I booked my tickets home.

I needed a deadline, a time frame to budget and to a date to look forward to.

So I booked my tickets.  I will be flying back to Canada near then end of January, stopping in Toronto to see my grandparents, and then heading back to Vancouver before the 2010 Olympics begin.

I have less than two months to finish gathering all of the information I need.

In Vancouver I will finish writing my book, and when the time comes to fill in the missing holes, I will use my return ticket to fly back to Paris.  While I no longer have the desire to live in Paris, it is a city I will always return to for inspiration.

I feel good having the extra motivation to get through the remaining chapters.  Having an uncertain amount of time looming before me made me feel like my inspiration would disappear along with my funds.

One of the hardest parts about writing this book for me is not having a paycheck.  Money is not everything, but it is motivation to work hard and a piece of independence in the palm of your hand.

I don’t like watching debt pile up and I don’t like being dependent on others.  This whole experience has taught me to be vulnerable and grateful, but I really feel it’s time I start to give back.

I have a lot to work towards and I know I need to appreciate this time for what it is.  My work may or may not payoff financially, but following my dream is priceless.

And so the countdown begins.  As enamored as I am with France, I can’t wait to go home.  I’m looking forward to the Pacific ocean, the snow covered mountains, hot Americano coffee in paper cups and a warm body to crawl into bed with.

Sometimes a change of scenery is necessary.  The other day my dad and I needed a change from our sleepy little town in the country so we took off to the city of Toulouse an hour away.

Craving a hot lunch to warm up the damp day, we took off to one of the indoor markets.  After browsing through the rows of butchers, bakers, cheese shops and stand up bars selling beer and hard boiled eggs, we made our way up a set of stairs with a sign that said: Restaurants, 1er étage.

You would never know there was anything upstairs were it not for this subtle sign.  My dad curiously had taken a peek one day and discovered a whole floor of mini restaurants.

So we climbed the stairs and explored the long busy hall.  We checked out all of the menus of the tightly packed restaurants before settling for me seafood.

The place was packed and it took grabbing our own menus and several hand signals before we could get our orders taken.  But when our food came, we were not disappointed.  My dad’s fish platter was perfectly cooked and seasoned in some great Cajun spices.  My steaming serving of mussels were plump and flavorful and I could barely make my way through the generous mound on my plate.

We spent the rest of the day walking around the city and were happy to come home to a simple dinner.  The change of air was exactly what we needed to appreciate our quiet little town.

I’ll miss this small town in the same way that I’ll miss Paris, but sometimes it takes leaving a place to help you remember just how much you love it.

The French love their meat

Saucisson

Extra vielle Mimolette- a cheese I highly recommend

Colorful macarons

Bistro above the market

Dad before lunch

My giant plate mussels and green salad for lunch

The creative art of parking in France