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Notes from a Spoiled Immigrant

Eat, drink, hike, repeat: A weekend in the Périgord

About Me

It all began in a typical middle school classroom in suburbia. As the September sun streamed in through the large windows, we obediently repeated the strange-sounding phrases after our teacher: Bonjour, bonsoir, comment ça va? It was my first day of French class, and utterly unbeknownst to me, that day marked the beginning of a love affair that would shape the course of my entire life.

Pas encore de mots-clés.

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