France Blog 1 --Le Bienvenue

After an early goodbye to my parents and brother at the SeaTac airport, we were off on an adventure together.  What a golden start to a marriage.  Although these last few weeks have been full and stressful, trying to fit everything into boxes and into the short amount of time we allotted ourselves, it has certainly been a growing time. And more growth to come, de la mode Francais!

 

Our flights were thankfully uneventful.  Our layover in Chicago was short and sweet, with Chicago-style pizza and hot dogs (how can you fit so many condiments onto a little bun?!?)  to keep us busy.  When we boarded the plane to France it warmed my heart to hear the honey sound of spoken French.  I have been listening to the French-Canadian station as often as possible to brush up on my French, but the Canadian accent isn’t ‘home’ to me, compared to the French accent. We read a little, slept even less, and Monsieur Jeremy broke out his Learning French DVD’s. 

 

The next “morning” (though who really knows what is morning and night after a flight like ours?) we were welcomed even more to the thought of French life with a breakfast of flakey croissants and sweet yogurt.  Our layover in Paris was a little too long for our liking. We found our gate immediately, realizing too late that we couldn’t easily go back to the main portion of Charles de Gaulle, with a multitude of café’s and seats.  So we cuddled in a crowded little section, reminding me already of the differences between European and American views on personal space. 

 

There was a little bit of a mix-up at the Bordeaux airport.  Someone from the school’s exchange program was supposed to come pick us up.  After waiting at least 45 minutes we saw no little sign with our last name held by a new friend with a friendly face.  ( We both had been praying for such a thing.) So we had to make-do. In all of my European dealings I have come to learn one thing:  It is only the vendor who can ask for smaller change.  Unfortunately, we only came prepared with telephone numbers, not the small change required to make a telephone call.  In my re-found tongue, and with my bravest and most apologetic voice, I asked a gal at a café to please please pretty please break my 5 euro bill.  My heart immediately filled with guilt for even asking such a question, feeling every inch (excuse me…centimeter) her shaming glare.  Apparently my humble reasoning that it was to make a telephone call filled her with enough pity to hand over the few precious coins.

 

Apparently Melting Potes, the student exchange program, thought we arrived by train and were waiting for us there.  They were friendly enough, but were still annoyed that we weren’t at the train station, and left us to figure out the rest.  This is where we met my favorite person of the trip so far.  Marlene (said more like marl-en) is the owner of the hotel-turned-apartments that we are staying in.  We had shared only a few brief emails before we came and we were still very uncertain about our living arrangements.  When I called her I immediately sensed a mother’s heart, and someone who treated her dealings with a certain lightness. In her bubbly voice she immediately gave us simple yet detailed directions, joked about waiting on the street corner for us for 45 minutes until we arrived, found out what we looked like, and promised that she would be here to welcome us, once she saw us.  I later called her our welcoming angel.

 

We took an expensive taxi (they charge you per bag, as well as per mile..eh… kilometer!) through the suburbs of Bordeaux, laughed at the giant American Cowboy Farm Longhorn Barbeque Restaurant thingy, exclaimed at the tiny roads, the short houses, Jeremy’s subdued excitement (yes, he still has Bellingham in him) over his first meeting with France, and the inevitable adventure and challenges ahead of us in this strangely beautiful land. 

 

Soon we were zig-zagging down tiny streets with cars parked seemingly haphazardly on whichever side of the road they pleased, with tall old stone buildings jetting up on either side.  Marlene met us after a few minutes in front of 41 rue la Furie de Monbadon, our new address, recognizing our brown hair, my curls, and all of our bags.  She is a petite lady with clear tanned skin, short salt and pepper blonde hair, light blue eyes, a grandmotherly figure, and ready with welcoming French greeting kisses (only one on each side) to freely and frequently bless us with.   We found out that she turned 61 years old that day we met her. Although my concept of age has changed through the years, she definitely does NOT seem anywhere near her age. I attribute it to her joy.  She seemed pleased when I asked her to be my key to the city, and already she has been helpful in directing us to the “best” places and heralding us with stories of French and Bordelais culture. 

 

Our apartment is on what should be named Wedding Row.  I can see three bridal shops from our window, and that is only a slice of the number of white tissue and bead-laden shop fronts on this long street. I can always tell we are close to home when I find myself staring lovingly at any fashion-forward sparkling ivory dress framed by wrought iron and ancient white brick.  If I wasn’t already married….Ah, a girl can re-dream her dream wedding, right? 

 

Across from us is Restaurant Yako, a Japanese restaurant. A purse and accessories shop run by a sweet curly haired professional lady shares our front door, and Strong Bar, rumored to cater to the homosexual community, sits next to it. Down the street is the neighborhood’s simply-named Boulangerie, or bakery. The people there are polite, and haven’t yet commented on my accent.  I think it will be a perfect place for Jeremy to practice his French in public.  ‘Un Baguette, s’il vous plait’ to begin his language journey.  He asked me yesterday if the bread tastes better here because it is of higher quality, or if it is just the fact that we are in France that the taste buds are wakened.  I don’t truly care to know the difference.

 

We are on the second floor, or first floor, if you want to be all European about it, of a 4-story building.  When I say building, I actually mean section of a building.  Each house here is attached to the next, and you can generally only tell the difference between buildings by the height of the roofs and color or absence of window shutters. Miniscule cobblestone streets section the giant building row of each block.

 

There are three apartments stacked on top of each other, with a spiraling staircase connecting us all in a damp, bright, brick-bound hallway with a faded red tapestry lining the steep stairs. We have now met all of our immediate neighbors.  The top floor apartment is inhabited by Ili, an intelligent and witty Chinese gal from Montreal, and Denise, a quiet, confident gal from Austria. One floor below them lives Nadine and Nadia.  Jeremy finds it difficult to remember which is which.  Nadia hails from French Switzerland, and I can’t exactly remember where Nadine is from.  English is the main language here, surrounded by a sea of French.  I find it comforting.

 

We have all had a heck of a time finding ways to communicate with the outside.  Like us, Ili and Denise are only here for 3 months.  Unfortunately, to buy a cell phone or to get internet access at a decent price, you need to invest in it with a year plan.  We all bustled about the city trying to find anything less than expensive. We couldn’t even find little telephone booths, which in my years prior were on every street corner, to telephone home.  We knew we were safe, but no one else had that luxury.  We finally bought a cheap little cell phone with pre-paid minutes, and a little internet usb key where you buy an internet connection by the hour.  Uff-da. We are not used to being stingy with internet time. I will have to find a way to maximize its usefulness, if I myself am to be of any use to the coffeehouse.

 

Our days have been mostly filled with exploring.  Part of our exploring was actually meandering around the city trying to find banks, grocery stores, and our way home in this hubbub of a city.  Soon it will feel natural.  Until then, we are relishing in the strangeness of the culture, the language, and the landscape.  

A la prochaine,

Kjirstin and Jeremy