After intermittent bursts of sickness, I am finally feeling 75% normal again. Spending time in a cafe this morning is doing wonders on my mental well-being, even if my sneezing and coughing is keeping others from sitting near me. I went to Cafe Lomi for the first time last week, and I am back again today. Even though it is extremely close to my place in Paris, I hadn't made it over since they opened in September. I can't tell you how much it helps to sit in a cafe on my computer, browsing for coffee equipment, reading articles on economic development theory, and watching others order coffee. It just makes me feel normal again!

I have been getting somewhat homesick lately. I am not sure why or how it happened, I just recently have been feeling so isolated from the rest of the world. Paris is great, but sometimes I feel like the artist indie scene is so well hidden that I only see glimpses of it from time to time. And when I do see it, it usually appears in some of the newest cafes. Like Cafe Lomi. New agenda: incorporate these cafes into my weekly routine. If not, my soul wilts away.

In any case, it will be refreshing to return to Chicago, see all my wonderful friends, and refill my indie-vibe quota for the semester. Paris has a hipster scene, but its done in such a traditionally pretentious way (because they wrote the book on liking nothing) that it does not have the same freshness as it does elsewhere. I am looking forward to spending time again in a place where people buy 'vintage' to save money, not because the label is trendy.

My horoscope for this week says I need to spend time revitalizing my physical and mental well-being. My solution: come to Cafe Lomi, at the expense of spreading my disease to others. Afterall, one must listen to their horoscope. Its always right.

This year I hosted my very first Thanksgiving dinner. After arguing with my butcher, I managed to order a 5 kilo (11 lb) turkey. It came to us clean, glizzards already taken out, and tied up neatly. Of course we had to untie it, slide herbed butter under the skin, and stuff it with onions, more butter, and lemon. With much difficulty, we managed to find room for it in my convection oven, which is slightly larger than a microwave oven. After three hours it was golden delicious and ready to serve!

Fortunately I had found some lovely berries growing outside Victoria's window. They made a lovely impromtu centerpiece. Everyone brought a different side dish or dessert. I made my favorite cranberry sauce (although I had to use sour cherries instead of cranberries.. sad) And of course, this being France, there was plenty of wine.

To finish off a lovely night, I hosted a petit coffee tasting! Coutume provided four different types of coffee. A Costa Rican Santa Maria, a Costa Rican Llano Bonito, an Ethiopian Yirgacheffe, and a mild Brazilian made by Daterra. Although against most coffee tasting norms, I grouped two coffees together, brewed them in a chemex, and served them in three cups. For each of the three rounds, the guests had to tell me which of the cups was different than the other two. My lovely friends were right on target. Only two people got each round wrong. Now I know who needs to improve their palate!

Everyone thought I had rigged the game because I was smiling and giggling. I had to reassure them that I was not trying to trick them. I am just this crazy about people tasting coffee.

Oh I can't wait until my next dinner party so we can have a coffee tasting again. :)

Oh yea, and I made a pumpkin pie. The crust was deliciously buttery. I was so proud of myself. Next time though, I want to make the pumpkin myself. We also had a light and creamy citron tart, dark chocolate with cranberries, pumpkin cookies, and macaroons (not pictured because they were all eaten).

                                                    "Are you telling me I don't get any dessert?"

After a long night, we sat back remembering the laughs, the moment when I thought the turkey would never be finished cooking, and the panic when Dave hadn't arrived with the potatoes. This year, I am so thankful. So very thankful that there is still leftover pumpkin pie.

Someone called me a library creature today. It makes sense, I have been draining my brain on to the computer, walking slowly, thinking aloud, and perpetually scouring the internet seeking the answer to all my problems. And they abound. Me need: house, job, and to write. These three tasks go on simultaneously. I write a bit about Vietnamese history, search for a new article, google a housing agency I wanted to check, find a new entrepreneurship forum, start researching each start-up, begin rewriting my CV, remember what I was searching for in the first place: Vietnamese history articles, and restart the process over again. My head hurts. Three more weeks to go before this chapter of my life has can be closed.

The sun has began getting out of bed later and later everyday, and his habits are effecting me. I am greeted with a light drizzle as I hop on my bike to greet the grey days. I stopped counting the number of rainy days in a row. It just seemed futile. Even still, there is a lazy way that I approach my days. Doing what I need to do, making a little progress on my thesis everyday, but no breakthroughs yet.

The rhythm I was seeking this summer has finally set in. I am not sure whether to rejoice or to get back in bed. I think acceptance might be the middle way in this case. Accepted. Write a little more, go to a class, teach a french student, roast some coffee, write some more. And drink wine. At the very least, the wine is cheap.

We were all children at one point, and I truly believe that silliness and laughter heals all wounds, but children are hazardous. One of the downsides of living in such a lovely city is that it is expensive. The posh and even middle-class Parisian families are all seeking childcare, and if you are a native English speaker, all the better! The supply greatly outweighs the demand. These families are desperate. Once I met a mother, child in hand, in front of our University. She eagerly asked my friend and I if we were Americans. When I said yes, she asked me if I wanted to teach her child English four days a week. Trying to be kind, I told her to put a note on the bulletin board. Not because I didn't need the money, but because I already have too many clients.

I put an add on the French version of craigslist over a month ago, and I had someone new call me today. Before we even began trying to find a day that works, I asked was where she lives. I think that put her off a bit. I am sure her children are nice. I am sure that her sons will learn English quickly. But look lady, supply is greater than demand, and I have my choice of families.

So today was my first day as an official babysitter. (Thankfully day 1 of 3. I have already decided I don't have time to entertain children, when I can roast coffee instead!) This kid is adorable. The first time we met he hid behind a wall. Today he was showing me off to his friends on the playground. Yet when I ask him to do anything, his immediate answer is no. And if he really doesn't want to do it, he screams no. The neighbors even pounded on the wall once, because he was so loud. Yet, when I count to 10 and get really angry, he does whatever I want. How bizarre is it that I have to be mad and upset for him to listen to me?

I hardly remember what it was like to be a child because my mother always treated me like an adult. I remember having discussions about feminism when I was eight. I can't even imagine what it must be like for this kid to not be able to speak in his native language to express his thoughts and feelings. How frustrating! For him and me both. The only thing keeping me going through this hazardous week is the idea that maybe someone will get my kid frustrated when he is little too. That way when he is my age, he won't be nearly as frustrated with French as I am!

It could be the wonderful weather we are having, but I attribute my love-sickness to biking. Paris is an easy city to love if you spend most of your day outside in the sunshine instead of in an underground stinky metro. Pedaling to the beat of the city, I pass the Grand Palais and Invalides on the way to school, sprint up Montmartre hill on the way home, and enjoy the sunshine in between. Cars seem to avoid me, scooters cut me off, and I am glad I spent time in Vietnam studying their method of crossing traffic. If you keep moving at a steady pace, they have no choice but to avoid you. Until of course, they don't avoid you. In which case we come close to crashing at the snail pace of 10 miles per hour. The driver proceeds to yell out his window at me, explaining all of the rules of the road I have violated, but instead of getting worked up, I do a little shrug, apologize and keep moving. The key is to always keep moving. I feel more zen (and in better shape) than ever! Why didn't I do this before? Paris, you are lovely to bike through. I'd love you even more if you came out with a bike map though :)

Oh Paris. How I love thee, let me count the ways. It is amazing how much you appreciate home once you have been gone for a while. Traveling to Vietnam changed me in ways that I could not have imagined. At first, it was difficult, but as the trip progressed, I became more knowledgeable and street-savvy. It was a once in a lifetime trip in a country completely foreign to me. Once in a lifetime, because I will always have those lessons I have learned. Vietnam was completely foreign to me. Although my readers from the US think of France as a foreign country, to me it is anything but. It fits like an old shoe. Of course, I am still afraid of speaking to my bank manager, and I love the invention of electronic postal machines, but I am trying.

This year could be my last in France. I need to absorb every ounce that I can. My number one goal for this year is to make French friends, and improve my language skills drastically. I am currently at a conversational level in speaking, but writing is still very difficult. It takes me a half an hour to write a simple email, and even then I am quite certain I am making horrible mistakes.

Therefore, I have scheduled for myself French classes. 6 hours this semester. That might have been a bit ambitious, what with my coffee roasting apprenticeship (yay!), babysitting a french boy, writing my thesis, and a zillion other pet projects. I can make it work, but I want to make sure that I take time to enjoy Paris. That means picnics on the canals, visiting the Louvre, seeing shows at the Opera Garnier, and walking the streets as if it is the first time I have ever seen them.

But... I will probably get wrapped up in the wonderful coffee community here in Paris and forget to do all of these things. Which is equally as exciting. :)

Perched above the city of Nha Trang, instead of horns and motorbikes, I hear birds and leaves rolling along the stone pavement beneath my feet. Looking over the Eastern Sea (also known as the South China Sea), I can't help but feel more confident than I have in days. After a challenging dive into Vietnamese culture, I have returned from the Central Highlands region more experienced and knowledgeable.

I rested for a few days in a stranded beach resort full of European families and beach bums. I gravitated toward a group of French women, taking the opportunity to immerse myself. Although I wasn't always able to communicate perfectly, I was proud of my ability to express myself. Finally a challenge I am used to facing, and one I know I have the ability to conquer.

Today, however, I am on my own. Just me and a rented motorbike tooling around a foreign city. Although the resort was a nice pause in a tumultuous trip, returning to the real world feels refreshing. I still have much to learn about the Vietnamese people, I am beginning to place individual interactions within a broader understanding of their culture. Onward and upward. The worst of the storm has passed. Deep breath. Sigh. Cough.. ugh, smog.

After chatting with a couple from Holland at dinner this evening, I couldn't forget something that the blonde haired blue eyed tourist said. He complained that Vietnam felt set up around tourism. That what we saw as tourists was no longer authentic. All of the tours, all of the restraunts, all of the guest houses, are molded to project an image for which the foreign tourist is searching. They even have "home stays" where you can stay with an ethnic minority family in their traditional home. However, many times the traditional home is just for show. They haven't used it in quite sometime. The garments that they sell have been made by hand years ago, and now they spend their time farming coffee or working other jobs in cities. The girls are decked out in the latest fashion trends, often similar to something I might see in Paris. (Of course this is not true for all minority groups, and poverty is still very real across Vietnam).

Certainly Vietnam depends on tourism heavily. Yet they also have numerous other crops and exports (including coffee, rubber, shoes, cat fish, and milled rice paddy). In the last ten to twenty years, many families have gone from poverty to adding additions onto their homes. Local business in many cities is flourishing around tourism for both foreigners and local Vietnamese who never had the opportunity to travel before.

Has Vietnam lost its authenticity? Have they been altered by the outside world, shaping themselves to sell more tour packages? Perhaps. It is a country that is constantly changing and currently experiencing a level of economic growth only surpassed by China. Therefore, I guess it depends on your definition of authenticity. This is the true Vietnam. I have found the story I was searching for.

My guidebook suggested I find a meal in a near my hotel in a neighborhood described as a 'backpacker haven'. Finally stretching my legs after a long flight and an even longer day of drowsiness, I walked through a long park that seemed to be a Vietnamese haven as well. Motorbike after motorbike were lined up, groups of friends laughing to the point of tears, young couples kissing as if no one is watching, and middle aged couples with nothing to talk about. Everyone else must have spent their Saturday sleeping, because the entire city seemed to be on the street.

As I scouted for a place to eat, I saw Western style places luring tourists and Vietnamese style places that offered their customers child-sized plastic outdoor seats, which seemed to be the local favorite. There were overpriced coffee shops, nature food stores, and places to buy north-face jackets, which although they seemed out of place, were probably manufactured not far from there. Finally, I made a loop, nervously crossed a few streets through whizzing motorbike traffic, and found a Vietnamese style place with adult sized seats.

I ordered a beer and a steaming bowl of noodles. (I am not sure they cook anything else). Sweating and nose dripping, I pondered the locals who ran the restaurant. Certainly they see Western tourists often, but I wondered how often they saw women traveling alone. My guide book assured me that many women travel alone through Vietnam every year and enjoy relative freedoms. Most Vietnamese women work and are bound by less social constraints than other developing countries. Even still it is a new concept to me, and I pondered the adventures I would have over the next month.

Wandering back through the park, I sat to watch the children throwing flashing multicolored disks in the air. Their parents were scattered on the outskirts of the square at the edge of one of the largest traffic circles in Saigon. I assumed or hoped anyway, that they were acting as a human wall to separate the children from the traffic. As I looked around at what seemed to be a Vietnamese version of Times Square, with the lights of giant billboards, the laughing of the children, drowned out by the buzzing vehicles, for the first time I seemed to disappear.  The darkness hid my obvious Western identity, and just for an instant I was an observer of a Saigon moment. Suddenly, I realized not only would I survive traveling alone, I might even enjoy it.