The Seine River: A love connection
On our second day in Paris, the city of light and love, we sailed along the iconic Seine River.
After a long and exciting week of sailing down the Seine River and exploring the underground graves of the Catacombs, it was time to head home and return back to our everyday lives of reading about Ernie Pyle and walking to class on the Bloomington campus.
The group of 12 students was split on their feelings about returning home. Half couldn’t wait to return to the comfort of their own beds and regular routines, whereas the others felt their time in Paris and London was far too short-lived. I, personally, fell on the side of short-lived. As tired as I was from our 15-mile walking days and the endless bus trips and ferry rides, I was not ready to return home so soon. There is still so much to see in both London and Paris, and I needed more time.
Yet I packed my bags and left for the airport with the rest of the group bright and early on Saturday morning.
The day was long, and everyone was exhausted. The eight-hour plane ride from London to Chicago drained everyone, and morale was low as we made our way through customs.
I tried to remain positive and upbeat, still riding the high of an amazing week abroad with an incredible group of people. The long lines at security didn’t get to me, and I was happy to unload my electronics and remove my coat, knowing that we got to spend the week in the most astounding places.
However, as hour 14 of traveling rolled around, and my legs began to wobble from exhaustion, the magic wore off just a little. We all made our final leg home from Chicago to Indianapolis and took a bus back to Bloomington. As the sparkling lights of The Square came into view, it began to hit me that we really were home, and it was time to return to life as usual.
We all parted ways outside The Media School, and suddenly a group of people who spent every waking moment together for the last week would return to seeing each other twice a week for an hour and 15 minutes in class.
I woke in my bed the following morning in a very disoriented state. Was the whole week a dream? Had any of that actually happened? As I looked to my right and saw my half-unpacked suitcase and the “I love London” T-shirt sprawled on my floor, I felt reassured. I felt content but like a piece of me was missing. There was such an array of emotions swirling throughout my body that I wasn’t sure which one to listen to.
On one side, I didn’t want it to be over. I spent my entire life dreaming of traveling and experiencing the world, and the small taste I got this past week wasn’t enough. Yet at the same time, I was so happy it happened that it was hard to have any negative feelings. How can I be upset when I just spent the last week eating croissants and climbing the Eiffel Tower?
As I crawled out of bed, I reminded myself that I will go back and that the magic isn’t over; it was simply on pause. This is only a once-in-a-lifetime experience if I make it that way.