I am moving to France. I never wanted to go to France, or learn French, or speak French, or listen to French on any kind of regular basis. To me, French is a slurred language of smashed sounds, not the most romantic language in the world. However, I find myself on my way to France, and not only the most excited I have been in ages, but perhaps the most excited I have ever been.
First things first though, I am flying into Barcelona; I am returning to Barcelona. After spending a month in Spain six years ago, one among twenty two countries visited, Barcelona remains my favorite city. And the thought of returning somewhere loved is always something to be excited about. Then I meet Dana in Moscow for at least two weeks in Russia. Russia in January may not be the smartest plan I have ever made, but I can't wait to go. I learned the Cyrillic alphabet last year, and practicing my few words of Russian, attempting to read signs, and even perhaps a Russian aerobics class, I am most excited about visiting Dana.
