European Wanderlust

What with all the television coverage of the Olympics, I've begun to miss Europe a bit. It's been six or seven months since I left France, which is just enough time for the memories of blazing summer heat, pathetic bathroom facilities, and surly shopkeepers to fade. Now all that remains is the images of the bucolic countryside, the lilting sound of the French language in the air, and the taste of actual, honest-to-goodness cheese.

I've never actually been to the Alps, and the current omnipresent panoramic views of the snowy peaks and the pale blue winter sky have left me yearning to go. Just to see varied terrain would make me happy at this point. Here in Chicago, the only change in elevation I make is when our car goes over a speed bump.

If it weren't for the ridiculous cost, the miserable overnight plane ride, and the complete lack of convenience in everday life, I'd be planning my next trip overseas right now. But alas, I don't see it happening anytime soon. I'll just have to content myself with my current Francophile tendancies and the Olympic hype. But I won't stop mourning the absence of cheese.