Sister trip to France is happening next summer.
Megan and I are going to save our dollars and go back to to where we grew up for a couple of weeks. My french is sleeping in my brain and I will wake it up and give it a work out. Our parents have friends there who will bend over backwards to come get us from the airport and let us stay with them. They will make us our favorite meals and stay up talking at the dinner table until early in the morning. We will probably meet up with our childhood playmates and try to connect on our grown up lives across different cultures and it very well might fail, but the attempt will mean a lot. Babies that I knew are teenagers now. We'll go to Paris for a couple of days and I'll tour the Louvre with genuine interest instead of loathing boredom. My 6 year old self had a low tolerance for the greatest works of art that humanity has to offer. We'll pay in Euros, not Francs, to visit the Eiffel tower, and we'll take the stairs. I really want to take the stairs. We did it that one time and counted to 1300 and something. The slowly elevating view of the city is worth it.
I really should go to that concrete schoolyard with the orange bars and teachers who hit and scream and see how small it looks now that I'm 16 inches taller.
We might do that thing where we speak English to each other because it's more convenient until someone else on the metro makes a snide comment about Americans. Then we'll address them about it in perfect French. That's always fun.
We'll probably bicker. We're good at that. We'll probably laugh ourselves to stomach cramps too. If we go late enough, we can jump the hay bales at the end of our old street. Watch out for stingweed.