It Won't Slow Down

Returning to a place you have lived, you become more aware of how the landscape changes.  New houses, new business, new people.  All jump out at you as contrasts to your landscape of memory.

Before this experience, the changes were not as apparent.  Like the frog in water crawling to a boil. Gradual changes are not apparent.

In contrast, the flash pan fire of removal.  The people you knew changing, children growing, and landscapes evolving.

When in the same spot, the Earth can appear to stand still.  Start moving and the absence boils ferociously.

Sometimes it is too easy to focus on one place.  So easy that when you are attention shifts for one moment, your sense explode with new information.

In reality the change has been there all along.  You only had to shift position to see it.

Protest du Jour

Somewhere in the annals of human instincts must exist the drive to make placards, march, and make noise.  Some of us carry this gene. The rest contemplate why anyone would want to ruin a perfectly nice Saturday afternoon.

Protesting and free speech are essential parts of free society.  Certainly it is understandable that when you feel you are being oppressed, or when you see injustice, you let your leaders and fellow citizens know.  In fact, yelling and screaming and organizing en masse are much more civilized than the more violent options remaining when you are not allowed this right.

However, just because you are allowed to do something does not mean it should preclude thought.  Take the instance of the rioters protesting the government, retirement, and the fact that Sarkozy has an attractive wife.  Does it really make sense to burn cars and break windows?  The people impacted by the wanton and senseless destruction are tragically not those that have the responsibility of decision.  Instead of making a valid point, it just serves to quench an adolescent thirst to break things.

Further, if there are more pressing issues in the human Zeitgeist, maybe it is not a good time to push other agendas?  It has been baffling to see what people put ahead complex socioeconomic issues and war.

Like animal rights.

Certainly, this is an issue where people have passion and wish to make a change.  There are intelligent people making convincing arguments on behalf of the cause.  However, maybe the time to protest is not during the pension strike engrossing the nation.  France, and the world, is paying attention to proposed reforms.  Anything residing outside of this realm at this point in time has a small chance of being noticed.

And if you are for the conscientious treatment of animals and protesting the abuse and use of fur, you may want to consider a few things:

Like how many of you are wearing leather shoes.

In addition, your dogs hearing is far more advanced and evolved than yours.  So, if the noises are loud and obnoxious for you, they may just be torturous for them.

And some of this may be missing the forest for a few trees.  But if we purposefully take a stance in such an overt way, should it not be consistent?

"The French Buy Nice Things"

Best iron ever

As previously mentioned, “furnished” is a term used loosely.

However, other expats agree, a furnished apartment is the way to go.  A non-furnished apartment takes on new meaning in France – do not expect anything outside of a toilet and sink.  One set of friends had a nine-month adventure from bare apartment to fully-furnished.  Throughout the ordeal, a popular furniture chain experimented with new depths of customer service.

Far be it from this author to criticize anyone’s furniture.  If you find me in a place with nice furnishings, rest assured it will be someone else’s doing.  However, taste and opinion are fair game.

The metal slats and thin
cushion are excellent
motivation for standing.

If the best thing your rented apartment has to offer is a nice Philips iron, so be it.  This actually makes a lot of sense in the land of the five Euro shirt pressing.

But if the iron is Koslowski’s umbrella stand then the rest is closer to his current furniture.  A set of chairs that require an actual steel derrière, a couch from the era of Reagan vs. Gorbachev, and nothing made with wood sans glue.

So why comment?  Because this was mentioned at closing:

“The French buy nice things and keep them for a long time.”

If the apartment is evidence, this statement is half right.

24 Hour Nothing

Upon returning to the US, you realize that we really like to work.  Closing is a special thing that only some businesses do only on holidays and wee hours in the night.  Conversely, opening is the rarity in France.

Do you want something after 7PM?  Sure you do.  Better know the one place in all of Paris that opens after that oppressive hour.

Conversely, if you are running out at the insane hour of 10PM, you can probably still buy most what you want and everything you need in the US.

Ironically, museums have late nights.  Restaurants stay open relatively late.  You can find a place to drink at any point of the night.

Maybe it is expected to use some of the many vacation days for shopping?  Or maybe, just maybe, the French have their priorities straight.

Cheers.

All Aboard

Your life is a train.  People get on and off.  Most of the time you have little control over who possesses a ticket or their destination.

In nowhere do you find this truer than in the expat community.

There are myriads of extraordinary and fascinating people passing through Paris.  Most everyone is on a journey to find something – and mostly it is something about themselves.  Each person has a story offering if you have a willing ear.  There is a fire hose of experience only requiring the time to drink.

For expats, many things are brand new.  And you find others willing to share, help, and listen.  It is truly an honor to meet so many fine and varied examples of humanity.

Here is hoping that the ride will stay good and last long.

Wurzburg

In Germany, there exists a lovely town with a gorgeous river overlooked by a hilltop castle.  The resemblance is a smaller Prague.  Its name is Wurzburg.


Thankful is the person who has friends in many places.  If not for some chance encounters, Wurzburg could be just another unknown European city.  What a tragedy this could have been.


Germany, in general, offers many contrasts to their French neighbors.  Beer, being more the beverage of choice, is elevated to levels of craftsmanship the French spend on wines.  The food is surprisingly underrated, and unlike Paris, easier on your wallet.  Coffee comes in normal quantities.


The town is dotted with many Cathedrals and central European architecture.  There is a gorgeous palace dating back to the Holy Roman Empire rebuilt after it was almost completed destroyed during WWII.  Sadly, there are no pictures of the inside.  Das ist verboten.


The highlight of the trip was found walking through the nearby forest preserve.  In the middle resides a beer garden as your reward for your days hike.  In fact, the only way to get there is to hike, cars are not allowed.  The food was excellent, and of course, the beer was fresh and delicious.


On a side note, train travel is quite nice.  It gives one an opportunity to finish work, right, read, while watching the countryside flash by you.  Even better, you can wash everything down with a beverage.  In short, a great way to view a foreign landscape while moving towards your goal.

Health Code

Most restaurants in the US have certain laws they must abide by.  Dishes must be clean, meat must be kept appropriately cool, and signs are posted everywhere about employees and hand washing.


Surely a country as bureaucratic as France has rules like these.


France has a rich tradition of food.  Some of the best cooking in the world exists only here.  Preparation is not just labor, but art.  Gorgeous displays of deliciousness await you.


Simply said, though, some things may be a little different.


Like cats.  Pretty sure there is a rule against cats in the US.

Apparently not so much here.


Bon meow.

Sardines

On Paris metro maps, the RER A cinches a thick red belt across the city.  The line connects the monotony of the western suburbs to the ecstasy of Disneyland.  Along the way is also La Defense, also know as the largest mass of concrete, steel, and glass in Europe.  


Paris boasts moves over a million people a day school on the train line.  That is to say, when it is moving.


Recently, as mentioned, France is at somewhat of a crossroads.  The country is watching its bank account plummet like Florida investment property and realizing maybe people are not dying fast enough.  There is a suggestion that maybe they will have to work a bit longer before punching in one last time.  


This notion is causing somewhat of a crisis.


Fifty years ago, there were 5 poor saps working for each retiree.  Presently the ratio is two to one.  In 1950, the life expectancy was around 67 (+/- male/female).  Now, it is 81.5 years young.  Looking back from the deep sleep, you had about 7 years after working. Now, you get 21.


However, what the system has in benefits, it may lack in fairness.  For example, if you are a laborer starting work at 16 you have 46 years of manual bliss before retirement.  If you start at 20, you still retire at 62, yielding 4 less years of work experience.


Regardless of which side you are on, though, if you do not like something, in France you have one answer.


Strike.


Thus the disgruntled among the French take their grievances to the street.  Voices shouting, windows smashed, cars burned, and thousands queued for their turn to picket the assembly.  Petrol stations run dry for lack of refueling.  Garbage collectors refuse to move refuse.  Police dodge stones and return fire with vitamin teargas.


So what does this have to do with the RER A?

Let’s say it can get a bit snug.

Throwing Chairs

As the weather warms, eating outside becomes increasingly fashionable.  Sitting on a terrace with your favorite beverage and enjoying some company is a fine way to relax.


Since this is such a fine way to relax, many people get the same idea.  This communality of thinking creates what economic circles would refer to as an increase in demand.


In many areas seating space is limited.  Thus, you are sitting close to strangers.  The arrangement is for maximizing profits.  Wasted space is a lost opportunity when demand is high.


So sometimes servers get picky about you moving.


My friend and I sit down on a busy terrace.  The people next to us leave and are replaced almost immediately by two other people we know equally as well.  They notice that the table wobbles.  Wobbling is bad for keeping liquid in a glass.


The people next to them leave.  Instead of these patrons being replaced, the one’s with the wobble move over to the less wobbly table.


This will not do.


There is a group of six ready and waiting for terrace seating.  The server comes to the renegades and demands of them to return to their original accommodation to make space.  The renegades demonstrate the mighty wobble and ask to sit where they are or for a new table.


Normal client/server interaction dictates that the server helps the customer with reasonable requests.  You sell drinks, you sell a place to sit outside and enjoy the drinks.  The customer generally admires the ability to keep the drink in the glass.


However, this is France.  You must realize that servers have a job to do, and that job is not necessarily serving the customer.  There are rules here and you must follow them or you will be punished.


One chair, two chairs (ah ah ah) thrown to the ground, table swapped, server pouts, chairs dashed back into place, server pouts, voila, sit now.


Please.


Of course the problem is the combination of a one-legged table and uneven ground.  The customers next to us finish their drinks and depart.


Bienvenue Paris.

Settled

After immigration, electricity issues, and many of the other crazy things happening on an abnormally recurring basis, Paris is becoming routine.


Maybe it means I’m settled?


Somewhat more bizarre is to reflect and realize that this once new odyssey is now home.  Many things once foreign are now routine.  We get used to our situations, no matter how different from previous norms, and adapt.


Must admit, it does feel a bit comfortable.


But then maybe that means its time for something new?

Ze Kitchen Gallerie

La petite vache, two other friends, and I dined Ze Kitchen Gallerie recently.  The place came highly recommended and did not disappoint.

La petite vache wrote a review here.  Hope you enjoy.

Bon appetit.

Elevator

Recently, a birthday was celebrated in my apartment.  Many people stopped by and it turned out to be a good time.


There was one small snag.


The elevator in my building scares me.  So much so that scarcely a finger is placed on the call button.  Compared to US standards, the lift is diminutive and occasionally questionably noisy.


Taking the stairs is a great way to get exercise.  Also, it is a great way to make sure you do not have to figure out how to spend two hours confined in a 2X2 (feet) box with four of your friends.


To be fair to the elevator is to say it is made for no more than 3 people.  And people by French standards, where a medium sized American is more Gulliver to the Lilliputian.

My cell rings.


“We’re stuck.”


Apparently, there is a mechanism that can open the door from the inside.  This is a secret, however.  If you do not know it, you must rely on the speed of the repairman.


And thus for an hour, my lack of elevator knowledge shines and four people get to know each other a bit better.


So if you ever come over, I would advise using the stairs.

Strikes

The RATP is the main transit authority in Paris.  Please, say the letters, as the name is not supposed to tell you how the metro smells.


Paris has an awesome public transportation system.  The trains are frequent and stops are close.  The interconnected trains are reasonably fast for how often they run.


When they are running normally.


Every now and then, though, the RATP likes to make you late for things. Also known as going on strike.


Over the last year, it seems there is little reason to strike.  There is no direct correlation between action and cause.  Employment grievance?  Unsafe working conditions?  Thankfully, though numerous, the strikes were “mini” in nature.  Not complete shut downs, just minor inconveniences.  Less trains, more crowding, but otherwise not increasing travel time by too much.


But still, very often, the strike seemed for the sake of having a strike – until the most recent set of grievances.


France has a guaranteed retirement age.  This age for RATP workers is currently 60.  The government of France has noticed, however, that like the rest of the world, people in France are living longer.  This is in spite of its inhabitants continued love of cigarettes.


So the government is pushing to save some money by pushing the retirement age past 60.  And by save money, it means not go bankrupt.


One may need a vivid imagination, but can you imagine working past 60?


Horrible.


So the RATP strikes, angering commuters and tourists alike.  Somehow this does not seem to be making France any more able to afford people living well past 80.


So unless a new source of revenue is discovered, or the government reverses all anti-smoking measures, they might have to accept the retirement age of 62.


Until that happens, the rest of us might have to accept alternate routes.

Top of the Galeries Lafayette

A quest to eat well requires one of two things.  Knowledge about food, or finding someone who knows about food.  Or more importantly, where to find food.


This takes research.  Good food does not always advertise.  Sometimes like a Marvel vigilante, it hides aloof on the rooftops gazing at the city.


And as luck has its whims, not only was it a great view, but also some great food.


Each summer, the Galleries Lafayette opens a restaurant on its roof.  Since it is taller than most of its surroundings, the view is spectacular.  You get a clear view of the skyline as well as a rare view of the Opera – a building decadent even from behind.

To compliment, the food was great.  At standard Paris pricing, the Japanese/French fusion was interesting while still appetizing.  The weather was cooperative as well, making for a great afternoon meal.


If you ever get a chance, the top of this world famous mall is well worth the ascent.

Pastry Tour

In a recent attempt to fatten for the winter, much good food has been had.  Part of this was a pastry tour organized by Le Petit Vache.

First order of business, if you have a friend organizing special tours of Paris, thank them.  The amount of time and research spent as well as the window to someone’s passion beholds a spectacle.  You see parts of the city you do not know exist, you do things out of your routine, and most importantly, learn.  Simply, something special.

So thank you, LPV.

We start our tour with about eight places in mind.  This number was not an attempt to increase the value of Norvo stock, but good planning.  It is near August, and places are closing for the holiday season.  Moreover, most Parisian places do not like posting hours and forbid any useful information on their websites.  An unlocked door represents open for business.

Pierre Herme is not open for business, so we go to the next stop, Sadaharu Aoki, a Japanese fusion pastry shop.  Macaroon’s are tasted in a variety of flavors.

Next place is close, but we end up walking by Polaine famous for its bread and apple tarts.  To say apple tart is to say something akin to a croissant filled with apples.  Yes, it was that good.

Next place is Hugo & Victor.  The décor exudes posh and luxury.  There are themes to the desserts.  Try strawberry.

We walk around more, run into Dorie Greenspan.  This is my first encounter, but since the party includes not only the organizer but a pasty chef, they know very well.  Dorie is famous for cooking, and should be equally famous for being a nice person.  Mustering some courage, we catch her writing her new book and extremely gracious to talk to friends.

Final stop is La patisserie des Reves.  Fruit tart.  Good end to a delicious day.

Time to resume running.

24 Hour Service

It was inventible.  Not inevitable like the sun rising or taxation, inevitable in only that way a certain address in Paris seems to attract the absurd.

“Power is out.”

This day was unavoidable.

It is time to confess.  But to make this acknowledgment, you must be transported to two months after May 2nd, 2009.

It is common to use a broker when getting an apartment in Paris, especially when moving for work.  Some people have had amazing success with these representatives, but this achievement is the exception.  Most brokers make pirating seem like an honest day’s work.

So if a broker promises to handle your electricity bill, should you be surprised it does not happen?

A note appears under the door one morning, “this is EDF, the power company, and we will shut off your power if you do not choose and electricity provider.  Immediately.”

Unlike the US, you can choose your provider of electricity.  There is the main company, EDF, the former state run entity (or still state run, or half state run…) and then several others.  I choose a company that seems like everything can be done on the Internet.  Probably not the wisest decision made in Paris, but no worse than ordering something random from a Brasserie.  The food may taste awful and cost you a days wage, but at least you did not go hungry.

Of course, it is not enough to do everything online.  This is not clear at first glance.  You provide your complete dossier including a bank account number, permission slip from your parents, and an x-ray of your skull.  Ah, but we need your signature in pen.

One month passes.

Another mail asking for a signature.

Seems odd, since the first one was sent, so I call them.  Having poorer French language skills at the time and since the call center sounded like the middle of Gare de Lyon, the conversation goes marginally better than an awkward prom date without booze.  I get something that sounds like “send us your signature.”

I do this for the third time.

One month passes.

No bill.

Usually companies want you to pay them.  The power provider is called again.  Somehow a very nice woman with impeccable English and vast quantities of patience answers.  I pinch my left arm.  She is still on the line.  Things are sounding good.  Everything is apparently set.

Two months go by.  No bill.  At which point, my time in France has taught me to let it go.  If the power provider does not want to bill me, why should I bother to tell them?  Thrice attempting is just turning their lack of response into a habit.

Over a year goes by without a power bill.

“Power is out.”

(Inevitably.)

Now if you are American, you are thinking something to the order of, “of course, jack-ass, what do you expect?”

And normally, if you are in America, then you would be right.  My French friends and colleagues question as if the predicament is manufactured from imagination.

“They never cut power here.  It would be easier to enact the fifth republic.”

Suspicion arises.  I had to wait a day because the first night I arrived too late to do anything.  The next day, the self-sufficiency gene governs.

Circuit breakers.  Check.  Cutoff in the basement?  No, but one could film horror there.

 What else could cause the issue?  How about the box between the main line and the apartment.

The box should be locked, as my neighbors boxes are locked.  Locking means a weak plastic tag that makes a cable tie seem insurmountable.  Inside the box contains fuses for the main, or it should.

Someone stole my fuses.

What seems to be sensible at this point is to go to the store and buy some new fuses.  Since this is sensible, you will find out that no store carries them.  It is late, so Monoprix is the first attempt.

The next day a cold shower.

A trek to a home store.  No luck, try another one.  No luck.  Industrial supplier, no luck.  Another home store.

“You must have a license to purchase those.”

What!?  A license to buy fuses!?  Granted the French power grid thinks that someday we may need 440 in our houses, just in case we want to manufacture Eiffel Tower keepsake’s or something, but still.  It’s a fuse.  You pop it in.  No training required.

No dice.  The only option is to call EDF.

Apparently other companies can provide power, but only EDF can service the equipment.  It is quite unclear how this is supposed to work, but that is unimportant.  Warm showers are important.

So first call is to the first energy supplier.  Apparently, the bill is “in process.”  For a year. 

In process for a year.

Maybe it’s a trial period?

Clearly, that was not the right path, so EDF is called.  For them to provide service, you need a contract.  Maybe it is time to pay a bill to someone?  My roommate sets this part up as he has nice coworkers to help with the French.  After the billing is set up, something has to be done at the house.  For some unknown reason, you must call from your home to set up an appointment.

Good thing for cell phones.

First call (I call because my French is better).  Prompts, which lead to a person after about five minutes.  We discuss the merits of me not having power and I argue this is a bad thing.  Yes, I have a contract.  No, I am not my roommate.  You will call back, great.

No call.  The number to call back closes at 9PM.  It’s 9:05PM.

Cold shower.

Second call, different person.  This works much better.  Almost to the point where someone comes out. 

“Yes, my fuses were stolen. Oh, this happens all the time.  No, I am not my roommate.  You need him to call, he doesn’t speak French well.  Your English helpline has five minutes of prompts in French.  Ok, I’ll call with him.”

Third call.

“Yes, I am the person on the bill.  My fuses were stolen.  Please change them.  You’ll call me back?  Fantastic…”

They do call back and direct me to another number. 

“Yes I tried the circuit breakers.  You see, the issue is that where I should have fuses outside of my house, I don’t.  Yes, I have a main circuit breaker, but really, what I don’t have is fuses.  Ok, you’ll send someone tonight.”

Tonight?

Although not the most comfortable introduction to 24 hour service in France, 12:15AM that evening I have power.  The next morning came happily provided by a hot shower.

French Countryside

Auvergne is in central France.  This is, according to some sources, the official country.

“In France, people live on the coast, but not many in the center.”

When you live in a city, you forget how to relax.  The countryside offers a much slower pace, fresh air, and friendlier people with French you can actually understand.

Thus, the travel to it is well worth the reward.  You get time away from the city of lights.  You have much less noise, many more stars, and in an ultimate dosage of irony, much better smells.

One of my friends was kind enough to let too many Americans et al invade her home.  The respite was much needed.  Even though this was May, the weather was till cool and crisp there was still plenty of non-city entertainment: Badminton, longs hikes, old churches, good food, and maybe some wine.

In short a great time.

So a thank you (belated) to a good friend for hosting and showing us such a wonderful time.

Delivery

As promise, pictures have been added to some previous posts.  Here's a list of what is new and improved:


Delousing
 
Musee de l'egout

Summer Bums

I Love Parisian Parks

A Fireman Ascends

Grande Arch de la Defense

Green Thumb


Hope you enjoy!

Renovation

When too much sleep has been had on the weekends, it is hard to justify more during the week.  Thus, squeaking in the wee hours at night, a new project is born.

Pictures.

Some other renovations may be planned, mostly minor.  By request, the font size will increase from small to normal.  Any post edited for pictures or whim will have this new feature.

Someday, someone may be coerced into redesigning the site if the appropriate funds appear to match the inevitably outrageous contract terms.

Until then, here is an artsy photo taken in the countryside:

First new and improved post here.

The Process

There has been some breaking of the normal weekend posting schedule.  Basically, between work, want of a social life, and relaxation (or laziness as we call it in the America), blogging time dissipates.

The unfortunate factor – time is a scare resource.

Idea phase

Finding the title you want to write about takes ideas – many, many ideas.  Most ideas land in a purgatorial file folder.  These include gems that are embarrassing, inappropriate, or embarrassingly inappropriate.

Inspiration phase

Once an idea makes the roster the writing begins.  If the idea shines, inspiration flows like Bruce Lee through a kung-fu academy.  If not, it’s more like the poor soul who must tidy the aftermath.

Selection phase

Some items are written and re-written only to remain on hard drive.  Timing is based off of one part what has become before and most parts what sounds good at the moment.

Edit phase

Edit. Re-edit.  Repeat.

A key to great writing is genius.  Good writing simply requires abundant editing.  A thesaurus does not hurt either.  Or a friend.

Posting phase

Finally, something for mom to stick on her refrigerator.  A piece of opinion and experience for sharing around the world.

Hope you like it.

Oui, Oui, le Fromage!

One of my friends here is sharing a similar experience.  Leaving the US and moving to this fine city called Paris.  

Part of this similarity is a blog.  Or, to be more accurate, the blog now comes to Paris.

But while the blog involves Paris, it is (mostly) about food.  So if you would like a much better critique of nourishment in Paris than this author could ever offer, go here.

Cameo found here.

Rice crispy treats found here.

4th of July

As it turns out, quite a few Americans reside in Paris.  Enough, in fact, to take over a small corner of the Bois de Boulogne.

There are certain cultural requirements of America.  Celebrating the 4th is a favorite.  Something about earning a sunburn, grilling, and rice crispy treats hits home – or brings you back.

It’s lucky to have a group of us that organizes and executes such a great outing.  Even better when over a hundred show up and the weather is more than cooperative.  We even played the time-honored sport of kickball. 

Thank you for the effort.  It was well worth it and much appreciated.

Summer Bums

Summer is here.  The warm weather rolls in from the south with welcome.  People start shedding their winter layers.  There is a new smell in the air.  The smell of…

Merde…
 
Normally, there are two bums that live on my street.  However, as the weather warms, the migratory bums arrive.

The first introduction was last year.  While walking towards the apartment, one saw tufts of hair blowing down the street.

Hair?  Is someone shearing their Pomeranian?

No, two bums are in the middle of the road, shearing each other’s scalp.  Shirts off and scissors out, le rue turned into le salon.

But if these harmless hijinks are the worst, so be it.

However, like most species of birds in Paris, the migratory bums care not where they leave their droppings.  Thus, between May and September, my street transforms into the best looking latrine in the world.  Each morning greets you with the opposite of fresh air.  You must now watch out for droppings created by something much larger than a 5 kilogram Parisian pet.


There are workers in a radio truck recording the opera at the moment.  The truck is parked in the worst of it. 

Pity them.

Leaving Town

Rainstorms blow through Paris frequently.  The wind increases, the temperature drops, and you have a prescient need for an umbrella.


Rain arrives, wets the earth, and leaves.


Such is the same with expats.


Many people come and go.  Even if you are French, chances are you live in Paris only temporarily.  While most of us may not have exact dates, we know we will not stay.


This certainty leads to many new faces, and many goodbyes.


There is no expectation of stability, but you will make it.  Humans are not conditioned for the lack of relationships.  There is an instinct to make friends and meet others, even if you know you may not see them again in mere moments.


And such is part of the experience.  Already, a handful of familiar faces have gone to their corners and new ones have entered the arena.


Good bye and welcome.

Bankathon

Sometimes we make mistakes. If you would like to read more about how one may get into the following circumstance, you can find a great book about it here.

So I find myself without a Carte Bleu or access to my online account and in the US. This is troubling. Banking from the US with a French account is only marginally safer than banking with your Nigerian friend who needs help. However, unlike with your Nigerian friend, at least when you return to France you can get your money back.

Sort of.

Not to give names, but I use a rather large, global bank that advertises itself as a rather large, global bank. Thus, one would think resetting your bank information and getting a new Carte Bleu would be straightforward.

Well normally, but…

They closed my bank branch. This makes sense because there are four near me within a five minute walk. Really, no worries. The note even said that the new bank was open on Saturday.

Egad!

I go to where the note directed. I was excited because this new bank opens at 8:45. That’s 15 minutes ahead of most other banks.

Egad!

“This is not the bank you are looking for.”

So I go to the second bank. I get there at 8:58.

“You have to wait five minutes. We are not open yet.”

Did I mention it was cold out?

“We cannot do anything for you. We could not even draw money from your account.”

So the third time is a charm – somewhat. I still had to call a number to get the online portion reset. But all is well now and an actual English speaking banker was found.

Now if I can just get that international wire to go through…

Green Thumb

My office has plants in it.  Every so often, a man comes by to take care of the plants.


No one else should.
 

One may think that having leaves turn yellow is bad if you are a plant.  One may also think that it is bad if you have not bloomed in a while.  One may even be under the assumption that if the man has not watered you in over month you may be a thirsty plant.

One can be wrong.
 
With some investigative work, the story of the man is corroborated.  He visits other floors frequently. 


Why does he not visit mine?  Must he start on the first floor?  Is he paid hourly?  Must he stop when the clock strikes a certain hour?
 
Most certainly plausible.
 
Thus, one might take this as lackadaisical.  One might feel obligated to care for the nearby plants.
 
As it turns out, some plants do not do well with too much water.  In fact, they rot.  This particular plant drowns in seas of good intentions.
 
So then one might wonder if giving this person an olive tree is a good idea.
 
Well if you are wondering, after a month, it’s still alive.

Food Poisoning

Sometimes you want to take a risk.  The road less traveled.  A new experience.  A new flavor.

A new restaurant.

There are many types of food available in Paris.  The list of things not available is somewhat small.  Anything short of Italian beef and real pizza is located in this corner of the universe.

Just, not all of it is good.

Very apparently.

Korean food is a favorite.  Not sure what it is about Kim Chee, or Bulgogi, or the little fish.  Maybe it is a challenge to the Western palette?  Maybe it’s because many Americans think it is weird?

In a spirit of adventure, a new Korean experiment was found and tried.  It looked good.  Korean people were eating in the restaurant.  The food tasted good.

The experiment failed.  Some may claim weak stomach, but the event had another unfortunate witness.

Something on the inside wanted out.

One incident, however, is not the end of the world.  Not the best day, but it passed (thankfully) quickly.  You take a risk, sometimes you lose.

Like Las Vegas.

So what are the odds of it happening again?

Quite good, apparently.

Not too much later my sister and her friend were visiting.  Sometimes, the place you intended to go to is closed Mondays.  Sometimes you do not look these things up.

“Try something new.  Life is an adventure.”

Life is an adventure.

New experiment.  This was recommended by the best bartender in Paris.  Sorry to say, though her bartending is stellar, this recommendation does no justice to that skillset.

“I’ve never thrown up like that before.”

“I feel better, though.”

Maybe going to new restaurants with people who will eat there with you is the way to go.  But just like in science, even when the experiment fails, it still gives you knowledge.

French Humor (Filler)

A man goes out with his friends to celebrate his birthday. The next morning he wakes up in his bed with a brutal hangover. On the nightstand, there is a glass of water and some aspirin. A fully cooked breakfast is awaiting him in bed.

The man gets up. He takes the aspirin and finishes the food. He gets out of bed and walks downstairs. There, he sees his son.

“What happened last night?” the man asks.

“You went out with your friends,” his son replies.

“And then what?”

“A taxi brought you home very late. You threw up on the grass. You couldn’t get yourself inside.”

“And then…?”

“Mom tried to help you get in the house.”

“Go on.”

“And then you said, ‘get your hands off me you filthy whore, I’m a married man!”

Invitation

Today marks my one year anniversary of getting on a plane and saying:

“What the hell did I do?”

Not sure if everyone else had the same feeling.

In fact, chances are that if you live in Paris, you may have a different perspective than what you find here. In fact, recent conversations made me aware that it would be nice to have some of these perspectives and stories here.

So if you have something you would like to say let me know. Either if you have your own piece of the internet to link to or if you would like it put here.

Look forward to hearing from you.

What's France Like?

Upon returning from France for the first time, you must learn to answer one thing:

“What’s France like?”

Topping the list of frequently asked questions, it is of course the most difficult to answer. 

Thus, part of the reason for this blog is to give you an idea of the life here.  It is a long term solution.  An ongoing answer.

Paris is dense in experience.  Distilling the virtues and troubles into something coherent provides challenge.
 

Answering in one sentence feels unjust.  There is the city itself, but there is also the interaction.  No one is an island in their environment.  This experience for one reverses when told by another.  In the summation of the cacophony you have the answer.

And to further complicate affairs, the other side of the coin exists.  Most times life is conventional.  You eat, sleep, and breathe the same as you would in Wichita. 

At least if you do it differently, typically it is not for long.

So here exists information to synthesize.  Hopefully you find a good start.  And if you want to know more, the work is in progress.

Warm Weather

By now, you may have noticed the lack of a post this weekend.  Spring was in full swing and by all accounts it was simply too nice out.

So this means the normal schedule was pushed in lieu of the park, a run, and a picnic.

Hopefully the weather where you are is treating you as it would here.  Three cheers for springtime.

Central Time

A realization that seems obvious now, but was unexpected at first, was the impact of time zones on your life.  When moving from one clock to another, or when working with many geographies, you must plan your life not only around where the sun is at your current location, but where it is for others as well.

Having some awareness of this already, it is surprising how critical it becomes after you significantly change your time zone.

When you work for a French-owned company for five years, arranging overseas calls is not a new thing. You call France in the morning before they leave for the day.  Simple.

Now living in France, and working with Asia and the US, it is a bit more complicated.  But work pales in comparison to your personal life, which is much more difficult to arrange.

We humans like habit.  Most of us do not vary our weekly schedule in any significant manner.  This consistency can put one at odds with the schedule of someone else.  And unless the cycle gets disrupted, it can be difficult to reach people on the other side of the ocean.

And while this is still a concern at work, the office is where we spend the largest consistent block of our waking hours.

Consequently, this block of time at work makes the windows of personal time much smaller.  Between work and the want of social life, it is difficult to connect with your overseas attachments.

And thus, it’s not just miles that may separate you from someone, but also the time.

Saturday Morning

Paris has a busy night life.  It seems that many people tend to enjoy the night much more than any other set of waking hours.  So much more that Saturday morning is rather peaceful.

No matter what is open or not open, Saturday seems time for relaxation.  If you are not passed out, you are sipping a coffee, taking a long breakfast, or otherwise enjoying life away from most other people.  You are not out in the midst of the city doing your shopping, working, or exercising.  Of course, this is just the majority.

If you are not in the majority, however, it is a very peaceful time.  It is possible for brief moments, uninterrupted from returning party-goers, to have an Omega Man experience.  Even the sounds of cars and transportation get muffled by the limestone corridors of Haussmann’s.

It is an experience to feel.  Something to enjoy if you make the trip.

Or are staying for a while.

Parlevouzfraancais?

This weeks will be late.  So, for some filler, here is a blog from one of my friends.

Texts from my mom. 

Happy Easter!

Plus Encore

Paris, we must sit down.  We must talk.  Every time you are about to hear those words you long to hear.  Those three English words, (two in the language devoted to contractions), you blow it.  You start a fight.  You walk out too early.  You don’t call.  You fall asleep.

You’re in bed with another.  Multiple anothers.

“Don’t burn the house down…”

In Paris, apartment insurance is mandatory.  Given the history of Europe, apparent lax fire codes, and Parisian fondness for smoking, this regulation proves wise.  Burglary is another nuisance.  Red wine is difficult to get out of carpets, couches, and ceilings.

Thus before you move in, you must purchase insurance and prove it.

“… seriously, just found out the insurance company cashed the check but decided not to cover us…”

However, the insurance provider must approve you.  There seemingly is no time limit.  You pay, they can choose whenever to drop you.  For example, 10 months into a 12 month contract.

Le sigh.

Like always, the devil is in details.  There was an issue with the first check sent to the company.  Normally, then, if you send another check, and the company cashes, it everyone is happy.  Not in this case.  The company took the cash.  However, through a fault in their AR process, there is no insurance.

Not sure how that worked.

First order of business, legal compliance, especially since Carte de Séjour renewal time is near.

Here’s to avoiding deportation.

Le Greve (or Time Off)

You may have noticed there was no post this weekend.  This was not accidental.  In solidarity with the air traffic controllers, this blog is on strike.


Or, just some time away is in order.  There is more to come, but from time to time, some catching up is in order.


See you in a week or two.

Vacation Time

Vacation is sacred above much else in France.  First, a brief review:

Number of vacation days received on average:

US: 14
Great Britain: 26
Germany: 27
Netherlands: 28
Austria: 28
Spain: 31
Italy: 33
France: 37

Assuming a directionally correct source, France has far surpassed the rest of the world in terms of time away from work.  As an attestation, visit a Parisian office in August.  Behold the legendary summer exodus.

One might call this complaining.  It is not.  It is unabashed envy.  How can a nation afford to spend so much time away from the daily grind?  What is the secret?

Part of the truth is that the hours worked here are little different than other parts of the developed world.  Believe it or not, even though it is technically (so I hear) illegal, people do work overtime.  My suspicion is that sole proprietors and those that work for them hustle more than is thought of from the outside world.

Another piece of the puzzle is a trade off.  In general, there are fewer conveniences.  Most stores are not open on Sunday, 24 hour anything is a myth, and services like dry cleaning are astronomically expensive.

One could mention that there is more productivity here.  But keep in mind, there is rational suspicion that people work more than reported.  An understated denominator works wonders in boosting this figure.

Whatever the reasons for the extra vacation days, though, this author is certainly looking forward to more than 12 per year.

McDo

France has a great culinary heritage.  So long as you are not picky, your visit here will be full of tasty treats and satisfying meals.  Suffice is to say the food here tastes good.

So why is McDonald’s packed?

The restaurant does not represent the best of what American food has to offer.  While it is a marvel of production and efficiency, it is not high on quality.  For a country concerned with the quality of food, this type of restaurant would surely make an instant failure.

But McDonald’s is packed in Paris.  All the time.

Until recently, it was difficult to fathom.  Was it the cheap price in a sea of expensive options?  Was it the quantity of tourists in Paris?

No.  It just tastes better here.

So it seems that even with the marketing and familiarity, even McDonald’s has picked up a small piece of French culture.

Now what would Paris do for Taco Bell?
 

The Bank

This week a note arrived:

Bad news, the bank branch near me has closed.

Good news, there is another one nearby.

Better news, it is open on Saturday.

You read right. The bank is open on Saturday.

Let me back up.

Paris has a lot of bank branches. This particular bank has three within a two minute walk from my apartment. This is the same company. There are then at least 3 others within the same radius.

However, as a general rule, banks operate between nine and five. Some have extended hours, but even then you can have difficulty deciphering what “extended” means.

Hence, while it is convenient to get to the bank, it is inconvenient to do it during their normal hours.

So, to have a bank open on Saturday is exciting. Do you remember hearing that when you get something in Paris you really appreciate it?

And like a beautiful epilogue, the post office by me now offers the same hours on Saturday as well.

Pretty soon, Monoprix could be open on Sunday.