Humor: just when I needed it

Last night, I came home from being out with friends, was sitting at my lovely antique table (my propriétaire has great taste), checking email when from behind the futon couch came a little scurrying black shadow - running into my open closet. "Oh no you didn't.. snap!" A lil meese? Noooo.. Ugh.

I sat quietly for a few seconds and out of the other side of the closet the little mousey ran to the apartment door, around the wall, and into the bathroom. Of course, my bathroom is totally boring so I climbed up onto a counter top to wait for its exit (a bit of the "Eek! Eek!" fear ala get as high off the ground as possible, plus a good place for observation - ok, more of the former than latter). And, it did exit, running directly into the crevice under/near the freezer. There's plenty of space back there to hide - if you don't get too close to the oven. I waited. No movement. For like half-hour. So, I went to the apartment door, opened it a bit, put a potato chip at the doorway, and climbed into bed.

Woke up this morning to my neighbor's voice, "Loreeen? Loreeen?"
"Huh? Yeah?" I called from my bed.
"Are you okay? Your door is open."
"I know. There's a mouse. I wanted it to leave."
"Okay," he left the door open and I heard him whisper under his breath, "Jesus."

Not sure if it was a "Jesus, now the thing's going to move to my apartment!" or a "Jesus, she's crazy."

Today, I had a list: mouse trap, air mattress. I went off to buy the inflatable mattress over at BHV, a 7-story hell of department store. Remember my story about lines before? And the non-order of walking on the sidewalk? Well, put them all together and you get Bangalore traffic hell, weaving around and between, and after a while just wanting to march through everyone and everything. But, I started my venture calmly with my mp3-player and feeling relaxed.

Sous-sol (basement) level, I asked a young woman where I could find things for "sourise" but of course, the "ou/o" of anything is hard for non-French speakers to pronounce. There's amour, sourise, mort, coeur, soeur, corps. They all sound differently and require different lip pursing and are sometimes ooo, uh, ohr, and darn if I can't get them right EVER. So, she had no idea what I was saying. I made hand gestures of something little and said "chat" and she got it. Then she asked if I wanted blah blah blah and I had no idea what she was saying. (When speaking a language to a foreigner, please please please remember not that you have to YELL your language, but slow it down and really pronunciate like we're morons. It helps.) So, I just made the gesture with finger across my neck of "dead." She pointed me to the jardin section of the store.

Weaved between the hot lights and thousands of shoppers and found the fertilizer section and then the shelves of death. God, I didn't want to do this. Poison, cages, the old school wooden and wire traps that could break a finger. I was looking for this thing, because I thought it was more of a Hungry Hungry Hippo idea, where the mouse would go for the bait and then be trapped in a cute little box.

Instead, I picked up the Powercat Mausefalle, like the former link. I opened it and it snapped shut and I screamed. The older guy next to me, very studious and straight-faced about browsing his death choices, smirked a bit. I shuddered and tossed two of them into my basket.

Yes, yes, yes, I'm all for animal rights and am a vegetarian and, as you recall from my entry about my former Geneva housecat, Lion, I'm really not okay with dead animal parts or wholes. My propriétaire replied to my emails with "Poor mouse. I wonder where she comes from. If there's no food for her, she should leave." First of all, identifying it with a gender makes it all the harder for me, but sourise is a female word so it gets a "la sourise" so it's not really that she's a cute little girl small rat or big mouse, but I think he was trying to get sympathy from me. But I have to house 3 people during the upcoming conference. And, I'm really not interested in going about my business in the apartment to all of a sudden find a mouse staring at me from the garbage cupboard. And all the normal apartment creaks and groans have now become a gigantic King Kong sized mouse that is trying to attack me. Yes, active imagination, but also .... I'm sure it's accurate.

I'm sorry but she's got to go. And I have no idea how I'll deposit her if she is found sleeping peacefully in a heaven of fromage, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. In all actuality, I am firmly believing that she found the open apartment door last night, turned to my sleeping body, and was like, "Ciao!" And, no she is not an extra from Ratatouille either.

With mouse traps in the basket I turned to go off and find an inflatable mattress for one of said 3 guests who will be staying with me. Up the crowded escalators to the 3rd floor. The guy I asked for a "matelas d'aire" didn't understand me at all. I made blowing motions and he said "matelas gonfliable" or something. He didn't know where they were so he pointed me to the bedding department. The woman there said sous-sol and I hollered that off to the guy as I headed off. He smiled and thanked me.

I went off down the escalators to the sous-sol -- again. Found two employees standing around. I do love the politeness of Paris. You don't just walk up to the store employees and ask, "Where are the air mattresses, please?" You walk up, say "Bonjour," they say "Bonjour," and then you move on to your question. So, I did the hellos and asked. He shook his head. Not here any longer, try the 6th floor. Very nice about it. I turned to head to the escalators but the prospect of facing the unorganized herd made me about want to throw-up. I turned back to him and asked where the elevators were. He answered something blah blah laugh laugh question. His colleague smiled and walked away in embarrassment. "Desole? Comment?" I asked back. "Don't tell me you don't have a place to sleep tonight. Because you should just tell me and I'll help you." He laughed, I laughed (that was all in French but I understood), and I laughed all the way to the elevators.

The elevator held 10 people and it beep beep beeped. One guy got off and it kept beeping. I got off. Ugh. Looked for another elevator location - nada. Escalators all the way to the 6th floor. Got the air mattress for 25% off, checked out with the nice girl behind the counter. Headed back to the elevators. I was first in line, but the elevator next to mine opened and those waiting behind me piled on -- of course. Leaving not very much room. While they tried to point to room and invite me in, I shook my head. Whatever. Got the next one down.

I needed that mid-shopping laugh so badly. Not only did it say, you're cute, but also let's joke around.

Well, mice traps out. (Picture me propping them open and delicately placing them on the floor and then jumping back a mile as if they are grenades.) Air mattress in the closet. We'll see what happens in the end.

All things French

Mais, non, c'est les PIRATES!!


French navy trails yacht seized by pirates
Sun Apr 6

The French navy continued to trail a luxury yacht off the Somali coast on Sunday, two days after pirates stormed the boat and took its 30 crew hostage, French Defense Minister Herve Morin said.

"We are still in this phase of the pirates carrying on sailing with us following them at a distance," Morin told Europe 1 radio, adding that he expected the hijackers would eventually make land somewhere in Somalia.

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On Craigslist:

(PARIS) — Pirates seized control of a French cruise ship Friday off the coast of Somalia, France's Foreign Ministry said. The all-French crew surrendered immediately and evacuated the vessel in keeping with French military tradition. Admiral Pierre LeMiniWee is quoted as saying "The pirates looked so angry..and they shouted a lot. What else could we do?"

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Ikea and Castorama fined for being open Sunday

Ikea was ordered to pay more than $700,000 last week for staying open on Sundays in a Paris suburb. A big French home repair chain was sued for nearly as much — also for violating a 102-year-old requirement to shut up shop on Sunday.

Both cases show that the stakes are mounting in a long-running battle between French unions and retailers over shopping on the seventh day.

The government of President Nicolas Sarkozy, encouraged by major companies, is trying to shed old restrictions as part of broader plans to loosen up the French economy.

Advocates of the 1906 law, determined to prevent its demise, are digging in and demanding ever-higher fines against violators of a rule they say upholds a less spending-obsessed French way of life.

"Working on Sundays calls into question the very foundation of society," said lawyer Vincent Lecourt, who represents the Workers Force union. "It is a day when we try to consume less ... when we try to have values that are a little different."


$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

And I thought France was a staunch supporter of separation of church & state. I can't wait for shopping on Sundays - bring it, capitalist pigs! I need to go grocery shopping!!!

The million and one times I chase my tail

Well, I did venture out on Friday night and chose a kind of punk rock bar over the rugby game - obvious, no? It's always nice to know see the stereotype broken all over the world. Punks are not mean or rude or dirty or dumb. Ok, well, maybe sometimes they're dirty. But they're rarely elitist - like so many 'normal' people can be. A foreigner, with a cutesy haircut and regular clothes can find her way and be comfortable sitting in a black-painted bar with hand-welded-metal railings. The bartender let me sit and think, left me alone to my drink and then started a conversation. His limited English and my limited French - although both languages based in Latin of course makes it easier. I ended up talking to some of the patrons and - FINALLY - learning some bad words in French. Although.. there's the problem of pronouncing them correctly so I won't be swearing anytime soon.

Friday lasted a bit later than usual - ahem - 3am. So Saturday was a bit slow in my brain but it wasn't a heavy day. Kimberly, Anne, Caroline, Patricia, and I went out shopping. This isn't like "Let's hit Chanel and buy dresses" ya'll, it's more like, where's the semi-less-expensive part of the city where we can buy feminine business laptop bags that look kinda chic. So, most of us slightly brain-dead, we wandered the Marais until we realized that it was Saturday. And, on Saturdays the Marais - wherein a lot of the Jewish community resides - is closed.

I could go on and on about this. I'm not a moron, and most of the people in my program aren't morons. So, we knew that coming here to this international program, to this distinct European city, that we were in for a challenging and adventurous ride. 6 from USA, 1 Argentine, 1 Brazilian, 3 Canadians (2 of which are French-Canadians), 3 Chinese, 3 Colombian, 1 French, 2 Indonisian, 2 Indian, 1 Iranian, 2 Japanese, 3 Korean, 2 Peruvian, 1 Sierra Leonean, 1 Singaporian, 1 Thai. We're prepared for anything and nothing.

There's a distinct difference between reading about something and living it. I read about 7/8 of a fantastic book on French culture, history, society called "Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong." And it gave me a sense of what I was in for, but there's nothing like experiencing it. I've been carrying a small Moleskine and my god how it's come in handy! Along with the bad words in French, I walk this city and take notes.

*Marais district - closed on Saturdays (Jewish stores), closed on Sundays (non-Jewish); get bagels on Sunday! Do not shop for handbags on Saturday!
*October 8 - no metro stop at Rue de Bac where school is - until December
*Pizza a exporter on rue des Martyrs & rue des Abesses - Cynthia (vegetarienne) 10,50E; Marguerite (tom-mozz) 10E; La Pignatta
*Le Nouveau Carillon, 1 rue des Abbesses
*Lava (laundromat) 7 days: 7am-10pm (Berta from Colombia who was deported from London and left her two sons in Colombia is there from 9am-6pm ironing and watching over laundry, tip her)
*Monoprix: closed Sundays! Mon-Sat 9am-10pm
*Supermarche: closed MONDAYS!
*Le Couloir bar by metro Pigalle - "couloir" is also like "neck-mouse" in French which makes no sense in English but is funny
*Ricard is a drink that is like absynthe in taste (anise) but not in alcoholic idea
*Bastille - metros Faubourg / St. Antoine towards Nacion; go to Charrone, Roquette; bars: Avenue Ledru, rue de Lappe; market Sundays 9-1
*Bercy - metro Bercy; Parc and Expo and huge multi-plex movie theatre
*Loire Valley for weekend retreat (looks kind of weird)
*Video ATM thing 1 film: 8E, 2: 15E
*5 a sec - dry-cleaning, Closed Sundays! Mon-Sat 8am-20h
*Phone House, Closed Sundays! Monday 11am-19h, Tues-Sat 10am-19h30
*Picon (avec bierre)

Lately, the slogan has been, "Well, it's not a city of convenience or efficiency. B is for bureaucracy. P is for Paris."

So, as I was saying.. Saturday was not the day to shop in the Marais. But as you'll soon see by the photos, we wandered around a bit without quarrel or qualm. It's very good bonding time and when I hear that some of the students go out together and I am not along I wonder what secrets I'll miss out on or what new information is shared. It's not jealousy, but curiosity and bonding.

So, the Canadians (Anne, Caroline, Patricia) and Kimberly (USA) and I made do without stores and shopped as we could. It seems like things take a few hours longer than they should which makes me wonder if time really is slightly warped in Paris and Einstein would find so if he were alive. Or, perhaps it's just talking and walking and not paying attention to where we're going and not knowing on the map which tiny street is which. After a while people started peeling off. We rambled over to the tip of the Ile de Saint Louis facing away from the Notre Dame. It seemed a rather Parisian thing to do, just sit on the edge of the island as the sun set romantically. Anne, Kimberly and I were wrapped up in getting to know each other under some amazing sun highlights. I noticed a couple of guys behind us along the Seine who looked distinctly north American and were talking English but took no particular note of them. Another guy came up to us and asked for a cork opener -- a staple I plan to carry from now on. We didn't have one but the north Americans did.

Turns out the two guys with wine - who shared with all of us - were Parisian and gave great tips on nights out. And the other two were Canadian guys. They left us girls on the Seine as they went to dinner. We decided it was time to make our way through the city to find some food and headed back to the left bank. Two or three blocks away we spotted a Canadian bar and restaurant. In honor of Anne we decided to stop in and ran into the Candaidan guys.

Cut to like 7 hours later. I haven't laughed so damn hard in such a long time. (Kimberly has long hair, Anne has short black hair) It was one of those nights were you feel like your laughing might be construed as fake because it just keeps coming and coming and coming but I was howling! Howling! My sides and stomach hurt! And it was quite a bonding moment for us girls.

Well, I missed the metro and the noctilien bus and had to resort to taxi.

Because I need a bank account to have a Navigo pass to have a way to get a Velib. But, as I said before, do I really want my first turn at the Velib to be after a few glasses of wine?

Sunday I woke up later than I would have liked with a slightly cloudy head. It wasn't the bottom of the barrel wine so I didn't have a huge pounding headache. But I certainly wasn't up for any of anything. Instead I focused on applying to the Berlin conference and doing laundry and later that night went to dinner with Wilfried and his girlfriend Sarah.

The weekends seem brief respites from the impossibilities of bureaucracy. Monday I thought I'd get administration registration done, Tuesday my carte de sejour (long stay visa for students) and Wed my class registration. Well, let's say that Tuesday I got my administrative registration and have a student ID card! Friday I'll probably get the carte de sejour (no rush really since I have 3 months before I become illegal, although only a few weeks for the school to help me with the process), and hopefully registration will go smoothly.

I make it sound so easy though. Ha.

I'll have to go into more details on the actual process at a bit later time. It's bedtime now as I have a class from 9-5 tomorrow and Thursday: Situating Ourselves in Complex Situations. ... no idea what the heck that means but it's taught by the Director so it's got to be important. Going to a lower budget opera Wed night and maybe a club on Friday. Have to keep the balance somehow.

Thanks to my mum for the rocking awesome box of warm clothes and other essentials.
Thanks to Sadie - one of the best interns EVER - for the wonderful cards.
Many of my friends have sent well-wishes, encouragement, and personal stories via email. You all are the bestest ever. It's very helpful to hear the good cheer. I'm not an isolated island here, but I do miss your faces, your hearts, your words, your hugs. Thank you for sharing them in any way possible.

Night,
L.

new photos: around Douai, apartment, Sacre Coeur, Pigalle/Clichy

Adjusting

Well, it's been 9 days.

I didn't read the sign in the door of the electricity shop. So I bought a too-expensive transformer which may have blown out a plug for my battery re-charger. Or, maybe the guy insisted that it said 3.5v when I could see it said 8.5v and even when I argued it he refused it. So, "no returns or exchanges" was a hard lesson. He offered me a universal adapter for 29E but knocked it down to 20E - just for me, just for today - and I found it for 14,50E at the local Monoprix. A 2-fingered bird to Mr. Electricity. And a kick in my pants for being gullible and taken advantage of.

I learned panier [pahn-ee-eh / basket] from the security guard at my local Monoprix. I guess the equivalent of Monoprix would be like Walgreens or Target, I guess. So, now our nicknames for each other are "Monsr Panier" and I'm "Madame Baskeet."

I haven't bothered to correct people on the Madame part. Not sure if it's necessary or not.

From May until July it was "something is pulling me to Paris." From July to August it was "What am I doing?" and often "What the hell am I doing?" For the past 9 days it's been "Am I sure I want to do this?"

From afar Paris looks beautiful and romantic, cosmopolitan, sexy and racy, and framed in temporary tourism stops. From up close its structure, its foundation, its architecture amaze me. Its people surprise me with immense kindness and random exhasperation, infrequent but evident blindness to race through love and often an obvious sensitivity to chic through socialization. Up close my life here hasn't been about museums and cathedrals, elaborate meals or arm-loads of famous labels. I wasn't imagining it to be, but the reality of setting up shop and settling in to a completely different culture and world is a bit of a shock.

I have been so lucky to have already a good friend in town, Wilfried. We met through friends of friends on the internet. He and his girlfriend live on the east side of Paris but he owns an apartment over in the 18e which is literally across the Blvd de Clichy which is literally 1 block away from me in the 9e. Wilfried came by the day after I arrived in Paris and took me out around in my neighborhood. He gave me a run up rue Lepic, over to the Sacre Coeur, down through the flea market bazar, on the metro and over to the Marais, Les Halles, introduced me to some of the best people of the city and let me in to his most favorite bistro, too.

I have been so lucky to have a welcoming and down-to-earth landlord. Fabien is an art dealer, not much older than me if not the same age. This past Tuesday, in cooperation with an associate, he hosted an art opening for Akkitham Narayanan. The Sunday before, he invited me to stop by to meet the artist and see the works as Tuesday would be too packed to actually get a view. Sometimes I fumble when I'm nervous, sweat a bit too much, and feel all gangly like a teenager. Regardless, I tried to fake calm, cool, collected. I met a few friends of Fabien, and his girlfriend, Boram Lee. Boram is a studying soprano and invited me to see her in the Magic Flute at Theatre du Gymnase this coming week. I was fortunate to meet Mr. Narayanan briefly and see a few, small, original Picasso sketches in Fabien's office.

This is all 5 days after arriving. I'm still jet lagged and feeling mildly moronic, surreal, and overwhelmed in the language and visual parts of my brain.

I have bought a cell phone and 45 minutes and 100+ SMS. But in order to get a longer, more cost-efficient contract, I needed a bank account and something to put into it. So, I took the metro down to Saint Germain to Sciences Po to meet with the financial assistant. Arrived early and walked around the Blvd a bit. Yes, I know it's pathetic and sad and an offense to everything unique and good about being outside of the US, but I spotted a Starbucks, and, well, I just wanted to have a sip of bad, watery coffee. Sitting outside, in the Latin Quarter near all the schools it was interesting to see that I hadn't actually gotten all that far by crossing the Atlantic. It's still '80s-reincarnate fashion here, too, with the super tight black pants ala Johnny Rotten, the bad, baggy shirt with wide belt, and the extra effort to look tousled chic.

Meet with the lovely financial assistant who informed me her whole department had just gone through a drastic change. New director, new staff. Not sure what impact that will have, but we'll see won't we? Picked up the Stafford Loan check and made off to find a bank.

The US Embassy listed Banque Nationale de Paris at the wrong address and I thought, of course, Ave des Champs Elysees can't be too long to walk up from Saint Germain and it was a perfectly lovely day. Well. It's a long walk.

Along the way I snapped a couple of pictures of the US Embassy before I was whistled at and told "Non, Madame." Sheesh. At least he gave me directions how to get up the Avenue which, at the base near Place de la Concorde, looks like a huge park with streets just happening to run though it.

I started up what might be some of the the longest blocks yet. No numbers to be seen through the lovely park, I wasn't sure if I was on the right side of the huge Ave or if I was headed up the right direction. Spotted a moped delivery guy - if you need directions, ask the folks who know the streets best! Yup, keep heading up up up and up the Ave almost all the way to the Arc.

But there was no bank. For future reference, BNP Paribas is located at 37 Ave des Champs Elysees - on the southern side of the street. So, feeling defeated all the way up at 136 Ave des C-E, and having asked around, I just gave up a bit and decided that was as far as I'd get for the day. It wasn't the most winning moment of the week, for sure.

On the way back I decided I'd stop at Place de Clichy [Clichy Plaza] to check in with the BNP there. And although it was nearing 5pm, the bank representative gave her best shot at communicating with me. Apparently she thought that Fabien would have to be in-person with his ID card, an official bill with his address on it, and I'd have to fill out some tax paperwork, as well as have my carte de sejour and a ton of other things. There was just no way she'd be able to do it in the short time left and she wasn't in the office on Friday. Defeated again. I was only slightly annoyed though because I've lived in countries that move at a snail's pace and enjoy living more than rushing, enjoy breathing more than suffocating, places that lack the death-by-capitalism mentality. So, defeat in this endeavor wasn't a personal affront in any way.

Friday I hiked around my neighborhood trying to re-create my walk with Wilfried. That evening a few of the Americans and I met for drinks in the Marais neighborhood and spent some time bar-hopping a bit. From what I could see it's going to be a very interesting year. As I said to a previous colleague of mine, "I went out last Fri with 3 of the 5 Americans in my program - Kimberly, ex-aide to Sen Patty Murray (pro-choice) and ex-air reserve or something from Seattle (here w her boy-friend who works for Microsoft so they have the phat party pad); Deena, consultant from Chicago (26 years old!! I feel old) here w her boy-friend who is doing his post-doc in some weird nuclear physics math science engineering thing; and Sean, recently got out of the army and is disappointed after Iraq, from Dallas and voting for Hillary. Nice argument between Kimberly the Obama Girl and him. Deena, her boyfriend, their friend from UK and I just watched." It wasn't a heated debate, but personalities definitely came through in the evening. I don't want to make any statements on how I think they are or who I think they are yet. But I can see Kimberly and I getting along through our Type A personalities. Deena and I through our natural need to worry and care for others. Sean and I as revellesrs.

It was Deena and her boyfriend who showed me how to work the Noctilien bus and get from Chatelet back home. Thank goodness they were around. I'm still not ready to attempt a bike ride on Velib at night after a few drinks.

And it was Kimberly who told me how easy it was to get a bank account at the BNP on Champs Elysees. So, Monday I went back. And it was a lot easier as they're more comfortable dealing with tourists, students, ex-pats. I met a wonderful bank representative who speaks English and walked me through all the steps. I had to sign quite a bit of papers detailing the account, but other than a passport there wasn't much needed. A few days after I received a signature-required letter confirming that I live at my address and done deal. Of course, it will take a bit of time for the Stafford check to clear (3 weeks apparently) and for the wire transfer to settle (5 days?). But I have a bank!

[Sunday, after stopping by the gallery and seeing Fabien, I pushed on south to Montparnasse where I read in my tour guide that there's an art flea market outside on Sundays. Saw some amazing stuff and some completely unimpressive work, too.]

Tuesday night I went to the art opening [see above].


.... more to come ... bedtime for now in prep for my first day at school! Oh, I wonder who will pin my name and bus number on my smock! And, will the kids like me and will I like my teachers?! Kidding..

Next new exciting adventure.