For years, I wanted to move to Paris. I wanted to embrace the Parisian life, eat pastries and drink strong black coffee at a cafe, wearing a beret and thick black eyeliner, people watching. Or typing my novel on a typewriter in my little garret apartment, because obviously I wanted to live in the movie version of Paris. But then I went to Ireland. And I was greatly swayed by the beautiful scenery and the history and the amazingness that is Ireland. But I still had a sneaking feeling I wanted to go to Paris. But then, this summer I spent a week in Quebec, where they don't speak English as their main language. No no, they speak French. I love French, I really do. I studied it for five years, so you'd think that I had some sort of handle on the language. Now this was in high school, so we're talking years ago here. So when I went to Quebec, I thought I would be awesome. No. I was not. I spent a week trying desperately to understand basic conversation and contribute something that was not stupid. Yeah it did not work out very well.
Now I have never actually BEEN to Paris, so I may be swayed again, but at the moment, if I could live anywhere, I would move (in a flippin heartbeat) to Killarney, Ireland. It's a small town outside Dublin in County Kerry. And I adore it. It was amazing, the best vacation I have ever taken. And I have taken A LOT of vacations. The scenery was amazing, the weather was divine, and the people were wonderful, AND I could understand them! And I picked up the accent, which is one of the sexiest things in the whole wide world. Don't let anyone else tell you it's not. Now I want to go back and (legally) drink at the fantastic little pub that was by our hotel. Or partake in a Dublin pub crawl, which I didn't do last time, because I was 18 and with my dad. Or do the Ring of Kerry again. Man oh man. Ireland, I miss you, and I'll be back sometime! I promise!!