Dinner and a movie becomes coffee and a wifi connection

29 September 2013

Well weekend number one has passed and I’ve learned a few things, been surprised by a few things, and remain somewhat (aka very) skeptical on Chalons.  In the end, however, it doesn’t really matter what I think of the town, I’m here until the beginning of May and I’d better start making the best of it.  On the 27^th I woke up, took my shower, ate an apple and a sesame stick cracker thing for breakfast, and went to the lingerie (the laundry room) to ask the femme de ménage (cleaning lady for the building) where I could get bath towels.  She explained it was quite a distance and that I should really take a bus.  Well I have somewhat of an aversion to buses and since I could see it on my map (the side that showed Chalons and all of the surrounding towns), I decided I could walk there.  After a solid 30 minute walk, I was at LeClerc, which is the French equivalent of Wal Mart.  Oh, and did I mention that LeClerc is in a commercial zone in the next town over?  That meant I left the town of Chalons en Champagne, walked through what I can only describe as suburbia, and into the outskirts of the next town over!  I actually reached a part of the walk when there were just no more sidewalks - it was actually the grass on the side of the road.  And it was hot.  And I was not impressed.  But I arrived safely and finally found towels.  I got my bath towels (in grey because the only bath towel they had left in white had a big stain on it) and then trudged back to Jean Talon (the high school_ and deposited my new purchase.

Typical house in my part of town - I live in the outskirts so there are fewer apartments and more houses

The French version of the McMansion on the way to LeClerc.  Unfortunately suburbanization is alive and well in France

I wiped the sweat off my brow, sat down, and decided now I would try to get this internet situation figured out.  So I went to talk to Virginie, who is the lady in charge of the Assistants living in the Internat, and she told me that there was already a scheduled meeting at 2pm with the tech guy to see what he could do.  That settled, I decided I would now walk to my high school to see if I could find it and introduce myself.  Well I found it and it is HUGE.  About a 22 minute walk from Lycée Jean Talon, on the other side of town, is Lycée Pierre Bayen, which takes up at LEAST an entire city block.  I’d never been quite that far, and I’m quickly learning that the further I go from Jean Talon, the better things are.  I went in and was quickly directed to the Secretariat (the Secretary’s Office) where I met “Antoinette et Nicolette, Nicolette et Antoinette, et c’est pour ça qu’on travaille bien ensemble.”  (That’s actually how they introduced themselves, sort of in a sing songy way, based on their names, saying that they worked well together because their names rhymed.)  Already things were looking up.  These people had a sense of humor!  Hot damn!  They quickly called in Monsieur le Proviseur (the principal), another very animated and very pleasant man.  (I don’t know what’s up at Jean Talon with the people but seriously: they could take lessons from the people at Bayen.)  Antoinette, or maybe it was Nicolette (I’m still not sure which is which) quickly took me over to show me off to some of the other staff, including the people who are in charge of the lunch money cards, where she got me a free lunch for the day in the teacher’s lunch room.  She rushed me to the cafeteria where I was placed into a special line cutting the students, and where I got my tray and my food.  Lunch that day was cous cous, fish with a sauce on top, apples, cheese, bread, dessert, and other things.  En plus, for every option I chose was at least one or two other options.  It was a veritable smorgasbord.  Then she took me into the teacher’s dining room where I met about a dozen teachers including one English teacher.  He was nice enough, but the others very all very pleasant, probably more so than the English teacher.  Anyway, after lunch I followed the English teacher who showed me where I deposited my dirty dishes (once again cutting an entire line of students) and then back to the Secretary’s office.  She wanted me to meet the Assistant Proviseur, but since I had a 2pm meeting at Jean Talon I had to rush to that instead, promising I’d be back later in the day.  

Well the 2pm meeting went like this: (all in French)  Me: I have no internet because the codes I received don’t work.  Him: Oh.  Me: So I’m wondering if perhaps you can see if you can do something.  Him: Okay.  Do you live at the Internat? Me: Yes (no shit, Sherlock).  Him: Okay (I follow him as we walk over).  Where is your computer?  Me: In this bag I’ve been carrying.  Him: Well what type of computer do you have?  Me: Apple, a MacBook Pro.  Him: Well that doesn’t work on our system.  Me: Oh? Him: Long explanation that I think can summed up into he doesn’t know why Apple computers don’t work on their system and he’s supposedly sent emails asking, but let me be the first to call BS on that lie.  Anyway, I’ll be without internet at the Internat for an indefinite period of time.  Great.

So I got back to my room, and I stopped in to see Sarah, the German assistant who is also working at Bayen with me to suggest that she comes to Bayen with me now to see if she can get some of her paperwork completed.  So she agrees it’s a good idea and she drives us over (YES!  I live and work with a person who has a car!).  She does her paperwork, we get a great tour by the Assistant Proviseur and we’re both very happy with our school and the ambiance there.  I’m not going to talk about the school too much now because I want to do a blog post about it later, but it’s great and I really like it.  Architecturally it’s beautiful, the people seem nice, and overall it seems like a good fit.  

Sarah drove back to Talon because she had a meeting here in the late afternoon and I walked over to one of the Brasseries (bars) to get a drink and get wifi so I could upload my blog postings (the two that were posted on the same day).  I then went to the market to buy some stuff for dinner, and headed back to Jean Talon.  Because it was Friday afternoon the students were out of the dorm (they leave for the weekend) making it just 4 assistants in an enormous building.  The four of us ate our dinner at Talon (2 Americans, an Italian, and a German) and then we walked back into town for a drink (and wifi).  

Drinking in the faculty lounge - just dinner à la française

On Saturday I went to Pierre Bayen again, this time with both Sarah, the German, and Monica, the Italian) because they wanted to give us paperwork about our trip to Reims for our orientation program.  Well apparently the school never received the paperwork they were expecting, so they copied the little bit Sarah had received and we all crossed our fingers that it would be enough to go by!  We met the lady from Bayen who is in charge of the Assistants (an female English teacher named Patricia) and got yet another tour of the school.  This time we all decided to look in our mailboxes and I found binders full of lesson plans from previous assistants.  SCORE!

Turning drinking games into English learning games?  I can do that!

  

After that I went for coffee and wifi before going back to Talon for an absolutely boring afternoon.  My only excitement was going back to the market to buy things to keep around for meals.  Then Clark, the other American, and I went to a bar near the train station for beers and wifi.  There we met up with Jeremy, who was an assistant last year in another town and is now working for a local university as an English lecturer (basically giving English lessons at a university level)  He came back to the Internat and we eventually went out for dinner (and wifi on our cellphones).  
On Sunday we went to the marché aux pouces (the flea market) looked at the crap for sale and then went to Jeremy’s house and made a brunch.  Jeremy lives in faculty housing a the local university, ENSAM, and looks out into a beautiful courtyard.  While we were eating the students came out in all sorts of costumes as some part of tradition between classes.  It was interesting to see, and comical.  We then went and got a coffee and I stayed longer for additional coffees (and wifi of course).  

Looking for some crap to buy?  Come to the marché aux pouces!

ENSAM courtyard

ENSAM students in their labcoats and costumes.  I have no idea what it all means, but it's tradition.

On my way home I was standing on a bridge watching a boat go into one of the locks (the moanal (the most exciting thing that happens in Chalons from what I can tell) when a man stopped and suddenly started telling me all about his life in Chalons.  It was interesting and I’d say we chatted for at least 20 minutes.  He was very talkative, never shut up, but gave a lot of insight into the town as he’d known it (his entire life - at least 75 years).  He talked about being evacuated when the Nazis were taking over France and when he tried to move to Paris to live and lasted a week.  He told me how great the town used to be when everybody lived in the centreville, and how the advent of suburbanization has ruined Chalons and the lifestyle he once enjoyed.  I really enjoyed talking to him just because it made me feel as though somebody in the town was curious about what an American was doing here and was interested in making sure that I knew a bit about the town.  

The canal in the middle of town

The chatty old man.  I think he's the "Uncle Earl" of Chalons.

He finally bid me farewell and I once again started walking home.  At the last minute I decided to stop at the bar across from the train station (it was closed) and rather than going inside as I had planned, I sat on the terrace for my final wifi session of the day.  A short while later Clark walked by and he decided he’d get some wifi, and within 10 minutes the girls walked by as well and decided to stop for wifi.  We sat for quite a while on the floor of the terrace just to use the wifi.  Most everybody stared at the four young adults sitting on the floor on their laptops, but the fact that we had contact with the outside world made us too happy to care.  Tonight we had a quiet night at the Internat - we ate our dinners and then chatted about our upcoming trip to Reims (tomorrow) and where we were from.  Of course we did the requisite comparison of driver’s licenses, passports, money, photos of home and so forth, and now it’s time for bed because I have a long list of things to accomplish tomorrow, the most important of which is keeping the internet fire burning.  Obviously, the lack of Wifi is really a problem and I’ve already done the math that shows that I will be spending MORE PER MONTH on coffee just for wifi access than on my living.  That’s absurd.  We’re talking about trying to get something worked out to maybe get our own Wifi system, or doing something.  But the status quo just isn’t going to work.  We can’t possibly plan class lessons without wifi, do vacation planning without wifi, keep in contact with our friends and family without wifi, and frankly, living in this day and age without internet access is ridiculous.  I really hope that things get squared away.  

In America it's dinner and movie.  In Chalons it's coffee and a wifi connection.

Things can only go up from here!

Still the 26^th of September 2013, but nighttime 

First impressions are really important, so I think it’s important for me to record my first impressions of Chalons so that I can go back and look them all over when I’m through with TAPIF and so that you can get a sense of what I’m dealing with right now.  Let's start with my arrival to Chalons en Champagne.

About 20 minutes before the train was meant to arrive in Chalons there was an announcement that came over the public address system saying that there had been some sort of human accident at the stop after Chalons so the train would be stopping in Chalons and everybody would have to get off so the SNCF (the French railroad company) could figure out a way to get everybody to their final destination.  Oh great, I thought, I’ve got 2 enormous suitcases, a carry on, and back pack and now I’m going to be that person who holds everybody up as I try to corral my bags.  It got better when I finally got off the train and figured out that there was an elevator on the platform (the quai) as well as a regular staircase.  I wasn’t so sure at first glance and I could just see myself trying to get my bags down the staircase - not pretty.  So I got my bags into the elevator and was just about ready to figure out what button to press when 3 elderly ladies and their bags decided to join me.  Now, the elevator is only about 6 feet square, and between my bags and myself the elevator seemed pretty packed, but in typical French fashion they all hopped in and somehow we survived.  It wasn’t pretty but we made it. 
Now, I’d long since decided that there was no way in the world that I was going to walk to the school with my bags.  First of all, I had no idea where it was.  None.  Second of all, everybody said it was nearby but accounts varied from a 5 minute walk to a twenty minute walk.  That’s a big difference, especially with 100+ pounds of clothing and in heat that is quickly heading toward 80 degrees!  So I was super excited when I saw the little sign directing me to the taxi stand.  Sure enough there were dozens of spaces for taxis.  And one taxi that was just closing its door to take a passenger someplace.  And one man ahead of me waiting.  So we waited.  And waited.  And commented that we really hoped there were taxis here.  Finally one showed up and the man walked over to it, talked to the driver, then turned around and came back.  Apparently the taxi driver didn’t want to go wherever the man wanted to go, and then he told me that I could walk very easily to Jean Talon, where I’m staying.  Yeah, well that just wasn’t happening and I explained myself.  6 Euros and 40 cents later I was there (okay, so I had to pay the driver’s minimum because my destination was so close, but it was worth it).  

Before long I was being handed a set of keys and being shown to my new digs in the Internat.  The Internat, as best I can figure, is like a dorm for students who live outside of the city but go to the school.  I couldn’t tell you why they don’t go to the school in their own town, or why it is that so many French high schools have an Internat, but that’s where I’m living.  There are either (a) 120 rooms in the Internat or (b) 120 students, I’m not sure which because I forgot, but I think it’s the latter.  Each room is sort of a 2 room suite which can sleep six students.  You walk into a door (which is locked) into a hallway.  At one end of the hallway is a room with three sinks and at the other is a room with a toilet.  Next to the toilet room is a room with a stall shower.  Then there are two doors (also kept locked) that access the two sleeping rooms.  The sleeping rooms in my suite are each about 18 feet long and probably 12 feet wide - very big - with 3 single beds, 2 desks, three standing wardrobes, and three wall shelving units.  Since I don’t have to share my room, I think it’s more than sufficient.  There are two huge windows that open onto the area between the Internat and the high school, but since I’m on the ground floor, I don’t think I’ll be opening my shutters up very often - Alexis (my Parisian host brother) would be very angry if he knew I wasn’t opening the shutters!

My room from the entry door - notice the students sitting outside the high school across the courtyard

The closet - one vest is shown for scale.

From the windows - the orange door you see goes into the hallway

The hallway - that's the other person's room with the closed door (she's not here yet) and the sink room

Looking the other way - the toilet room door is open at the end and my room is open on the left

Anyway, I got my things all moved in and decided to try the wireless.  I’d heard from last year’s assistant that the wireless didn’t work for Apple computers but that they were trying to fix it.  And then I heard from the other American assistant, who arrived before me, that there were still problems.  But I tried anyway.  No luck.  I went to go see the lady who is in charge of the assistants who told me, basically, that Apples don’t work here.  Houston: we definitely have an issue.  What kind of living situation am I in with no internet?  This is 2013.  I want to talk to my friends in America.  I want to keep abreast of things happening elsewhere in the world. I need to do grad school applications.  

Things were not going so well, and then my tapeworm started to wake up and I got hungry.  So I decided I should try to find something… somewhere…  With Clark, the other assistant having left so I could move in, I was on my own.  So I walked, found a patisserie with some mediocre looking pastries, kept walking, and became increasingly depressed.  There was nothing.  Nothing at all.  I ended up at the edge of town at a roundabout.  There was a giant pharmacy, a car repair shop, a gas station (1.48 a litre) and two grocery stores.  So I visited both grocery stores.  Dorothy, I am NOT in Paris anymore.  These were not the most well stocked markets I’d ever seen but I found some rice crackers, some other crackers, and apples and considered myself lucky to have been able to suss that out of the darkness.  Back to the Internat - got totally lost (did I mention that I have no map of the town?), and ate an apple.  Now what, I thought… Well I made my bed, organized my toiletries, made a list of things I should do tomorrow, read a chapter of my book, and mourned the lack of internet.  So by now it was getting dark, the students were coming back in from class (across the courtyard) and it was getting loud.  Soo… what do I do… Nothing.  What can I do?  Nothing.  I really would love to have internet so I could look at a map of this town, find some things that I’d like to see, and plan an adventure to see them.  But I can’t even do that.  

So finally I decide I’ve got to do something so I decide to walk in the other direction.  It couldn’t be any worse than what I already saw… Well it was… at first.  All sorts of apartments for sale, closed up buildings, empty storefronts, it was depressing.  Chalons is definitely a town that has seen better days, there’s no doubt about it.  Then I came across a street with all sorts of kebab places and gyro shops.  And I kept walking.  And then I started finding civilization: churches, people, real estate agencies, etc.  It was getting better.  

By the end of my adventure I’d found two fairly nice town squares, a handful of churches, the city hall, the market (the real market - not a crappy grocery store) and I’d found a bite to eat (a kebab sandwich, of course- so French).  I even got so bold as to go into a hotel and ask for a map of the town, which now gives me something new to examine and consider.

When I got back to the Internat I learned that two other assistants have arrived (so 4 of the 6 are here now) and I met them and we chatted for a bit.  Then I went back to my room and decided I should take a shower and get ready for bed.  Well it would be easier if I had a towel.  I thought it would be easy to just go and buy one.  Wrong.  But I decided to go through and take the shower.  I turned it on and about 1/10^th of the little sprayers in the shower head worked.  

Seriously.  FML.  

I won’t explain how I dried off, but let’s just say things can only go up from here!

Saying goodbye to Paris

26 Septembre 2013

Five days in Paris goes by really fast, and today I’m headed over to Chalons en Champagne to start my job (boulot as they commonly say in France).  My time in Paris was spent walking, exploring, eating, drinking, and sleeping.  It was all great, however.  I saw lots of people who I haven’t seen in a long time and it made me feel super popular (when trying to get over jet-lag, anything you can do to boost self-confidence is a good thing).  I had lunch with Francie, one of the Trinity professors, drinks and dinner with Ann Lawson, who I hadn’t seen in over a year and with whom I studied in Paris in 2011, lunch, coffee, and ice cream with Romy and Charlie, drinks with Charles (I met Romy, Charlie, and Charles this past year at Trinity while they were studying in America), and finally lunch with my “buddy” from the Trinity “Buddy Program,” Marie Audrey.  All in all it was great to see them, and I wish I’d been able to see some of my other peeps in Paris.  But I guess that just means I’ll have to come back again… soon…  

Ice cream flour (blueberry, raspberry, and lemon sorbets) with Romy and Charlie

Steak Tartare with Ann Lawson

While a lot has stayed the same in Paris, after a few days in the city I realized that a fair amount has changed as well  Some of my favorite bars (namely Footsie, about which I blogged about in 2011) is gone!  It was a great bar with a big open room, sort of styled after English manor houses, with wood beams, a big fireplace, and drink prices that changed depending on the “market.”  (Every 200 seconds the prices changed depending on what was being purchased and what wasn’t.)  It was also the place where the yuppies hung out after work.  Now I cannot figure out where they go; I guess I’ll have to research that.  

Another dilemma that I’ve come across is that one of the homeless people who lived around Trinity is missing.  For the most part, the homeless people (the clochards) are exactly where they were in 2011, with the same scraggly looking dogs, still smelling like pee.  But one, a woman who never wore pants, is nowhere to be seen.  So, if anybody sees a pantsless woman begging for money and eating flan with her hands out and about in the world, send up a smoke signal, I want to be sure that she’s okay.  

Without a real schedule (except for meals and drinks with friends), I’ve had plenty of time to walk (and walk and walk and walk and walk) around the city.  I bet I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said I walked 6 to 8 miles a day in Paris.  Oh, and did I mention it has been in the mid to upper 70s everyday since I arrived, with about 245% humidity?  It’s been a rough period of adjustment after a summer in Maine with only a few really humid days.  Anyway, while I’ve been out walking (being what the French call le flâneur) I’ve had plenty of time to see and be seen (a big part of being the flâneur - vois et être vue).  Everybody knows I’m good at examining people and in my firsthand research thus far the thing that really stood out to me in my walks around Paris is how much less formal the city has become in 2 years.  Shockingly so, actually.  Now, that’s not to say it’s gone all to Hell, or worse yet: that the Parisians look American, but there are few fewer people who are truly well dressed.  The arrival of the basket or the sneaker (basically just the French words for sneaker) in Paris is noticeable.  Now, let’s get one thing straight right away: these aren’t your average Air Jordans.  These are French sneakers, so they still look a bit different.  While some of the twenty-somethings enjoy their Converse All-Stars, which they undoubtedly purchased at some ungodly price, most people wear what I can only describe as sort of classy sneakers.  They’re normally dark color (black and navy blue seem to be especially popular), made of leather or suede, and have a very low profile.  Lucky for me, I had made the conscious decision not to bring sneakers to France because I had no idea what was à la mode (in fashion, not covered with ice cream) right now.  After a day traipsing about in hard leather French shoes, I knew it was time to change, so I pulled out the trusty ol’ driving mocs and went on a sneaker hunt.  I went to all sorts of stores: big ones, little ones, expensive ones, cheap ones… you name it, I was there.  I went into the touristy ones on the Champs Elysées like Adidas and saw their exorbitant prices and finally ended up finding a very nice Puma shop in the Marais.  In 23 years I never thought I’d own a pair of Pumas, but now I do.  And I have to admit that I really like them.  They’re comfy, rubber bottomed, black, leather - basically what I was after.  And I didn’t spend an arm and a leg for them.  Well… I guess my mom can decide whether I spent an arm and a leg on them when the credit card bill arrives.

Fear not, world: point French shoes still exist.  I believe these were a mere 400 Euros.

But the new thing in Paris are sneakers like mine, seen here in the Tuileries Gardens

Now, not all of my time in Paris has been spent doing banal tasks like shopping for shoes.  I’ve managed to find some interesting things as well.  Take for example the day I was walking by Notre Dame de Paris and I could hear all kinds of screaming and yelling in front of the cathedral.  When I hear excitement, like a squirrel, I forget what I’m doing and I need to go investigate.  (Fine, call me nosy, but the pictures will more than make up for it.)  So I walked over toward the cathedral and up the ramp to the viewing pavilion thing that I talked about last time.  I got to the top, and jumping around the bleacher-like seating was a wedding party.  And not just any wedding party, a wedding party of very animated Asians.  They were hooting and hollering and jumping and posing for photos and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen in my life.  What made this group even more interesting was their choice of outfits.  The groomsmen were wearing what I can only describe as grey gym shorts, a matching grey jacket of sorts (also made of gym short material) knee socks, black shoes, and designer belts (each with a big logo on the buckle).  It was so bizarre that even the locals were taking photos with their cell phones, and I joined the crowd of “admirers” standing in disbelief and utter confusion.

I guess I should also give a shoutout to the bride - after all the wedding is all about the bride.  I don’t know much (aka: anything) about bridal fashion, but I’m pretty sure your grandmother’s shower cap with flowers on it is not part of the normal outfit.  I could go on, but I’ll let you figure it out for yourself.  I only hope that my cousin, who’s getting married this weekend choses not to have his groomsmen wear gym shorts to the wedding.  It’s a bit chilly to be doing that in Maine right now.  

Now the other amusing incident took place while Ann Lawson and I were having a drink at one every American’s favorite Parisian bar: Moose.  Moose is technically a Canadian bar, but they hamburgers, and poutine, Canadian beers, and English speaking bar tenders.  Sometimes it’s nice to be someplace that at least feels like home.  Anyway, we’re sitting at the bar enjoying our Strangebrews when this ancient creature walked in with a giant purse.  I’d say she was about 65 years old, but time had not been kind.  She bellied up to the bar and immediately ordered herself a shot of tequila.  She by herself, bellies up to the bar, and the first thing she orders is a shot of tequila.  Even the bartender was taken aback.  

With the speed of a roving turtle she took the salt shaker, covered her lime with salt, sucked on the lime for a minute, and then - worst of all- started SIPPING the tequila shot.  I thought I was going to became ill just watching.  Imagine sipping a shot of tequila… VOMMMMMmmmmm.  After a few sips she ordered herself a hamburger to go, paid for everything, and by the time the hamburger arrived, she had finished her shot of tequila.  I’d like to give her a solid 25 points for ordering a shot of tequila by herself, and at least 65 for thoroughly grossing out half of the bar as she sipped it.  

Presumably chatting about the finer points of doing shots.

On my last night in Paris we went to dinner at my host mother’s daughter’s house, which is right on the Champs de Mars. (The Champs de Mars is the area in front of the Eiffel Tower).  Like most French dinners we didn’t even leave the house to drive to Cécile’s until after 8pm and I don’t think we sat down to eat until 9 or 9:30.  We had cocktails, nibblies, and chatted in the salon (the living room) before we went to eat our gigot d’agneau (leg of mutton) in the dining room.  It was super good.  It sort of reminded me of a boiled dinner, or something you would make in a crockpot.  There was this giant hunk of meat in a broth, surrounded by potatoes, carrots, spices, and general French yumminess.  Served with a good French Bourgogne… yummmm….  Like every French meal, following the main course came my favorite part: le fromage.  Served on a giant serving platter, at least 2 feet long and a foot wide was served not one, not two, but SEVEN different types of cheeses.  Three chevres, comté (which is sort of like swiss - it’s a hard cheese), St. Nectaire (a soft cheese made from cow’s milk without a super strong flavor), Brie (not that crappy stuff that tastes like cardboard available in the US), and another cheese made of cow’s milk that I didn’t try.  It was delicious!  And, to top it all off, every half hour, the Eiffel Tower would start to sparkle directly behind me and the room would sort of glisten.  (Normally at night the Eiffel Tower is simply illuminated, but every half hour, for a minute or two, the entire thing sparkles and shimmers.  It’s really magical.)

Fromage... nom nom nommmmm

The view

And when the Tower sparkles

We didn’t get home from dinner until after midnight, and I went right to bed.  This morning I woke up, packed my bags, did some things around the house, and Madame brought me to the gare (train station) so I could head to Chalons en Champagne to move into my new living quarters.  I sort of feel like a homeless person, but I’ll be happy when I can finally unpack my suitcases and get myself situation thoroughly.  Until then, I’ll just be the American on his laptop while the train buzzes through the French countryside. 

Just another Parisian Bagman

Fun while flying, and finding my long lost inner Parisian

Everybody knows that traveling is one of the most enjoyable experiences of anybody’s life.  The time spent packing your bags is so much fun.  Just think about it: you’re try to figure out what you’re going to want to wear for the next 9 months or so, how much deodorant to pack for said 9 months, and how long can you really go without doing laundry.  They’re all such picturesque, romantic thoughts; I just love it.  For me the entire process takes about ten days, three bottles of Svedka, a few mental breakdowns, and more lists than even Santa could handle.  

By the end of my packing adventure, frazzled was an understatement of my mental condition and I needed one last boat ride to really say good-bye to Maine and close out my summer.  I’ve been incredibly lucky this summer to have use of a beautiful little launch named Grace from a great friend and since she was at the dock, Arthur and I hopped in and started our final boat ride.  Well actually it was my final boat ride, he still has time in Maine.  We putted out toward East Bunker’s Ledge, enjoying the fall air and sun and when we got out to the ledge, we just sat and drifted for a bit.  Before long we started noticing seals all around us and we could hear what sounded like lots of animals breathing.  We soon noticed that we were surrounded by porpoises and white sided dolphins playing around and, on top of that, there was a minke whale doing his minke thing not far from the boat!  What a way to end the summer!  I may not have had all of my packing done but I was damn sure going to get a last boat ride in, and I’m really glad I did.  It was worth it!

Arthur uses his dolphin whispering skills

Following the boat ride we went to Fathom for my Last Supper , which can basically be summer up as ohhmagahdddd.  Once again: I didn’t have my packing done, but between the whale, and the dolphins, the food, and the really good wine, I didn’t much care if I went to France or not the next day.

The next day came, I stressed like it was a full-time job with benefits, got my things packed, said my goodbyes, and headed to Bangor.  With one bag weighing 47 pounds, another weighing 48, in addition to a rolling carry on and a backpack, I was a sight to see trying to maneuver, but I got it done.  The first flight was fine, Bangor to Detroit, and all I saw were clouds the entire way.  You may wonder why I went to Detroit from Maine to get to Paris.  Well it basically boils down to about a 500 dollar difference.  It’s cheaper to fly to Detroit, and by the time you get yourself to Boston, it’s really no difference in overall time.  

The Detroit airport, for those of you who don’t know, is better more fun than a Barrel of Monkeys.  No, there are no red people who link arms, but there’s a lot of fun to be had.  Let’s start with the fact that it’s so big there is a train going from end to end.  In addition to the train there are wine shops, clothing shops, masseuses, bars, and restaurants.  Well I started walking around and before long I’d found my entertainment.  Shockingly it was at nobody’s expense! 

While walking around Brookstone to get a new set of earbuds for my iProducts I noticed a small underwear rack.  Not that I need anymore skivvies, but I had to go over to see what made these britches so special.

Just read that label: 17 countries: 6 weeks.  One pair of underwear.  ONE.  After 17 countries.  After 6 weeks!  The same pair of drawers!  I don’t know who thinks this is a good idea, but seriously, something just ain’t right!  I can think of any number of adjectives that could describe this invention, and I’m sure you can too… But really.  That’s gross.  Oh, and ladies, I don’t want you to think that these briefs don’t follow Title IX.  Brookstone stocks the 6 week panties too.  

By this point my 10:30 am Nicky’s diner cheeseburger was long since gone (I know, I eat healthy when I travel) so it was definitely time for some more American travel grub.  Scoping out my options, there was nothing that jumped out as a good idea.  So I ended up with a Blue Moon Beer and fried mushrooms.  Mediocre at best, but the bartender was a surly man whose comments are unfortunately far to risqué and vulgar for this blog.  Instead here’s a picture of what I ate - my last American meal.  (Don’t judge me.  I may have eaten it, but I didn’t enjoy it.)

Meal number three of the day done by 4:45, it was time to board to airplane and head to the land of frogs and cheese.  There’s not much to say about the flight except that it was even worse than normal.  Usually Delta has AirFrance do the flight (Delta and AirFrance are in bed together), but this was Delta-run flight.  I thought it was going to be great when they passed around hot towels soon after taking off, but it all went downhill from there.  I would like to note how nice the hot towels were, however, and the fact that the company thought enough to supply them to us, the lowly passengers in super economy class was very comely, indeed.  Then, just as I was learning (the hard way) that the televisions were a bit funky, the lady in front of me decided she would just lean back so I could see every follicle in her head.  On top of all that, the food was inedible.  Now, I’m the first to admit that airplane food isn’t exactly like the stuff you see on the Food Network, but I can normally find some little part to appreciate.  With AirFrance I was usually able to eat the chicken, appreciate the bread, and get through the wine.  Well all three were foul on this ride.  In fact, I didn’t even realize that the stewardesses were serving red wine because it was being poured from a cardboard container and I thought it was cranberry juice!  The one thing that did bring a slight smile to my face was the “Chocolate Chip Blondie” which was the recipient of the terrible motto award yesterday.

I did use my plane ride as an excuse to watch the 1974 version of the Great Gatsby which, if you can believe it, was almost the same plot as the new one.  Who woulda thunk?  It had a few things that the new version lacked, and it lacked some things that the new version included.  I think a lot of people complained about the overwhelming nature of Baz Lurhmann’s version, but the old one had the most underwhelming parties I’d ever seen.  I’ve definitely been to more exciting funerals  Neither was perfect, but I’m happy I saw it.  I have to say that it was strange to see Sam Waterston from Law & Order as a naive Nick Carraway.  I’m used to him as my law professor on Law and Order (I’m going to Law and Order University for an honorary degree).

Before he was a detective he rowed between East Egg and West Egg

Obviously we landed safely in France.  I got off the plane, got my stuff, got in the taxi, got into Paris, saw a rainbow (hello Karma!), and got to my former host house where I’ll be staying for a few days.  It’s great to be back.  Madame welcomed me in just like I’d never left and I’m very lucky to have a place to stay!  The shower felt amazing (almost existential) and I was soon on my way to a day in Paris.  I took the Métro to SciencesPo, my old university, and walked around there a bit before heading over to Trinity’s campus, where I was able to remember the WiFi code and get online on my cellphone to check in with the world.  Then I ended up down by the Seine, across from the Louvre for lunch (camembert cheese sandwich on perfectly crusty baguette with 2 espressos).

Oh, by the way, my lunch view?  Yeah, that's the Louvre.

From there I went back toward Trinity’s campus and visited the Abbey Church of St. Germain des Près, about which I wrote a lengthy paper when I was in college.  Walking around the city I was amazed at the things I remembered and how some things were just the same.  I walked the roads just like I’d done it last week and, more amazing to me, the same homeless people are in the SAME locations where they were in 2011.  It’s uncanny!  (I’m still unable to find the pantsless lady, however, which worries me.)  After a bit of walking I stopped outside the church to listen to a fairly decent jazz group and do some people watching, which is really my favorite non-architectural activity in Paris.  I even got a chance to revive the lost skill of the creeper photo, some of the results I will share with you here.  I love looking at the French.  They dress so… euhhh… French.  And they act soo… euhhhh… French.  They embody their identity with every fiber of their being.  You can look at them and know immediately that they are legit Frenchies.  In America they would stand out like a sore thumb, but here it’s the fat, nasty, loud Americans that stand out and succeed in making a wonderful impression of our fine nation.  

Can you pick out the Americans?

JBieb's cousin?

^Basically what I hope to be.

From there I went back toward the Trinity building to hijack some more internet and I received a message from my French friend Romy who invited me to see his new apartment and cat.  10 minutes later I was there, seeing Romy, Charlie, and their newly adopted kitten “Achoum.”  Achoum is the French equivalent of Achoo, and the kitten is so named due to some sort of illness that he has that makes him sneeze all the time.  I don’t know what they’ll call him once he stops sneezing but for now Achoum works perfectly.  After meeting Achoum, seeing friends, walking, and savoring my third espresso in 1.5 hours, it was time for a bit more walking.  I walked over toward Notre Dame, where a platform has been built in front of the Cathedral to raise visitors up about 30 feet, giving a completely different view of the building, currently celebrating its 850^th birthday!

The new platform brings visitors up closer to the level of the Gallery of Kings, which is pretty cool.

Do you see Quasimodo?

From Notre Dame I walked to the Louvre, hopped on a Subway and arrived at Trocadero to see how my favorite view of the Eiffel Tower was.  As I expected, it was perfect.  Grey skies, brown tower, brightly colored clothing on people protesting, and plenty of tourists; it was just what I wanted to end my day.  Between Trocadero and the Eiffel Tower, was actually the World Championship Archery Competition taking place over the fountains.  Kinda cool. 

They were chanting: Obama, Obama, Shame on you, Shame on you.  The protest was in reference to a number of civilians killed in a US air strike. 

Now it’s 7:34, I’ve written everything that’s important and plenty that’s not and I’ve been awake now for 32.5 consecutive hours.  It seems daunting but the smell of the homemade quiche that’s in the oven, along with the mirabelle tarts, and big hunk of cheese is incentive enough for me to stay up a bit later.

So it's that exciting time again... My bags are getting packed and it's only a matter of time before I'm heading back across the pond to the land of Frogs and Cheese!  Amazingly I was able to open up and get back into my blog, so I think I'll just keep using this one.

Sorry about not finishing the end of my time abroad in 2011.  Let's just say it was quite an ending.  Not exactly graceful, but an awfully good time from what I recall.  Here's hoping that teaching in Reims will be just as good!