They give you a sugar cube with your coffee here. It comes already split into two halves. Your coffee comes scalding hot in a small demitasse. I made the mistake when I first arrived of asking for an espresso. My waitress quickly corrected me and asked “un café?” Thankfully, I had already read online that if you take your coffee “au bar” it costs half of what it does “en salle”. One of many small things you must learn to successfully acclimate and to avoid everyone thinking “TOURIST” after each interaction. One half your cube leaves you with a slightly bitter, strong tasting coffee which you sip in small slurps. Both halves give you an overly sweet tasting coffee which leaves a sugary after-taste. Personally, my goal is to be taking my coffee black by the time I leave.
It’s been almost a week since I’ve arrived and it’s only in the last day or two that I find life has begun to settle down. My first day here was a nightmare in most senses of the word. Departure from Montreal at 8pm followed by a delayed 8 hour flight into Paris with arrival at 930am. The overnight was hard, as Air Transat is the choice of the unwashed masses due to its rock bottom prices – as a result, it seems to attract an above average number of new families who are likely taking their first vacation since their ‘precious’ was born. Thus, I got to experience a never-ending chorus of newborns serenading the plane with their renditions of ‘This is the Song that Never Ends’.
Arrival was fairly un-eventful, with only a few moments of anxiety as I presented my student visa to the immigration officer – the moment of truth! Safely stamped and luggage in tow, I embarked upon the RER en route to my apartment in the 16th. Joelle, owner of my apartment, had given me very clear directions and upon disembarking at Metro Ranelagh, I found myself staring directly at my building mere steps away. A sight for very sore and tired eyes, I lugged my luggage up five flights of stairs and was introduced to Joelles nephew. He is studying to enter the conservatory and plays piano with a beautiful light touch – it’s quite nice to wake up mornings and hear the piano music floating across the apartment!
The apartment is what Joelle describes as “bourgeois”. It’s build around a long hallway with a series of rooms opening from it. It’s incredibly spacious and well appointed; I’ll take photographs soon. I deposited my bags, showered quickly and hopped back on the metro to make my way to the school. I had received an e-mail that the ‘Welcome Program’ was beginning that morning and I was late!
It was at this point that I had my first café and experienced my first real feeling of being in Paris. It’s the small things that continually strike me. Change is not given to you in your hand. Instead there’s a little plastic saucer dropped on your table or a space reserved for that purpose by the cash register. If you want to do anything official, you must take a rendez-vous. Flying by the seat of your pants is not a very French custom it appears.
In any case, I arrived at the school and found that I had missed the entire days programming in the morning and all that remained was to sign up for various activities organized for the week. In my addled, sleep deprived state, I navigated the basics and soon decided to retreat back to the house to sleep a few hours and recover my lost feelings of humanity.
The next few days found me running around the city trying to establish the basic requirements of a life in France. One must first acquire a student card, for which one needs certain documents before one can create a bank account which is required for a telephone. Life in France requires documents and there is a specific order in which one must proceed. This has been one of the hardest adjustments to make. I have rarely succeeded in accomplishing anything on my first try, as I inevitably happen to be missing one document or unaware that most offices are closed from 12h-14h. It’s been a frustrating acclimatization but I feel the worst is behind me.
The orientation courses have been somewhat disappointing as the methodology teacher has taken it upon himself to spend his time teaching us French vocabulary and culture rather than the specifics of the new methodology in which we will be expected to work. Add to that the fact that he is an insufferable prig who treats students like they are 12 and you have a recipe for me feeling very angry and frustrated at times. I know it’s petty but I don’t appreciate being treated like a child and as a result…I act like a petulant child!
However, that is done with and some of my classes begin next week. I’ve had a few rewarding outings in the last few days and have begun to finally meet some friends. A welcome break from my routine of sleeping in, running official errands, and coming home to sleep early. Right now, I must cut this missive short as I am about to embark on a walking tour of the 13th – the last organized activity proposed by the school and my last chance to meet some people with whom to spend the next few days! A bientot tous!
(p.s. I'll detail some of the more exciting happenings and highlights in another post. I figured I'd get the ball rolling first)
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