 PM. Twelve hours, right?
It’s actually 21 hours, given the nine-hour time difference between Paris and Portland. Twenty-one hours, and it never got dark.
We thought this blog was over, but there’s been a great outpouring of “Now what?” Maybe two or three people, even! So here we are, back in Portland after our Senior Year Abroad. I love the cooler air, the gentler sun, and even the refreshing drizzle. I love that everybody speaks the same language. When we walk into a grocery store, we can identify everything in it. We have new phone numbers and we make calls like real people. If we haven’t called you yet, here’s why: Continue reading
Traveling as we do, we meet a lot of people. Conversations ensue. Questions are asked, and among the first is, “Where do you live?” Then the familiar words: vagabond, expat, ne’er-do-well, and homeless.
After we tell the story of our travels — so well-rehearsed we can recite it in our sleep — comes the inevitable question: “What will you do next?”
Our answer has always been, “We don’t know.” But now, with less than sixty days remaining of our planned expat adventure — less than sixty days! — we have decided.
We’re going home.
Kappy, Bernie and Kathy, Doyle, Michael, Beth and Jim, Sybil and James, Cole, Lillie, Weston, Hayden, Topaz, and Kerri — thanks for making our Portland Christmas everything we hoped it would be.
But enough of the freezing fog already. It’s back to Puerto Vallarta (and sun, and beach, and surf) tomorrow.
Tom & Louise
(Photo by Sybil Lichty Fontaine)
That’s not a typo. The saddle in question is Buzz’s saddle. Buzz is my (electric) bike. You sit on bike saddles, not in them. And Buzz is in Portland — which is as close as we come to having a home. So you see, I’m back in (and on) the saddle again, both figuratively and literally.
I’ve been thinking about what that means to me.