Considering employment in the US

I've been rather adamant about wanting to find a job in the EU after graduation, but I'm finding myself becoming more agitated with the flow of traffic here.

Yes yes, I acknowledge that one could cite the US as having a somewhat Communist bent to its rules of the game. Washington DC does not allow beverages into its metro system. We curse the FIBs (F*$%ing Illinois Bast$%ds) on the highway because they have no concept of slow lane is right, fast lane is left.

But here, as I've lamented before, there's just no rhyme or reason I've found for the pedestrian movement.

For instance, I would love designated lanes for entry into, use of, and exit of the metros. Descending and ascending, there could be a far right lane for those who are unfortunate to have to beg spare change. Next lane over would be older persons carting their groceries or families with baby strollers. Middle lane is the middle, ambling drunk or just moseying through traffic to the metro. Inner left lane, would be those who are usually trying to weave and duck through with purpose. Then, far left lane is reserved for those on a mission and running, late for the TGV out of town.

Well, I'd have to restructure this for coming and going flow on the same stairs though. So, first two lanes on either side are for change-seekers and cart-carriers. The middle lane would be for those who are weaving and dodging around those who are meandering and drunk-walking. That would be a slight improvement at least.

Sidewalks would have to be a territory of elbows. Those chatting for good times would kindly ease to the inner side to allow for those moving to pass. Instead of the usual: person chatting is standing in the middle of the sidewalk, taking up the precious space within a surrounding construction scaffolding, while another person walking through needs to step into traffic and doggie doo in the gutter of the street to get around.

I've found myself in this precarious position and have said, "Pardon" with slight irritation and am still stared at like I'm the one who can't navigate my own way. True that, for I just haven't come to comprehend the secret rules of the game. If someone could inform me, I'd be much obliged. Instead, I do a bicycle-rider's over-shoulder check to see if I'm about to step in front of a car (which I notice most people don't do - self-centered? living dangerously? confidence? awesome life insurance?) and then I dance around poopie and get back on the sidewalk.

Yes, I love living here. Don't get me wrong. Yes, I'm blatantly ignorant to the system. Yes, people here live on a healthier life pace of sipping coffees, talking for long hours with friends in cafes, riding a metro line that might break down for 15 minutes (which requires the long-distance trains to build in a refund and petition process if you miss you train), and gyms are foreign. Running is a strange pastime. Rushing is rare. Life is short and to be lived fully. I love all this. But when it comes to me getting somewhere, walking for sport or purpose, I'm dumb-founded.

Obviously, with all the thought and contemplation on this issue, I still have no idea why they do it and why I don't get it. It's not just the French, I think it's actually extended to Europeans. I can't "teach" people do it differently. I'm trying to understand and learn. And, I have NOTHING. No idea why or how. I did try to chalk it up to the awesome social security policies, which could create an all-for-me attitude. I've read about the French independence, but I find it more of a distrust of others instead of the American interdependence independence.

Anyway, this small, insignificant, surmountable cultural difference does make me wonder for some reason if I wouldn't be better off back in the USA. And this leads me to wonder if a lot of us do this. Migrate and then return for those simple facts: knowing "home," understanding the culture fully. We enjoy others fully but are still interested to go back with new knowledge and appreciation for other places and people with a longing to just... well, flow with the river. Right side slower, left side faster.

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.

Lately I've been thinking about lovers and transport

In rue de Douai apartment, Paris.

Well, there's just too much to share and too little time when things move quickly. I had high hopes on detailing each step I took, found, got help with to get here. I'd like to help others who are interested in participating in this program or in graduate school in Paris for it seems like there's a need.

Last Friday, I met an American student from my program and she hadn't heard anything from the financial aid office here, had no idea that the Free Application for Federal Student Aid 8-page Student Aid Report (FAFSA SAR) had to be post-mailed to Sciences Po, to the chosen loaning bank, and the loan brokers/"police."

On the same hand, as we were comparing our Type-A personalities and the feeling of lack of information for preparation, she reminded me that, well, it's just France. It's another culture. It's another way of living. Details later. General idea now. Sip your lovely cheap wine, amble slowly up the rue, and worry not.

So, I guess, I'll try to piece it all together as things go but I won't hold myself to some rigid tale of step 1 to step 2 to steps all the way to this apartment near Pigalle.

And yes, here I am sipping some of that lovely, cheap, red wine. I've closed the shutters to the main rue outside and am ready to give a bit of reflection thus far.

There are some small tidbits missing from every travel guide and every website I've seen so far. Small tidbits which can explain a culture, an attitude, a mannerism, a way to get lost or be found, a way to get along or feel isolated. For instance, the metro - main arteries of travel in the heart of Paris, the subway - stops running around 12:45/1am.

Now, today is precisely the 6th day I've been in Paris, and the 9th day in total that I've ever been here. Native Parisians and new locals keep telling me I should try the bus or Velib to get from place to place. Well, I've decided that travel through the city will be kind of like Donkey Kong. Level 1 (least difficulty): cab from airport to apartment; Level 2: walk from apartment to food shopping street (rue Lepic), Sacre Coeur, restaurants; Level 3: metro from apartment to school area; Level 4 - take a bus from apartment to Champs Elysees; Level 5 - Velib around; Level 6 - Velib bike at NIGHT; Level 7 - become an expert on Noctilien buses. So far I've gotten to Level 4 without incident and got a brief tour of the night bus last weekend by a fellow student who lives in my neighborhood.

Each a little bit more of a risk. Each a little bit more of confusion. Each a little bit more of a loss of control. Each an adventure, each a success, each a trial. I'm pacing myself with the newness of it all. After all, I'd prefer not to go into culture shock and a slow toe-in to the whole adventure will make for an easier adjustment to the next two years.

So, as I was saying. The metro stops running quite early. They say New York is the city that never sleeps. And I hear Paris is for lovers. Somehow I thought that love would happen at all hours and the quickest link between two hearts would seem to be the metro. Alas, not so. Perhaps there is more romance in the late-night/early morning desire via bicycle.

Anyway, thank goodness for the tour of the Noctilien bus. Inch by inch I'll feel more freedom as I get to know the veins and arteries, short-cuts and bike lanes of Paris.