It has been ten years since my last vacation. As much as I loved visiting the ethereally-divine city of New Orleans, it was a working vacation and I didn’t get to see all of the sights and sounds I‘d have liked thanks to the persistence of my then husband to keep us on track with making money and less invested in creating memories, though I managed to find time for both things. Now more than ever, I crave a taste of a city or place I have never been for the simple pleasure of relaxing and getting to know a new world outside and also inside myself. 

Thoughts of travel had not crossed my mind much over the past few years. Since the disintegration of my marriage and my subsequent divorce, I have had neither the time nor the money to go much further than on daytrips to visit family and friends. My mind has become the passport to places I’d like to see, if not the mode of getting there.

Yet I crave the feeling of sand under my bare size 11 wide feet. Exciting whispers about visiting Victoria Falls in Africa sometimes tickle my ears. My heart longs for the French embrace of Paris at night. I often wonder if these longings will ever be quenched.

A kiss to build a dream on 

As I’ve used up every penny I’ve saved during my near six-month period of unemployment, it seems rather silly and fanciful to dream of escaping on a trip. Until I was recently asked about my life-long goals, I had put all such notions aside. When one of my job coaches asked me what I’ve always dreamed of doing, two things immediately sprung to mind. The first was writing and publishing a book. The second, however, seemed slightly less plausible to me: to visit Paris. 

When I was first married and young, I dreamed of seeing the City of Lights with my ex-husband. I imagined us taking a boat ride on the Seine. We’d have café au laits and croissants at a cute café every morning. We’d see the beautiful works of art hanging in the Louvre. Then I was reminded of just how much my ex-husband hated foreigners and the smell of coffee. He had no use for the French language. He’d often utter, “You’re in America, God damn it! Speak English!” 

My dreams of visiting Paris actually started when I was much younger. My grandfather, a veteran of World War II, spent time in Paris during his service in the Navy. He often shared his photo album from the time he was there and told such charming stories about the city and the people. We were of French blood; he’d remind me as he softly fixed the corners of a photo in his book. France was our birthright, our home. 

The best things in life are free 

I could see France in my grandfather. His thick black eyebrows framed his grey eyes and punctuated each story with their rise and fall. He loved everything about his French history, especially the foods and the pretty girls. “French women have a gift of natural beauty,” he told me. “They carry themselves with confidence, but you can still see the little girls behind their eyes.” 

One of the first films about Paris I’d ever seen was “Gigi.” Who didn’t wish to be Leslie Caron? Her transformation from girl to woman was poignant and romantic. My grandfather, who himself looked a bit like the actor Maurice Chevelier, would often sing the song, “Thank Heavens for Little Girls” to his many granddaughters, including me. I knew it was destiny that one day I’d see Paris.   

When you are as broke as I currently am, dreams are the only things I can truly afford. So I’ve purchased a roundtrip ticket to Paris, if only in my mind for now, until I can go there for real. It gives me hope and something to reach for as I figure my future out. I can’t wait to feel the arms of my dream vacation embrace me someday—and they will.