The expat experience offered simple pleasures — buying bread at the market, boisterous bowling — and, after terrorist attacks, heartbreak as well.
The other night at dinner, with moving boxes and packing tape covering every surface of the house, Riley, our 6-year-old daughter, looked up from eating and, after more than two years of going to school in France and playing in France and growing up in France and learning to speak French, suddenly asked, ever so earnestly, “Daddy, why did we come to France?”
My wife, Jessica, and I looked at each other. It seemed like such a simple answer — we came because The New York Times had offered me a fantastic job over here covering European sports — but the truth had more layers. The real answer had more to do with the opportunity to do things and see things and try things and be things. It had to do with taking chances.
Before we left, everyone talked to us about how we would love Paris because of its sights, lights and smells. And we did love it. It is a city of ethereal beauty and exquisite butter. It is special.
Read the rest of the story by clicking here – Personal Journeys: An American in France Finds Adventures in the Day-to-Day
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