A magical transformation into another land I’d like to call my own, the home of the Marseillaise that I worship, with the greenery of the countryside and the rich charm in taste, with chocolate so pure and milk so creamy, and butter so wholesome, and the Eiffel Tower above, a towering symbol of strength and pride, and the Seine’s picturesque view, dotted with little boats rowing down the river, and fascinating works of art in the museum galleries, filling you with awe and wonder, and the cafés filled with people casually sipping coffee with a copy of Le Monde, or delight of a diabolo-fraise you can enjoy nowhere else, with smart cars zipping through the streets, darting around the wonder of ancient buildings surrounding you, with genuine, historical architecture, and gazing around, enjoying the feeling of the present moment in time, and the luscious gardens filled with flowers so vividly colored, the blooms of spring, and so much more, causing nostalgia to fill my insides as I arrived back into the world of rushing, where everything is a supersized version of necessity, where people scarf down sandwiches in five minutes, as I long to return to the French cultural bliss.