Learning to like this

The city has finally won me over. It took four days to get here. Two to make up for the four in which I didn't sleep. And today to make it all worthwhile.
At the moment I am sitting in my lone corner of the world dirctly between the Istitut de Touraine and the most difficult street in this city to find, Rue de Clocheville. The window in my only corner of the world (no doubt taller than I am) is fully open into the type of afternoon which may bless fellow tennesseeans only once or twice a year in late september.
There are people in the shaded courtyard below studying, drinking, reading and playing an ancient out of tune piano. Each of them arrived here from a different part of the world, from a different ways of life in order to learn.
Learn what though? French language? Couldn't a university course at home have been a less expensive way to accomplish that? What is everyone here trying to accomplish through this program?
I see some people traveling in the same small groups or with their ipods constantly pluged in and turned up or ignoring strangers/potential friends out of fear. To me they seem to be wasting this experience. But then again, perhaps their goal is not the same as mine. Come to think of it, what IS my goal? Gain college credit? Explore Europe? Escape all the frustrations in Murfreesboro? Prove that i can travel alone?
I'm sure each of these are true in some small way and yet I feel like there has to be
something more powering this voyage.
I missed breakfast this morning so for lunch I went on a small adventure. I heard once that to really know your way around you have to get lost. I would say this rule does not apply to downtown London in the early morning hours, but this city is relatively small and it was noon so I figured I would give it a shot. Somehow I stumbled upon a GORGEOUS market that extended probably a half mile down Boulevard Beranger. The first half consisted of flowers. Every flower I have ever heard of or seen or imagined. I could smell red and yellow and green and every color had its own brilliance attached to every sense. Then there were herbs and spices. I don't know where these came from but each one was fresh and wet. Not kroger produce isle wet, but wet from their own nourishing fullness. I passed vendors of clothes and jewelry and paraphanelia of every kind. It was different than other city markets. No one was hassling shoppers. Everyone was quietly enjoying their day.
Finally, I stopped at a food vendor. I've started to learn that my appetite is more or less the same in each culture. Whatever looks the best, is probably going to taste the best, and is probably going to be completely void of nourishment. I can't remember the name of what I ordered, but it consisted of a piece of open baguette with egg and ham and cheese melted/pressed/somehow attached to the top. Cheap. Fulfilling. Made the button pop off the top of my jeans. Worth it.
Okay enough rambling. I'm going to the library to watch kid's movies in French. It just sounds more fun than opening a text book.
Bon apres-midi.