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Almost two months ago, I left behind my life in Vancouver, a life I had meticulously created over three years, to live my biggest dream - living in Paris. I left my best friends, my still-only-half-decorated apartment and my career, as miserable as it had been. In truth, it's not only my dream that is being realised in Paris; I find myself in the capital because of nothing I did, but thanks to my husband, who courageously abandonned his financial career to follow his passion for cooking. He is studying in Paris and I am here, too. After eight weeks of travelling and visits I am, as of yesterday morning, alone with my blog, my novel, and my thoughts. I feel a bit like my life is beginning again. It's actually pretty incredible.