The big move

Heartbroken as I was to have to finally leave, I don't think this move could have been more perfect in all its unplanned, delayed, and imprecise style. Packing my apartment was a whirlwind in and of itself.

At last, my apartment was packed and (nearly) ready for the movers.

Over the past few weeks, I've had at least a half-dozen goodbye gatherings, including two for some other friends' departures which I high-jacked to say my own goodbyes, a few random one-on-one coffees/ drinks/ dinners with various friends, a party or two (including a last-hurrah pool party on my rooftop), and a picnic on the Seine.

Our last illicit rooftop pool party

We really got down to business yesterday: movers day. And at just the same moment when it seemed that the last of my happy moments in Paris had been boxed up and shipped off, that the last of my living ties to the city were being trimmed away, I found myself surrounded by unexpected kindness, support, joy, and even fun. When a near-disaster with my movers resulted in a call for back-up muscle-power, my last night in France morphed into a final evening enjoying the panoramic views from the off-limits parts of my rooftop and a celebratory five-course dinner in a fantastic restaurant, La Cantine du Troquet in the 14th.

Spending the evening with good friends really helped soften the blow of it being my last night in Paris.

Our fantastic impromptu five-course dinner at La Cantine du Troquet made memories with a much longer aftertaste than the food.

And today, my race through my last day in Paris required me to store a few suitcases in a friend's lab at the Institut Pasteur, which of course required me to do one last coffee with my Pasteur friends just before heading to the airport. Like a scene straight out of a movie, two of my best friends even waved me off as my Uber taxi drove me to my airport shuttle. I nearly cried. And then came the weirdest part:

When it was all finally done-- bags packed, apartment keys handed in, final letters in the French postal system, extra bags stocked in Nicolas's dad's spare Parisian apartment, group hugs hugged-- when I was sitting there in the Orly airport shuttle watching the ticker-tape count down the minutes until my many bags and I would arrive in the airport, I found myself overwhelmed by a strange sense of euphoria. Though there were many moments when I imagined it impossible, Paris really had become home over my nearly six years there. And now this much anticipated move was really happening. It was unscripted yet better than I'd have hoped for, and I felt so much love. Even strangers kept offering to help me with luggage. I don't know if it was the lack of sleep, or the fact that at this point I'd realized that I had forgotten to eat all day (and we were rapidly approaching 8pm), but I was suddenly on the brink of *happy* tears. And I've ridden the high until now-- though no longer on an empty stomach-- as I find myself starting to fight the heaviness of my eyelids from the comfy seat of my Aarhus-bound train.

Denmark, I have arrived.

Land of the vikings, prepare yourself: Emilienne is here.