France! – Or, la maison de mes parents.
It was night when we took off, and the city below us was shining its million lights through the clouds. Quite a spectacle. We flew East all night and landed in Paris still in the dark. The sun rises late in France in the winter, about an hour later than in New York. I waited for my sister at Gare de Lyon with a petit-dejeuner complet – strong coffee, orange juice, a croissant au beurre, tartine, and of course appropriate travel reading material.
We took the train to Lyon and voila, after twelve hours of traveling I was back at the house where I grew up.
My parents moved into this house shortly before I was born. They were still wallpapering the staircase when they brought me home from the hospital. It’s a nice old house with floors that creak, windows that leak, a scary basement and tall wooden doors.
I feel very lucky that my parents still live here, in the house where my brother, sister and I grew up – even though at the time I was completely jealous of my best friend because she lived in an apartment building with, guess what, an ELEVATOR! Such luck.