Printemps

One of the reasons I put Lille, France as my top preference on my teaching application form was to experience “real” seasons. Having lived in Southern California for most of my life, my winters consisted of it being only slightly colder than my summers.

It has been six months, and I am sick of it being cold. J’en ai marre of grey, cloudy, cold days.

The week before my spring break trip to Malaga, Spain, I was on my tiny balcony with FBF and I remarked upon the newly grown green leaves on my ivy-covered wall.

“Bah, oui,” he replied, “c’est le printemps.” (Well, yeah, it is spring.)

“Ça n'est pas printemps!” I declaired, “Il fait trop froid pour être printemps!” (This isn’t spring! It’s too cold to be spring!)

Being stuck in the beginnings of the coldest spring of my life, I was looking forward to Spain. It was going to be warm there. I was going to be on the beach. It would be a much needed relief from the gloomy cold weather I’d been suffering from in little old Lille.

Although Spain was warm and beautiful, I now regret this decision. Lille feels even colder now than before I left. The temperature has stayed the same, in the 50s (Fahrenheit), but I think the temperory taste of warm Spanish weather reminded me of California, and now my body is refusing to readjust to the cold.

To make matters worse, neither of my radiators are producing heat. I’m pretty sure my landlords have turned the heat off. Because, you know, “it’s spring.”

It’s 56 degrees Fahrenheit today. I think it might actually be colder in my apartment. I’m wearing my 20 degrees below mummy bag while I sit at my desk typing this.

Oh warm weather and beach filled sunsets, how I miss thee.



The Mariott's Marbella Beach Resort where I stayed


The sun setting over the Mediterranean Sea