The streets have been eerily quiet since Monday. The FIFA World Cup is over, and so is the last major heat wave, and it feels as though all the residents have deserted the city. It’s currently being taken over by Spanish, German, Dutch and British tourists who get hopelessly lost in the narrow streets, can’t believe bakeries are closed on Sundays, and bite into baguettes when they find one as if they were the most delicious thing on earth. (Plain bread, really?)
I should relax too in the deadest part of summer, but I’m running around like crazy.
We’re going to China, and I’m not ready.
It’s not the chopsticks, because I never eat or cook without them—how do white people manage without them, really?
It’s not the so-called “weird food,” because it’s the food I often cook in Canada, chili oil and all.
It’s not the language either. I’ll never be fluent in Mandarin, but it’s not exactly a foreign tongue I rediscover once a year—I speak it in Canada, and I argued with my father-in-law again just before leaving for France.
It’s definitely not the weather. France will never have China’s hot-pot steaminess, but we’ve reached similar temperatures over the past few weeks.
It’s not the lack of plans. I’m used to it.
It’s… everything else. Packing, organizing, tying up loose ends, and attempting to picture myself on the other side of the world in just a few days.
You don’t just “go” to China. You jump across cultures and an enormous territory, hope Air France knows a safe route through all the missiles, and hopefully land in a completely different world where nothing looks the same.
Wish me luck.
Meanwhile, here are the people of Nantes and the surrounding area, July 2026 edition!
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