Farewell Sydders

Somehow I've gone from an ordinary girl in Wellington to a nomad, without really meaning to. As soon as I get to a city, buy up a storm at Ikea, earn enough money to pay for what I bought at Ikea and breathe out...I move again. And so it is that I'm off to gay Paree for a nouvelle adventure. And so it is that I feign enthusiasm as I pull together yet another set of handover notes at work, pack up and ship off yet another set of boxes, leave another set of beautiful friends and sell off yet another apartment full of Ikea furniture. That being said I can't believe I am moving to Paris. It's something I've dreamed of since I was ten years old and spent Saturday afternoons transfixed by all the glamourous pics of Johnny Halliday (the french version of Rod Stewart) and Princess Caroline of Monaco in the Paris Match magazines dad used to ship in from France. Jamie recommended reading aussie writer Sarah Turnbull's 'Almost French' and suddenly my etiquette seems a little parochial, my wardrobe a little too kiwi and my knowledge of French culture hugely inadequate.

I farewell Sydney with sadness. It's a beautiful, wonderful place to live with a lifestyle that I'm not sure has been rivalled by anywhere else I've lived to date. For a girl who loves the beach and adores the sun what better city is there than one graced with hundreds of pristine coastal delights and a climate that has you swimming September to May. I hope I'll see it again soon.