Red-Tape Revolt

Shortly after Ryohei left I had another run-in with the French bureaucratic system - this time not quite as light-hearted as my Christmas-package-retrieval expedition to a far-flung post office. During his visit I had the misfortune of losing my new Visa card in a Paris Metro station. Of course, "misfortune" is the word I'm using to avoid saying that I got what I deserved for carrying my card in my coat pocket; and in the end I was quite fortunate to find that it had been turned in at the ticket booth by a VERY Good Samaritan.

This could have made a great story about how the French don't deserve their reputation for being self-centered and inconsiderate if it weren't for the fact that, once found, my Visa card became a hostage of the Lost and Found labyrinth controlled by the Prefectural Police and the RATP (Paris public transit system). As I watched my Visa card slip from arm’s reach into the depths of a plastic bag and disappear into the safe behind the counter I was assured that it should be available to me at the Police station in no more than 3 working days. I could wait that long.

Watching my Visa card slip away from me...

Ten days later, having given the bureaucrats a little extra time for good measure, I rode into Paris (a two-hour, 20€ return trip) to retrieve my beloved credit card. I practically waltzed into the Police station, one of the first visitors of the morning, armed with every piece of ID I owned and sure that they would have my card at the ready. Not so. The white-collared man behind the counter made a taut grimace as he sucked his teeth and told me that my card was nowhere to be found, the Metro probably hadn’t sent it yet.

I cried.

The man became a little more sympathetic, switching from grimace to watery smile as he searched the system one more time and gave me the phone number to complain to the Metro, who told me, in turn, that they had sent my card the day after it had been lost and found. I walked back into the Police station, now filled with people retrieving everything from umbrellas to passports, and cried again.

“It must be in storage,” they told me. Shoulders shrugged as colleagues united to defend the most inefficient administrative system I have encountered in all my travels; and I wished for the first time ever that a little baksheesh transaction were an acceptable means of rectifying this unexpected “delay”. I left with a bitter taste in my mouth accompanying the salt of all the frustrated tears I had shed.

Suddenly nothing was right.

As I pounded my heels into the pavement on my walk back to the train station my spirit began to revolt. Good wine and cheese were not enough for me to love a country! Good sushi and a beautiful language were not enough for me to move back to Japan. Even the prospect of building a life with a wonderful man was not going to be enough for me to spend another year on the road.

I had to go back to Canada. After a year of rationalizing my every plan – from extending my career-break for a year in France, to the way my life would evolve when I moved back to Japan to be with Ryohei – I lost all sense of rationale. My heart was saying loud and clear, “you need to go home, to communicate, understand the things around you and feel comfortable again.” In the space of a train ride my life plans transformed themselves from an exciting adventure to a hellish nightmare in which I could only envision a very tired me going crazy trying to change who I was at the core.

After two and a half years of wandering the earth trying to find where I fit in best, I had to stop denying that I could ever be anything but Canadian.

I agonized over what to say to Ryohei. If I wasn’t moving to Japan, I was narrowing to the size of a sliver our chances of ending up together. In the end I dashed our hopes and dreams – every plan made in the course of the last year – in one 25-minute Skype conversation. He took it stoically, said he’d be in touch and disappeared.

Juju and L-Daddy, luckily, were compassionate as I poured my enlightened heart out at the dinner table. Unlike me, they weren’t surprised that I was suddenly aching with desire to get back to the place I truly belonged. They experienced the same sensation when Big-L was born and they made their hasty return back to France from Canada.

With their sanction to stay if I want but go if I need to, I’ve begun to seek out other opportunities that will bring me back to my home and native land. Though I still don’t have a definite return date, it’s quite likely I’ll repatriate myself before I reach the 11-month mark of this latest leg of travel-challenge. In the meantime, I’m indulging in a little extra good wine and cheese (and family time, of course!) to make up for what I might miss out on by leaving early.

Bonne New Year Omedetou Gozaimasu!

Despite the excitement of celebrating Christmas in a new country, it was actually December 27^th that I had been anticipating most in 2008. Not usually an important day, this year it brought the arrival of Ryohei from Japan.

For those who don’t already know our story, Ryohei is my Japanese boyfriend, whom I met quite fatefully as we were each hiking on our own in the Northern Japanese Alps in summer 2007. With his good English skills and xenophilic tendencies I found in Ryo a hiking partner for the mountains and a friend with whom to share a few days in Tokyo. Even though I left Japan two weeks after our first meeting, Ryohei and I stayed in touch and have developed our relationship through lots of Skype chats and semi-annual visits to one or the other’s country (wherever we happen to be residing).

Thus it was on the afternoon of the 27^th that I made my way, heart aflutter, to Charles De Gaulle airport to meet up with Ryo for our second New Years week together. Since Ryo and I share a mutual love for travel, we always make the most of our visits from a tourism perspective. This year the major destination was Paris, with a little jaunt to the countryside thrown in for authenticity’s sake.

For sleeping we rented (via the internet) a sweet little light-blue room inside an apartment in Paris’ “15^eme Arrondissement,” one of 20 unique neighbourhoods in the city-centre – walking distance from the Eiffel Tower and the Seine and conveniently surrounded by metro stations for access to all the other important sights we might want to visit.

Though we started low key on the first night with some dinner and drinks at a local café, we spent our entire second day on foot climbing the stairs of the Eiffel Tower, window shopping the Champs-Elysees and skirting our way around the Louvre before catching a show at the Moulin Rouge.

Sadly, by the time we actually sat down for the dancing and champagne at the cabaret, we were so tuckered out from the walking that we spent half the show asleep on the table. I have to say, though, that from what we did see the performance was amateurish and should be nixed from itineraries in favour of one of its competitors like the “Lido” or “Chez Ma Cousine.”

Days 3 and 4 brought more walking, non-shopping around the Galeries Lafayette and a very special dinner with L-Daddy’s mom and companion at the Café du Commerce brasserie – a well-hidden gem serving up French specialties to locals and tourists alike (Ryo and I split a giant medium-rare steak fit to rival the best cuts of Alberta Beef).

Having seen what we could of Paris, we made our way to Juju’s house for a little quietude and Ryohei’s initiation to another version of French life. Since the family were all skiing their hearts out in the Alps, we had the house to ourselves and spent our evenings sipping wine, watching movies and trying out different cheeses and foie gras. We also squeezed in some day trips to nearby Chartres and Versailles to visit the Cathedral, munch savoury crepes and tour the Castle – newly modified with a bizarre exhibition of Jeff Koons’ modern art…

All our activities were grand, but I think the moment de resistance of our countryside stay was our celebration of New Years Eve with some of the family’s friends. Though I originally thought they had invited us to a giant bash, it turned out to be an intimate gathering where they plied us with specialty dishes, wines and cheeses from all the most “gourmand” regions of France. It was a cultural experience the likes of the ones we hope to have when we embark on “home-stay tours” in countries like Thailand and Vietnam – except 100% authentic. Even the language factor was authentic as only one other guest spoke English! But everyone was interested in Japan and after a few glasses of champagne all three languages (French, English and Japanese) were flowing more freely.

This was a perfect near-end to our tri-cultural vacation; the only thing obstructing perfection was the fact that I got the stomach flu on Ryohei’s last night here…darn those European super-germs! So we didn’t get the romantic goodbye we’d both hoped for – more a squeamish half-kiss (I was so scared I would throw up on him). But we’ve vowed to meet up again someday. In the interim here’s hoping for a healthy and happy 2009 for everyone!

Noel

Merry Christmas, or shall I say Happy Boxing Day since I've missed posting this entry before midnight. I had the fortune the last couple of days to experience a French Christmas, making this the second Christmas I've spent overseas. Though I missed home a bit during the week leading up to today, I really couldn't have asked for a better celebration or anthropological experience.

It all started last night with a Christmas feast prepared by Juju with nothing more than some afternoon inspiration and quality ingredients. The sumptuous menu included:

Foie gras on toast
Creme fraiche and smoked salmon on blintzes
Fresh oysters with a squeeze of lemon
Foie gras and quail egg custard with chives (I admit, it sounds a bit odd, but it was delicious - a Juju original!)
Shank of lamb, seasoned with garlic and chanterelle mushrooms
Latkes (L-Daddy's family is Jewish so his mom made these to represent their side)
Salad with lemon vinaigrette
Home-made, hand-rolled yule log with creme patissiere for dessert

And of course, all of this accompanied with copious servings of French wine!

A far cry from the traditional turkey dinners I'm used to in Canada, this was an exotic and satisfying treat. We finished off the evening with coffee and a present-wrapping frenzy after sending the kids to bed to save Santa the trouble of squeezing down the impossibly narrow vent of the wood stove in their living room.

This morning I, who was sleeping on the couch to give our guests (L-Daddy's parents and sister) bed space, awoke to the sound of scampering feet and excited whispers - not Santa but the kids triaging their presents in anticipation of the opening fiesta. After all the time spent wrapping presents last night, they were denuded of their paper in less than 15 minutes. It was fun to watch the kids open their gifts, but almost more fun to watch the adults open theirs. I realized that I must come from a very reserved family after observing the open critique of each item received, be it a dress shirt or a Blackberry phone. I don't think I've ever dared to complain about a gift, especially not to its giver, but Juju, the Ls and their guests held nothing back, almost like some sort of disparaging game. Though it might have been tempting to join in the squabbling fun, I was just glad to have been included in the gift exchange and kept my mouth shut.

Aside from the menu and gift acceptance (or general non-acceptance), the weather was also decidedly different than snowy Canada. Though we did have a few weeks of chilly rainy days in autumn, today was warm and bursting with sunshine making it feel more like Easter than Christmas. I took advantage of the clement climate to go for a run and burn off some of the thousands of calories consumed between last night's feast and this morning's honey-and-butter-spread baguette dipped in cafe au lait. With my new water-bottle belt (my self-selected Christmas present) and MP3 player (Juju's birthday gift to me) strapped on I must have spent about 2 hours frolicking through the fields around the house.

I got back to find the kids absorbed in their new video games, Juju absorbed in her new Blackberry and Grandma L absorbed in her new book. So I guiltlessly locked myself in my room and spent the rest of my afternoon playing with my real gifts (a stocking full of goodies sent from home), making plans with Ryo for his arrival on Saturday, reading holiday e-mails and chatting with family on Skype. After a week of feeling homesick for the family get-togethers and turkey dinners I'll have missed this year, today turned out to be a pretty merry Noel after all!

Getting the Runaround

An annoying but seemingly imperative part of moving to a new country is becoming embroiled in its bureaucracy. As a newcomer you catch bureaucrats off-guard with all the new rules and exceptions that were uniquely developed for you. Big cities like Tokyo or Paris are probably better equipped to deal with my kind, but since I've always moved to small towns, I'm starting to get used to the immigrant run-around.

I must admit that I was a little surprised at the ease with which I entered the country in the first place. Customs consisted of a line of guys in uniform smiling and saying "Bienvenue" to all the people getting off the plane. When I showed them my passport with my working-holiday visa in it, one of them said, "Oh, I guess you want a stamp!" and made a little red mark on the adjacent page. I guess with so many tourists landing at Charles de Gaulle they figure there's no point in grilling us all on what we're doing here (answer: ummm....I came to see the Eiffel Tower and eat some pâté...) and what we have in our bags (answer: nothing, it's empty so I can stock up on the latest from Louis Vuitton).

So getting in was easy. Actually functioning after infiltrating the border? Not so easy! My first foray was to the Prefecture. Juju was convinced I needed some officiation of my passport to begin looking for a part-time job to entertain me while everyone else is at work or school. This didn't sound like a bad idea so off we went to check if I was actually living here legally or not. Their answer was that they didn't know, but it was awfully suspicious that I was traveling with 2 Canadian passports (warning to frequent travelers: Canada no longer adds pages to your passport when you run out - you have to apply for a new passport and travel around with both if you've got any visas stuck into your first one or ask for the "frequent traveler" passport which contains double the pages of a normal one). Finally after about 20 stressful minutes of debating whether my visa was valid, they admitted that I didn't actually need to be there and they couldn't help me. On a separate trip they and the driving school next door said the same thing about my driver's license, even though the Canadian Embassy clearly states that I need to get a French license to drive here.

The most recent episode in my bureaucratic saga was a trip to the post office. Mom finally sent my camera (thanks Mom!) and since I can't drive without a French license I had to ride my bike to the post office. Strangely, the package had been taken to a postal outlet in the middle of an industrial zone. I was determined to be independent and pick the package up myself so I rode over, stopping at the main post office on the way to ask for directions. They sent me up a long hill and around several corners to find this obscure postal warehouse where, of course, I was told that my package had been sent back down to the town post office the day before. The woman at the warehouse looked surprised when I smiled at the news. She must have expected me to be angry, but I actually didn't mind doing the return trip - especially since it was downhill. Burning a few extra calories and getting my goodie-filled package made the trip worthwhile, as did discovering a new part of my surroundings and having another story to tell about the trivialities of life abroad.

Attack of the European Super-Germs

Before moving to a new country, and especially moving in with a new family, you generally try to prepare yourself mentally and physically for the challenges you may face while you're there. You read guidebooks, travel advisories and cultural analyses to try and integrate smoothly when you get there.

Some of the challenges you're going to face are predictable: dietary preferences, temperamental differences, language barriers. Some are less foreseeable: changes in your own goals and desires during your stay, new facets of culture shock (which generally comes in waves, but varies so much from country to country and situation to situation that it surprises you every time). And then there are things you should have considered but didn't, not that it would have changed anything if you had. There are a lot of things that fit into this category, but the one I'm talking about here is GERMS.

Though I'm not much of a history buff, I always found it interesting that a few European explorers managed to wipe out most of the native North American population simply by sneezing on them. Nowadays we generally view Europe as a "safe" option for travel with its drinkable tap water and lack of tropical diseases. But don't let these simple standards fool you! Hiding behind them are some undeniably vicious and opportunistic vermin.

Viruses and bacteria are colonizing France as winter sets in here, humid and chilly yet not frozen. My weak North-American system is like a playground for these European monster-bugs for which Baby-L is a propagation dream-come-true. Last week, after returning from my action-packed London weekend, the germs came and dragged me into their underworld. Chilled and achy and stuffed up I became an unfeeling, non-tasting zombie. My desire to communicate with anybody (even by e-mail) gave way to a new desire to lay panting on the floor, couch or bed far away from voices or text of any kind. My two favorite pastimes of sports and eating became dim recollections of hobbies past. I could feel no hope and see no future. I was losing my soul to the common cold.

Juju and L-Daddy were pretty sympathetic. They doctored me with advice and concoctions of strangely named drugs like Aspegic, Penzanole and Acetylcistene from their over-stocked medicine cabinet. And they kindly let me hide away in my room, away from kids and housework, so that I wouldn't put any of them at risk of infection. But it still felt like a long road to recovery.

Today as I finally cough up the few remaining microbes in my system and snort and drink my (hopefully) last doses of decongestants, I feel like I've undergone some sort of transformation from swamp-monster back to human being. My energy has returned along with my sense of smell and I have a renewed desire to go outside, see people and eat things! More importantly, I can once again envision myself doing activities and maybe even having a part-time job (for which I must now energetically translate my resume into French) during my time here, rather than spending my remaining 9 months cooped up inside this house wishing I could just sleep through all this discomfort. Proud of having survived microbial hell, the real me is ready to get back into the game again.

Nothing could have prepared me for a cold like this, but really, Foreign Affairs Canada should at least warn us about the kind of biological risk we're taking when we come here for the winter...

There's No Place Like London

One of the obvious perks of living in France, and yet another reason for which I decided to spend a year here, is your proximity to everywhere else in Europe. Being from such a vast and homogeneous continent as North America has given me a real appreciation for the accessibility and diversity of Europe and Asia. I knew this year would abound with opportunities to discover new places and visit my old travel buddies in their home countries. But one unexpected turn of events was that my childhood friend, J.B. would decide to move to London for a two month study-break.

Though I had planned to spend my first two months exclusively with Juju and the 4 Ls (for the sake of integration) I couldn't miss the chance to see my old friend. So I caught the Chunnel-going Eurostar train last Friday to London where I met Jen for a little taste of England and a lot of memories from home. As we covered some of the most important London sights, including Leicester Square for an inspiring and half-priced (thanks to TKTS) showing of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat," lunch at Borough Market, a 1920s-themed fancy ball and a visit to the life-size blue whale hanging from the ceiling of the Natural History Museum, we talked about everything from the loves of our lives to the nursery school days when we first met. Since we've both been traveling a lot the last few years, it had been too long since we'd had more than a rushed couple of hours to catch up over tea in Montreal, and this was definitely our first time meeting abroad. By the time we hugged goodbye yesterday morning, I felt like I'd rediscovered a long-lost sister, and I spent most of the train ride wishing I could have stayed just a few more days.

I'm finding that as we get older and head down various paths to new places in life, it sometimes feels easier to let our connections with the past slip away. And yet the farther I go from home, the more I realize the importance of maintaining the friendships I started years ago. Even though Jen is engaged and working on her Ph.D. while I flail about avoiding commitments to the future, she's still one of the few people that knows me at my core; someone with whom I can jump straight into a discussion about an event when I was 10 years old without needing a crash course in the history of my life. Even as I get closer with Juju and the 4 Ls, my trip to London this weekend was as refreshing as if I'd gone home to Montreal yet twice as exciting for having discovered a vibrant and exciting new city.

As they say in London slang - thanks again Old Fruit for such a wonderful weekend!

I had my first job interview yesterday to try and get myself out of the house and into some extra cash during the daytime. I thought I was interviewing for a waitressing job at the Golf Course Restaurant du Chateau, but it turns out the restaurant owner really just wanted to see if I would be available to babysit his kids sometime. Riiiiiight...I guess I'll keep searching. Maybe I'll send a letter to the Chateau itself to see if they need a fabulous bilingual tour guide, or a babysitter for the little royals. I imagine they pay better than the restaurateur anyway.

On the plus side of being unemployed. Today was a rare and stunningly beautiful autumn day and I took advantage of my free time to discover another trail along the GR de Pays. This one took me through the woods, the fields, some little villages, some more woods, fields and then back to my starting point for a total of about 10 muddy kilometres in the sun-drenched Valley of the Eure. It would have been a great day to take photos as even the most mundane field of mud is imbued with beauty when the sun shines here; but alas, my camera is still being held hostage by my mom (hurry up, Mom!)