Chapter 32 – Just call me the Queen of Bureaucracy

November 25, 2003
I got that nickname apparently in “homage to your navigation of the French system…akin to pioneers like Cartier and Columbus” following my comment that I would go to the sous-prefecture to get some questions answered on Thursday, since that’s when I usually performed such errands. I didn’t even realize until that moment that I actually have a day reserved for bureaucracy…seems fitting, doesn’t it? I do, however, plan to go to the post office tomorrow to pick up whatever they say that they tried to drop off when I wasn’t home (whatever, I was TOTALLY home when they came by…but I already knew that a package would never come directly to me…what a tease though…to get a piece of paper saying that there will be a package for me tomorrow. That’s just mean.).

November 29, 2003
The mailman knows my name. I haven’t yet decided if that’s good or bad, but I’m pretty sure it’s good, since he seems really nice, and if I happen to walk out of my room while he happens to be there…okay, so I hear him arrive; he’s one of few people that drives his scooter right up to the door (i.e. right outside my window)…but it’s purely coincidence when I walk out of my room then…It actually dates back to my asking him directly once (probably two months ago), and the two or three times I’ve seen him since, he just tells me (whether or not he has already filled or not filled my mailbox). I think it’s a good thing. Besides, it seems (and I think I’ve mentioned this before) that knowing someone, and developing relationships with people is the best way to get things done. Works for me; I kinda like this crazy idea that being nice to people gets them to be nice back. Imagine that.

This brings me to a side note (what’s an email from me without a tangent?). Scooters. Aside from people a popular mode of transportation for those not old enough to buy cars (by scooter I mean the motorized kinds…like small motorcycles…), it’s also very popular for delivery people (mail, pizza…). In fact, I have never seen a pizza delivery car. The post office does, of course, have trucks, but most mailmen use scooters, or even bicycles.

Chapter 31 – No, please…c’mon in.

November 21, 2003
So here I was, lying in bed around 1:30 in the afternoon, having eaten a nice, complete meal for once (okay, minus the vegetables, this is still me we’re talking about) when my door opened. Yep. Some guy almost walked into my room. Yes this has happened before, but it was at the beginning of the year, and probably the girl didn’t even realize that there was a room there (the door to one of the hallways is just past my door). But c’mon people. You’ve lived here at LEAST a couple of months, and many have been here for a couple of years. Let’s get this whole door thing sorted out. Door with room number = room. Imagine that. I’m so frustrated! I mean, I had already gotten in the habit of locking my door when I’m in the shower, and when I go to bed, but do I really have to lock it all the time, just in case? This is ridiculous. I really like my landlord and all, but stuff like that is just too much to take (and beyond his control anyway).

And then there’s the phone. Apparently, my number used to belong to some sort of company, and people call all the time (more and more, oddly) for people at that company, or (even better) to sell business products. In fact, someone had just done so, before random guy walked in. Wonderful. I just have to keep telling myself…5 minutes from work…5 minutes from work…

Chapter 30 – Is it spring already?

November 20, 2003
I wish. But today felt like it! It was strange though, cause with the time that the sun sets (ya know, it being winter and all) at about 2:00 this afternoon, it felt like 5:00 or 6:00, since the sun was shining brightly, but well past the mid-day peak, and with the warm breeze we had (it has since cooled off considerably for the evening) it felt more like a summer evening than a winter afternoon. It was a nice change from the fairly cool morning. I had a great breakfast, cleaned up my place a little, and headed down the hill to pick up some piece of bureaucratic (ahem) output that was waiting from me at the personnel office. On the way, I stopped at the FLSH (where I have 1 of my classes, and where the English office is) to check my mailbox, and see if there were any important notes on the board in the office. One of my co-workers (Martine, French) was there, and pointed to the other end of the room from the board and said “that’s for you”. I looked at the stuff posted on the other board, which hasn’t changed since I’ve been here, before I realized that she was pointing at something on the desk in front of the computer that doesn’t work (the computer that works is next to the board that we normally use for messages). There was an envelope with my name on it, attached to an unknown item wrapped in plastic bags. She apologized for the wrapping job, and said that she and Erin (American) had felt so bad that they had both been out of the city (Martine was visiting her sick grandfather in England) on my birthday, that they wanted to make up for it. It was totally unexpected, and completely made my day. When I talked to Erin this evening, she said that they wanted to find something nice for my place (since they know how – ahem – cozy it is). I just can’t express how very cool that was.

Anyway, I continued down the hill to pick up the form (it was my work permit, from the government), then headed home to get ready for my next challenge; a trip to the CAF (the rent assistance people). Armed with what I hoped was everything I needed, Jo, who needed to go to the office next to the CAF to get one of his ID cards replaced, picked me up and we were on our way. By the time I made it past the pre-accueil (basically pre-reception), who, as in most cases, called my number, found out that they probably couldn’t handle my problem, and sent me to sit and wait for an agent person (with an actual cubicle). This is what I expected…and actually hoped for, since the agents seem to have a better understanding what’s going on. Anyway, just a minute after I sat down, Jo was already done. I was pretty impressed. I was even more impressed when I actually got in and out in less than half an hour, despite the 4 or so other people before me. (as an aside for Aimee…they’ve moved pre-accueil into the lobby, so now you only get to sit if you have to wait for an agent…weird, eh?). As was to be expected, I didn’t have everything they needed, but between the beautiful weather and Erin and Martine’s thoughtfulness, I wasn’t really fazed. Jo was rather shocked that I wasn’t frustrated, and asked if I could help him it with this stuff when he moves out of his parents’ place and has to go through the same b-, I mean, system. So, today’s missing documentation; my pay stub from September (something I didn’t need last year, which explains why I didn’t bring one…besides, I’m not sure I’ve even received one…my pay is automatically deposited), and my non-temporary carte de sejour (which I don’t have yet, of course). They also gave me a sheet that the university has to fill out and send in directly. So, they can start the file, but they can’t pay anything until I have my carte de sejour. Ah well, it was worth a try. I could really really use them money (them Canadian banks probably want their money back…maybe I should get a Swiss account…hehehe) but at the same time, I’m surprisingly not all that stressed out about it. So there you go. The latest chapter in the bureaucratic wonder that is France.

Chapter 29 – Paper towel…who knew?

November 15, 2003
So my idea of stuffing the draft in the bathroom with paper towel was surprisingly effective (it’s almost 5:00, and I still haven’t heard from the landlord…it’s a temporary solution)…one more step to maintaining my health! Let’s hope there’s nothing flammable hiding in there..

November 17, 2003
A little patience can go a long way. While most of my issues with getting stuff fixed in my place have been somewhat on-going, that was in part due to my unwillingness to be regularly nagging my landlord with petty things. Of course, the collection of petty things grew, and combined with a leaky toilet that meant shutting off my water when I wasn’t home, and emptying a bucket that filled up from the leak every couple of hours, was a little much to bear. When I got in touch with him (after leaving a message with the wife, and another, 6 hours later with the answering machine, since I knew they had a vacation in and around now) I braced him a little for the things I needed, but without scaring him with everything. He was to come today, either between 2 and 4, or after 5 (the times I don’t have class on Mondays). I realized at 2:00 how inconvenient that was, since it meant I couldn’t leave, and didn’t know how long that would last, especially since I figured it was more likely that he would come after 5:00. He showed up at about 2:45.

He looked at the leak, the draft (or rather the origin of it, since my side is stuffed with paper towel), glanced at the fridge door, played with the handle to my door, and looked over the form I needed to fill out. The solutions? He’ll fill the hole in the wall from the outside, so that he doesn’t need me to be home (I imagine after he does that and I remove the paper towel, I will need him to come back and do the inside, but that’s not a big deal). He removed the massive piles of plastic and tape, and put a new joint in to the input of the toilet tank (where it was leaking), then filling the inside and out with silicon. All while noting that he would replacing the piping etc in the new year, and add a shut off valve. He also insisted I call at the first sign that the repairs weren’t holding. He said nothing about the presence (and nuisance even) of the washing machine (thankfully, I was rather worried about that). He said not to worry about the fridge handle either, as long as it wasn’t too much of a pain to open and close, as he’ll replace the fridge in the new year. He offered to buy grease for the door, but to avoid having to arrange another time between the two of us, I said it was no problem for me to do it. He made his recommendations, and reminded me to take the price off my next month’s rent. (legally required, perhaps, but cool of him to make sure I was aware of that instead of, say, asking me to replace the whole door because the handle doesn’t work as well as when I moved in…I don’t know anyone that would do such a thing…). Besides, if it’s only a couple of bucks, I’m really not worried about it. (it’s when outlandish requests for a new door…or perhaps a new toilet while we’re at it…and a new marble floor too, probably, since the leaky toilet might have damaged the ultra cheap flooring…I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s getting into me.)

Anyway, he filled out the form I needed to try and get rent assistance, and was even pretty nice when I asked how I might go about getting out of my (one-year) lease early. I was perfectly honest with him; the privacy factor with regards to my students is a much bigger deal than I thought it would be. He said that if I gave enough notice that would be fine, but had pointed out (before I mentioned the student thing) that I would need a place until the end of the school year anyway. He wasn’t a jerk about it at all, and I, of course, offered to help find another tenant, should I find another place. He told me about the other place he owns, closer to downtown, which is bigger (and of course more expensive) but sounds nicer (although he mentioned that it has a bathtub and not a shower, and I know a lot of people around here have those, but that is a major major flaw to me…I don’t think I want to have my “shower” by sitting in the bathtub and basically hosing myself down…the Simpsons’ (or rather Cleetus Slackjaw’s) rag-on-a-stick comes to mind. Anyway, he was really nice about it. After my past landlord experiences, I realize that these are things (well the repairs anyway) I might have been more forceful about getting, but the fact of having a great landlord is something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take for granted. I’s one lucky kid.

Chapter 28 – Cool French stuff, and less cool apartment stuff

November 13, 2003
I thought it was really cool last June when I came across Monopoly Alsace in Strasbourg, so you can imagine how excited I was to discover on the news tonight that they have just finished a Trivial Pursuit Alsace Edition. Of course, I could never actually play it; I’m quite sure I don’t know that much about Alsace, but soooo cool. Especially since I know I’ve told more than a couple of people over here that Trivial Pursuit was created in Canada. Proud to be Canadian, I am!

November 15, 2003
So I got home from a friend’s last night, completely exhausted, only to find water around my bathroom floor. As my sister pointed out to me on the phone today, apparently I’m just prone to floods. Today’s flood was brought to me by…the toilet. On the bright side, it’s the water coming into the tank, not the water going out of the toilet, but I have yet to figure out what happened in the few hours I was gone to cause the leak. Anyway, this has obviously been a problem before, since the connection is wrapped in plastic, and tape, and who knows what else. Fortunately, thanks to having been there when the washing machine was installed, I knew where to go to shut off the water (and it only feeds my apartment) so that’s what I did. I called my landlord this morning, and left a message with his wife. She said she’d try and get him to call and arrange a time for this afternoon, but it’s now past 4:00, and he still hasn’t. Of course there’s no leak, now that the water’s off, and what was on the floor that wasn’t absorbed by the towel I put down has long since dried, but I have no running water. This morning I went to a friend’s to use the washroom, but he’s not home right now…and I need to do my dishes so I can eat, and I have to eat a decent sized meal so I can take my medication, and I have to take my medication, because I refuse to continue to be sick! (Incidentally, the throat is a lot better; I finished the antibiotics yesterday, and my eyes are doing better too…I think I finish the eye drops tomorrow…YAY!). So now I have to play the waiting game (or hungry, hungry hippos) until my landlord calls, so I can get him over here to fix that and the various other minor-ish things that have been bugging me (the fridge handle that broke off the day I moved in, the draft in the bathroom, which I have now located, and am tempted to stuff with paper towel for now, the fact that for several days my door handle wouldn’t go up without serious encouragement…a necessity for me to be able to lock the door…). The worst part is, I increasingly tempted to look for something else, but I’m feeling super stuck in my one-year lease, and while these things are broken, my conscience doesn’t allow me to try and find someone else. Plus, there’s another room available in my building right now (that isn’t right next to the front door…and it’s a different landlord, or I’d jump at it in a second) so I imagine I’d have some major difficulty trying to convince someone else to take over my lease. My biggest concern remains the fact that more and more of my students know where I live, which just bugs me…if for no other reason than I feel like my personal life is less private. Once everything’s fixed I’ll feel better about trying to find someone else…I should hit up those living in Batiment A that want out, because this is still, without a doubt, a huge step up from that place! Anyway, now I’m just procrastinating…I’d better go put a bucket under the toilet tank, turn the water on, do my dishes, make some lunch, and get back to work…I’ve actually made some good progress today! (I’ve collected stuff from several of my classes, and marked nothing…thankfully they aren’t as obsessed about getting things back quickly as, say, Laurier business students would be.

Chapter 27 – Nobody does it like the French

November 13, 2003
So what can nobody do like the French? Well, they would say (and many would agree) wine…cheese…lots of things to do with food really, but that’s not (exactly) what I’m talking about. Demonstrations. Last week, one of my classes told me that there was a meeting about the changes to the educational system (the French system is being changed to fit closer to the Bachelor/Masters/PhD system that we all know and love) in the middle of our class. I thought it sounded interesting; despite having learned a bit about the French system in the best French class I ever took (French Culture post-1960 with Dr. Sehl at Laurier) and having now been a part of that system in two different ways, I still don’t really understand a lot of it, so I decided to go. The prof, or whoever he was, talked for maybe 15 minutes about the changes, and then left, being replaced by a student. It wasn’t long before I realized that this was not your average informational meeting. Even most (or all?) of my students were quite surprised (and duly cynical) when the student proceeded to explain about the demonstration that would be held the following Thursday (that is today…I can’t believe I forgot to write about this last week). It was everything I could do not to laugh when he detailed the agenda. The demonstration would start at the top of campus (I can call it that since, as most of you know, the campus is on a hill…the top is, quite literally, the top) at 10:00 today. They would slowly make their way down campus, to the President’s office (at the bottom of the hill). At noon, they would break for lunch; which would be provided. At 2:00 (if it’s not a 2-hour lunch, you are not in France!) they would make their way, via whatever means necessary (one bus among other things) to the train station…in Strasbourg, where they would meet with students from Strasbourg and Colmar to continue demonstrating…at the train station (one of my colleagues suggested the university is too far and inconvenient for the students to want to go all the way there…it’s not THAT far, but that is not, by any means, an unrealistic suggestion). The day would end with a soirée hosted by the students at Colmar. Ahhh striking the French way: strike, eat, strike, party. No wonder they like it so much!

On a semi-brief aside (what’s a story without some dealing with the phone company or some other branch of the government), I was rather dismayed to get a letter in the mail from France Telecom saying that they had not received my October payment (even though I got a letter a few days ago saying that they had received my authorization for automatic withdrawal). I was pretty sure I understood the problem (automatic withdrawal wouldn’t apply to the bill I had received before the authorization) but I wanted to be sure before sending more money (who knows how hard or easy it would be to get credit for any overpayment). I gritted my teeth, and made the call. The lady I reached confirmed my suspicion and mentioned that I could pay by cheque or with a bank card number; cool! I wouldn’t even have to worry about the mail etc (especially since if they didn’t get payment within the next week, they’d charge my *almost* 10 euros (they have this bizarre habit of not using whole numbers for anything). When she opened my file (via my phone number) she confirmed my name and apologized for the pronunciation…honestly, she’s probably had the best stab at Heather I’ve heard yet, for someone that I haven’t had to coach! Anyway, we started discussing anglophone accents, and the fact that I was Canadian, and she said she’d been to Canada, and couldn’t wait to be able to go back. She was easily the nicest customer service person I’ve spoken with yet; and I’ve been really impressed thusfar…it’s really not as bad as I expected, and like I said in an email a long time ago; the people within the system really make up for how messed up the system can get. Yay French people!

Chapter 26 – Adventures in health care

November 10, 2003
Today was my third time visiting a doctor here (only the second time for myself…once was last year with a friend…not counting the “visite medicale” that you heard about a while back) so I’m getting a bit of an idea of how things work. First of all, I’ve seen three different doctors, and none have been in the sort of office I’m used to; several doctors, a couple of receptionists, a nurse or two…most doctors here have their own offices, and answer their own phones. A system which I think works better. They (I assume) won’t spend long on the phone with anyone (since they answer even while a patient is in front of them, which I think is perfectly acceptable…at least you have a chance to ask a quick question). Anyway, so…my story. I haven’t actually been 100% healthy since it started getting cold, but the last couple of days were particularly bad (on and off) and I feel like I’ve developed strep throat (which is one of those things that must be treated, because it can apparently cause serious complications if untreated). So, although I still have no idea how to get myself reimbursed (the health system here is really really good) at least with my temporary carte de sejour, I feel better about trying, so I finally decided to give my body a break from the fight, and see a doctor. This meant cancelling classes, which people probably found quite suspect since tomorrow is a national holiday (Armistice) and many French people “fait le pont” (“make the bridge”) when there is a holiday on a Tuesday or a Thursday, taking off the Monday or Friday (respectively) for a four-day weekend…sounds better to me than the Canadian system of moving things like Queen Victoria’s birthday randomly to a Monday to make for a long weekend (of course it’s less fun when the holiday already falls on a Saturday or Sunday, but hey…they have more anyway, and plenty more vacations, so I can’t really complain). So…I digress. In short: I wasn’t really trying to “fait le pont”; I was actually in pretty rough shape yesterday.

So the challenge today was finding a doctor that wasn’t making the bridge. Luckily, a friend’s former doctor was working, so that was the plan. My friend dropped me off in the full waiting room…so next difference with doctors. Most doctor’s have designated days and/or times of day where they only take patients, then other days/times of day when they only take walk-in patients. Pure genius. It sounds silly, I know, but doesn’t it just make sense? No worries about the emergency room, unless you have, I don’t know, an actual emergency, and no worries about seeing some doctor you don’t know; if you can’t make a convenient appointment, you can just go in…of course you can do that with walk-in clinics in Ontario, but this way you can still see YOUR doctor. Makes sense to me! So anyway, the system; you buzz (maybe) and walk in, and seat yourself in the waiting room. When the doctor finishes with a patient, the leave out another door (they don’t pass back through waiting room) and the doctor calls the next person. No checking in; just the honour system, and everyone seems to respect it. With a full waiting room, the wait was long (nearly two hours) an the last people before me complained a little about the wait, but there was definitely an air of respect for the order of arrival. In fact, despite what I’ve heard about the French, and particularly Alsacians being cold, everyone said hello to a new person walking in, and goodbye when the doctor called them. It was a little strange; a pretty stark contrast to the institutional feeling to a doctor’s office back home.

An important piece of advice I’ve heard is that knowing someone is your key to smooth sailing in all things administrative. This proved true. My friend came back in time to go in to see the doctor, and to avoid the hassle of figuring my health coverage stuff (although I have to do it any for the eye stuff from last time) he asked the doctor to put the stuff under his social security. The doctor hesitated at first, but my friend also wanted to ask for medication, so since he was also sick, the doctor decided it was okay. He was even more reassured as he remembered treating him as a kid (which became most obvious when he asked about his mom and sister). He prescribed me a whack of stuff; antibiotics (he trusted that I might have strep throat on the basis that I have had it before, and it seems the same to me…after looking at my throat of course. He also prescribed lozenges and gave me drops for my eyes, when I mentioned that they haven’t been quite back to normal since my pink eye, although I also said it was no big deal…the problem with cheap drugs, of course, is the doctors are much less worried about over-prescribing, which sort of worries me…I think I mentioned before that the government of France has been running campaigns trying to discourage people from asking for antibiotics all the time (les antibiotiques, c’est pas automatique). Anyway, so the doctor gave us the instructions, and off we went to the pharmacy. We had to pay up front to be reimbursed later, and it turned out to be really expensive; over 60 euros (nearly $100Cdn), which really surprised me (everything seems really cheap). It turns out the antibiotics alone were 20 euros per pack of 6 (thank you Pfizer), and the pharmacist gave me 2 packs. It was only upon thought later that I realized that she’d got the instructions wrong, and should have only given me one pack, which would have significantly reduced the cost. I called the doctor, who answered; no hassle trying to go through a receptionist for a call back etc etc and confirmed my suspicion. At that point, trying to go back to the pharmacy and take a box back would be an administrative nightmare (part of the receipt for social security involves them sticking labels from the boxes onto the form) and lets be realistic; everything’s an administrative nightmare here, so the government of France bought an extra box of antibiotics. Ah well. What can ya do. The pharmacist was obviously in training too, and she’d already made a couple of mistakes, and the confusion from taking it back, probably just as they were closing, was an unnecessary added stress on her. As they say in France “c’est pas grave” (it’s not serious).

Wow…that was a pretty long explanation of three hours of my life. But I guess you guys are used to that sort of thing from me…

Chapter 25 – Irony (a la française)

November 4, 2003
I got a note in my mailbox today (along with a card from my Grandma and Grandpa…thanks G&G!) telling me that I have a package. Irritating side note: it says I wasn’t at home (but I was) when they delivered. The reality is that they don’t check: they’re not about to try and figure out where my room is (even though it’s on my mailbox, unlike most people, and it’s on the piece of paper they left me, AND, they had to walk by it to get to the mailboxes). Anyway, that, of course, is not the ironic part. The sheet they give me has the address of the post office where I’ll be able to pick up the package (although the date I can pick it up is honestly completely illegible…I’m assuming tomorrow…seems reasonable to me…not that reasonable really factors in here, but still) as well as the phone number. So, being the resourceful person I am, I try to call them to find out how to find the place, and to find out for sure when I will be able to pick up the package in question; no answer, at 3:15pm (they’re supposed to be open 9-12 and 2-6…ahh, the French lunch break). I then go to resource number 2: the internet. Problem: two different map sites can’t find the street, and the post office hasn’t given me a postal code. To their credit, in Mulhouse there are only a couple of postal codes (the system is different from Canada) but I’m not even certain this is in Mulhouse, because it’s in Coteaux, which may be a section of Mulhouse, or it may be a village (you can never tell).I try to call again (it’s been about half and hour…I was also chatting with other people in the English office, where I was)…still no answer. So I go to the post office’s website, and manage to get the address and postal code…only the street name given there is (slightly) different from that given on the sheet. So I try that one on both map sites (one of which, I should mention, is French). Still nothing. The street the post office is one does not exist on the map.

November 6, 2003

I WIN!!!

I have, in my possession, a carte de sejour (albeit it temporary, until they send me the real one, which could be anywhere from a couple of weeks, to right before it expires according to the experiences of other lectrices). What I didn’t realize, is that with the temporary one, I can already apply for rent assistance (although, since I wasn’t eligible last year, I’m trying not to get my hopes up). The only problem is that I think my landlord is away on vacation, and there are some papers for him to fill out, but that’s beside the point: I’M ALLOWED TO STAY! (until the end of my contract, but still…I’m legal!). I also managed to get my package from the post office (thanks dad!). Now to try and get a student card…or would that be pushing my luck?

I never did manage to get rent assistance, but I can’t really complain; it would have been money for nothing, really, and while it would have been really nice, it bugs me when I hear people here complain about not getting things that should be considered a bonus, not a right. I’m sure I did complain about, probably multiple times, but in the end I’m happy just to still be here.

Chapter 24 – Another taste of French culture

November 3, 2003
So I did the wine tasting (despite still not having developed a taste for wine) but when it comes to cheese, I am quite content with some good old cheddar, some mozzarella, and parmesan is always good on pasta. I’ve always shied (that spelling looks wrong, but shyed definitely isn’t right) away from a things stinky; working in a deli will only worsen that…which I did. Anyway, my cheese experience thusfar has been limited, partly because I’m afraid of offending if I don’t like it, but I’m not about to buy a package of anything without trying it first. Stupid catch-22. Anyway, I did try emmenthal last year (what we call Swiss cheese, but is actually of French origin…well, to be fair, what we call Swiss is actually Swiss Emmenthal, but emmenthal is French), and didn’t like it…unfortunately this is the most prevalent cheese around here, with an incredible amount of shelf-space in grocery store refrigerators (pieces? slices? grated?…tons and tons of grated). I’m not sure when or how, but somewhere along the line I actually started to like it. I don’t mind brie (but I won’t go out of my way for it)…I know I’m missing a couple more, but whatever. On a side note: mozzarella here is different…it’s actually Italian for one thing, it comes as a ball in a bag of juice. It’s even stringier than mozzarella in North America, but has less flavour. After yet another tasting, I’ve decided it’s too much of a pain to use. I miss North American cheddar and mozzarella…any cheddar really.

But, I digress, I was going to tell you about my other taste of French culture: Raclette. As I started out by saying, me and stinky cheese have just kept our distance, but that came to a screeching halt when I found out what we were having for dinner, just before arriving at Gaël’s last night: Raclette. Uh oh. First of all, I wasn’t sure what that meant, but the word “fondue” got added, so I at least understood the how. My next concern was how to eat without anybody noticing I wasn’t dipping anything in the pot if I didn’t like it (I don’t like normal cheese fondue, or at least I didn’t a couple of years ago when I had it last…who knows now). Then I saw the raclette fondu set…not at all the pot and forks I was expecting. In fact, each person has a like pie-slice like frying-pan like thing that goes inside the melter. You only put in a slice or two of cheese at a time, and either pour it on your food, or eat pieces with your food (it cools fast). Plus, standard fare are cold cuts, pickles (yep, pickles!) and potatoes (I forget if there was anything else). Let me tell you: it was really really good. Nothing like a piece of a cold cut, and piece of a pickle, and a melted bit of raclette. Who knew? Oh wait…lots of people. Anyway, at least now I know! One more French cuisine fear conquered! In case you’re wondering, I have tried escargot; tastes good…although that’s just because of the garlicky buttery sauce on them…but waaaay too chewy to enjoy. I have still not tried (or even seen) frogs’ legs…although I think they served them at the Weston Christmas party last year, but I didn’t venture a taste then either. What else is stereotypically French…oh, bread…well I LOVE bread, so that wasn’t exactly a fear to be conquered! I’m starting to blather again…I’m sorry…I’ll stop.

Raclette has since been a personal favourite, and I was lucky enough to get a raclette cooker for my birthday a year later. It is THE food for a dinner among friends, but only in winter – it gets HOT with a Raclette cooker (or three) going! I’ve also since tried and enjoyed Munster, goat cheese (with a clear preference to hot than cold on both counts) and a few other cheeses. I still can’t bring myself to eat blue cheese though, although there’s a fantastic cheese with ashes, of all things, in it (at least it’s not mold!) and which is also fantastic meltic like raclette.

Chapter 23 – Happy Halloween

October 29, 2003
Amusing cultural point: the French don’t say “oooh la la”: they say “oh la” or “oh la la” or the best/worst: “oh la la la la la la”…there’s even a bit of consistency in the way people say that last one, although I don’t hear it often.

Mmmmmm sleep. I’m certainly not healed, but after a 3-hour nap yesterday afternoon, and 9 hours sleep last night, I’m hoping I’m on the road to recovery. What concerns me is that I usually put a movie or something on to help me sleep (and now I can’t stay awake during a movie no matter how much I want to, except at the theatre of course) and recently I’ve been watching the Simpsons for the same reason (I have a lot of episodes). Soon I won’t be able to keep my eyes open during the Simpsons! No good can come of this…

November 1, 2003
Wow. November. It seems like just a couple of days ago that I couldn’t believe it was already October! So Halloween came and went quietly; it’s not terribly popular here, in part because it’s only been “celebrated” (if you can call it that) in France for literally a couple of years, and is more or less an entirely commercial creation. Once again, I didn’t think it would be a big deal to miss it, and it’s true that I didn’t miss it quite as much as Thanksgiving, but there were a few things that I missed. I did see one group of kids out trick-or-treating in the cold rain last night (ahhhh, just like home!), but it would have been nice to see more little kids all dressed up. The bigger thing that I realized was missing struck me when I received an email from my favourite second cousin (you rock, Dan) with just generally halloween-y, spooky wording. That’s what was most missing; the generally fun spookiness that is Halloween; the movie marathons of horror movies and that kind of thing. Ooo ooo ooo, how was the Simpsons Halloween special? I just realized that I missed that too! I definitely didn’t see any such thing here. Like I said, it’s pretty commercial; selling candy, selling Halloween kitsch, and lets be realistic; selling alcohol…especially since November 1st is a national holiday, and the French take their national holidays seriously; NOBODY works. It’s virtually sacred (okay, so it is sacred; it’s All Saints Day – Toussaint en français), and I recently found out that while the odd bakery will open on a Sunday, they will not bake anything fresh, because in Alsace it’s still (apparently) actually illegal to work on a Sunday, so my guess is that it’s probably the same for national (and particularly religious) holidays.

Story of the day…a trip to IKEA!!! After much time and wanting, I finally had a trip to IKEA all planned out. I had already wanted to go, knowing that there is one in Strasbourg (France), about an hour or so away, and another in Freiburg (Germany) about half an hour away. A couple of weeks ago my wanting worsened (I’ve been in desperate need of shelving) when I started leafing through the catalogue at my friend Cindy’s (yes, I know, a good French name). I mentioned to her that I’d been hoping to go at some point, and she said she’d been thinking about it too, but between her work and mine, options were limited (not to mention that both of us are glaringly car-less). We were talking about it again last week, and Cindy mentioned that she would have a 4-day weekend for Toussaint (Friday to Monday) so we decided to go Friday and figure out transportation around that. The main options were train and convincing someone to drive us. Cindy wanted to get her hands on a van or something, but I’m not sure how she planned to do that. I decided to work on convincing our mutual connection (Jo) to come with us. That turned out to be easier than expected since he wasn’t working either, since the main part of his job at the rugby club is teaching rugby to gym classes, and this past week was a school holiday, and the other stuff he could put off. He did want to work in the afternoon though, so the plan was to leave no later than 10:00am. (I’m sure given the wording, you have already guessed where I might be going with this).

Plan A was shortly thereafter rejected due to a World Cup (rugby) game between France and the US. Plan B was to leave when the game ended (around 11:00). Before the game, Jo got in touch with Gaël, who decided to come along to. We were still to leave at 11:00, but we had to meet Gaël at Jérôme’s dad’s house, where Jo would leave his car for Jérôme, and we would take Gaël’s (since Jo’s trunk is permanently crammed with I-can’t-imagine-what-that-he-needs-all-the-time). The game ended a wee bit late, and we were slow to get moving (of COURSE we had to stop for ‘petit pains’ – croissants and such). We arrived at Cindy’s around 11:45 or 12:00. Since Jérôme lives more often at his mom’s, it had been a while since Jo had been to his dad’s, and we inevitably got lost. Jérôme called to find out where we were and Jo got the directions he needed…but when we arrived, he wasn’t even there. Gaël was waiting, but Jérôme wasn’t back from work yet (he was on his lunch break). He finally showed up, but said that if we could just drop him at his mom’s, he could take her car instead of Jo’s. When we got there, he invited us up for a quick drink (he still had a half hour before he had to be back to work). By the time we got moving again, it was already after 1:00, so Jérôme was late for work. The four of us managed to get moving before him though, when he realized he’d forgotten something, and ran back upstairs. We got about half a block when Cindy realized she’d left her bag at Jérôme’s. We pulled over, and waited for him to pass…but then we saw him turn off early, taking a different route, and he wasn’t answering his phone (yes, EVERYone has a cell phone and is expected to answer as long as they’re conscious). We hurried on, with a plan to catch up with him at his work and get his keys. A minute later, he pulled up next to us at a red light. Gaël (who was driving) jumped out and got Jérôme to open his window. After a quick explanation, he tossed us his keys, but by the time Gaël was getting back in the car, the light was green, and people were honking. We got Cindy’s bag, and headed on our way.

Cindy asked for the tenth time if she should call her friend Julien to get directions to IKEA, but Jo was sure he could find it using the map in the catalogue (that shows about a block and a half of Freiburg…oh, the store in Germany is not only closer, it’s also cheaper apparently). And you already know where this is going, too: we got lost. Once we’d been stuck in a traffic jam on the highway for a while, the boys decided we had probably gone too far (Cindy was pretty sure she’d seen the exit we needed). Anyway, as we were waiting at a red light to get back on the highway the other way, Jo stuck his head out the window to ask a pedestrian how to get to IKEA. We are just soooo lucky that the German education system teaches French so well (you would be amazed at how fluently many Germans speak both English and French…it’s quite incredible). The guy understand, and in accented (but good) French, he pointed us in the direction we were planning on going anyway (he didn’t have time to say anymore, because the light had already changed). Armed with the catalogue in Cindy’s hands, we found IKEA about 5 minutes later. It was 2:00. Jo had already decided to put his work off until Saturday, although he had really wanted to get it out of the way Friday, but it was just as well. We did the tour-de-IKEA, starting with the big bags that you can use for shopping. I paid little attention to what we were walking by until we got to the shelving section. I spotted the bookshelf I wanted…right after Gaël said something to the effect of “hey look! it’s the bookshelf I wanted!” he took note of the name and stuff, and we continued our tour. At Cindy’s first purchase decision, she realized that the bags wouldn’t cut it (the thing was heavy). We found an unused cart a little farther back, and continued on our merry way (by this point Jo and Gaël were way ahead of us, looking at far less than we were). On our tour, Cindy managed to nearly fill the cart. In her defense, her apartment is a lot bigger than mine, and she did buy a couple of Christmas presents en route. I didn’t even get half of what I’d thought about, but I did get my bookshelf (at the end of the tour) and a couple of other things…its very frustrating trying to shop for stuff a) that you already own, but are sitting in a basement on the other side of the ocean, b) that you don’t know how long you will be able to make use of. It reminds me of the decision making that lies ahead; how long will I be in France anyway?

Anyway, the shelves, inevitably, looked even longer in their boxes, and we started more seriously debating how we’d get them into Gaël’s car (like just about every other French car, it’s a wee two-door). When we got to the car, that concern became greater…we were able to get everything but the shelves in the trunk, but the shelves were basically as long as the car, and too wide to angle down beside/between the seats. After about half and hour (thankfully the rain that had been falling held off while we were packing the car) We finally got 3 of the 4 boxes (each set had 2 boxes) down the passenger side of the car…by removing the headrest of the passenger seat…thus eliminating 2 of the 4 seats in the car. We ultimately managed to squeeze the three of us into the back seat, with me, hunched underneath the boxes until Jo and Cindy got in, at which point I had to lay across them, so as to not break myself in half. Between traffic and having to make an extra stop at Jo’s to get his rugby gear (they had practice), we must have been in the car for an hour…it was 6:45 when we got to Jo’s car…where we moved Cindy’s stuff, my stuff, and Cindy and I, armed with Gaël and Cindy’s grocery lists…Gaël’s housewarming was to be Saturday, and we realized that since it was a national holiday, the stores would be closed. We had a little over an hour before the last grocery store would close for the weekend. Jo and Gaël, in the meantime, headed to Gaël’s to drop off his shelves, and pick up his gear. Cindy and I did some serious speed-grocery shopping, and somehow managed to get everything into the backseat of Jo’s car, with all our IKEA stuff (Cindy, though, had the pleasure of sitting with the bookshelf taking her head space, and, on the way back, a case of beer at her feet…it was such a comfortable ride). Miraculously, we got to her place, having dropped off my groceries and IKEA stuff at my place, only 15 minutes late (her sister was to meet us there at 8:00). Long story short (I know, the joke’s been done): a few more people came over, we had dinner, a few more people came over, and I fell asleep on the couch. And that was my Halloween.