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…