aujourd’hui c’est le jour

So instead of sitting in my apartment by myself all weekend like a loser I convinced my friend Alex to let me visit him in Paris for the weekend.

Alex is my friend with a confusing background. He grew up in France and speaks French fluently. He also speaks English fluently but with a British accent. This is because Alex is actually not of French decent (even though he looks really French). He’s mother is an American opera singer/music teacher and is father is a British antique piano maker who both live in France. He used his UK status to go to University in Scotland and now works for the Japanese embassy in Paris (he also speaks Japanese very well).

Confusing yeah? That’s why when people ask me where Alex is from I just say “He’s French” and hope they don’t hear him speak English with a British accent.

Anywho he had some embassy thing so I met up with him around 8 on Friday evening. We went back to his apartment to drop off my things. He still lives with his mom having just started working at the embassy 3 months ago.

The apartment gave me my first encounter with French elevators. They are tiny. This one was the size of a phone booth. Even when it was just Alex and I in it I felt squished. Later in the weekend when his mom insisted in all of us getting in there together (are you sure there’s room? Don’t be silly, of course!) it felt like we were playing “how many people can we cram into a phone booth”. I tried not to be so American in my concern for personal space.




When I commented to Alex about how small I felt the elevator was, he told me, with all seriousness, that this elevator was actually standard and proceeded to tell me about one elevator that was the width of his shoulders. I can’t imagine such a world.

The apartment, like the elevator is also small but has this amazing view of the city and the Eiffel Tower from kitchen window:












After admiring the view we went out for some drinks to chat and catch up. Didn’t make it a late night as Alex had to get up early the next day to get a iMac and apparently I was coming with him.

Woke up the next morning around 9am. Alex was still passed out so got up and wondered in the kitchen and ran into Alex’s mom. That’s when I got the low down on the apartment.

She told me that apartment is the luckiest thing that has ever happened to her and I’d have to be inclined to agree. The apartment is a government apartment with a waiting list of about 15 years. The only reason she got it was because one of her singing student’s father was in charge of handing out apartments at the time and they hooked her up. The apartment is nice. Two bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen with an amazing view and it’s in Paris and not a suburb. All for 400 euros a month.

Yeah. Landing that apartment is like winning real estate lotto. It was built in the 50s and nobody ever vacates the apartment unless they die of old age or die due to the dementia of old age (she told me a story of how her downstairs 80 year old alcoholic neighbor died by drinking perfume for the alcohol content).

As amusing as Alex’s mom is (and she is) I asked her if I could bother her for a towel to take a shower. She replied by saying “Oh, Alex didn’t tell you about the water situation did he?”

Apparently the hot water/cold water in the apartment is mutually exclusive. As in when you turn on the faucet you can only run hot water or cold water at a time. Interesting. This meant no shower but a bath is possible. As I tried to think whether or not I remembered how to taking a bath works, Alex woke up and told me we were leaving in 10 minutes.

After a boring 2 hrs at the French Best Buy, Alex got his iMac and then had to carry it back to his apartment (it weighs 17 kilos). He wanted to “take a look” but I know how guys are with new electronics so I vetoed that and we headed out to see the Eiffel Tower.

That’s when he told me about the curse. Apparently Alex has been to the Eiffel Tower something like 5 times and each and every time a different reason has prevented him from going to the 3rd floor (not enough money, the tower was closing, person he was with is afraid of heights). I told him not to fear, that today would be the day (aujourd’hui c’est le jour).

Everything looked fine until we got to the front of the line and I looked up and saw:

Clearly this was Alex’s fault and he was ruining my Eiffel Tower experience. Sensing my displeasure Alex spoke with the vendor and she informed him that it was closed due to overcrowding and that it might be possible to buy a ticket to the third floor later on the second floor. He wasn’t confident but I made him repeat after me: “Audjourd’hui c’est le jour.”
We got to second floor where the view was really nice. We could see Alex’s apartment from there (Alex actually looked through the telescope, found his kitchen window, called his mom, and could see her open and shut the window). Very cool.

Still I had curses to break and I noticed people were buying something at what looked like a ticket booth so I quickly made me way over there and returned to Alex with two tickets for the 3rd floor. Aujourd’hui c’est le jour.
Alex was still incredulous until we stepped into the elevator (which was still small considering the volume the ET gets) and started to ascend. It’s a long way up and the further we got, the more my knees started to shake and go weak. I mean I knew how high the 3rd floor was but to actually feel yourself (and see – the elevator is made of glass) go up that high is really freaky. The thought of only wires and cables preventing you from crashing down to your death, a tad bit frightening.

But let me tell you, it is totally worth it. The view from up there is breathtaking and you get to take in Paris in her entirety. All the people, the traffic, the landscape. From up there you can see Paris on a grand 360 degree scale. I can see why they have overcrowding problems. You could stay up there for a while just looking at everything. And it was a clear, beautiful day.

Alas Alex and I had other things to do so we descended and headed to a different part of Paris to meet up a couple of his high school friends for drinks and dinner. We went by ferry via the Seine River so I could catch some more of the sights.

I think the really cool thing about the weekend is seeing Alex in his element. Working in Japan he always told stories of Paris and of his life there and at the time, they were a distant anecdote. But now I could see firsthand the things he was talking about.

One of the things that always came up was his friend The Bear. I forget where the nickname comes from but the guy always came up in his stories and I finally got to meet him. He was nice, spoke English fairly well, and confessed to living in the prostitute district. I liked him immediately.

He also picked the authentic “French” restaurant (I think they just call them restaurants in France) at my request where I had delicious duck with a cherry sauce, the most delicious chocolate cake I’ve ever had the pleasure of having melt in my mouth, and several glasses of Bordeaux wine to wash it all down with (all for 26 euros). This was the reason why I came to France (it may also be the reason for my impending obesity).

By the time we finished with dinner it was almost midnight so everyone decided to go home. In departing The Bear gave me my first Baise (cheek to cheek kiss). Alex’s other friends followed suite and it made me feel happy and accepted.

The next morning I headed out early as to allow Alex precious alone time with his iMac. When I got home I decided laundry was well overdue so gathered up my things and headed to the laundry room. On my way there some guy came up to me and said:

“Give me your keys.”

I was confused? Was I being mugged? I just stared at him.

“Give me your keys, I will come right back with them. “

Uh, yeah right person I don’t know. More blank staring on my part.

“I need to get my bicycle out of the bicycle room. Give me your keys and I’ll be right back with them.”

Finally I managed to say, “Wait, who are you?”

He said some foreign name I couldn’t remember but told me he needed his bike to go to the mosque. I decided to go open the door for him. During the short walk he asked me if I was a master’s student. I said yes. He asked which program. I told him Business Information Systems.
He smiled, offered his hand and said “Me, too.”

Unwittingly I had my first encounter with someone in my program. Finally.

for the non-readers

http://picasaweb.google.com/babygrendel/ParisGermany#

the why of fry

So it’s been pointed out to me the name of my blog has the word meat and sex next to each other. This is an oversight I assure you. As proof I will tell you the origins of meats expectations.

When I was working at my job pre-going to France we, like other big IT companies, had annual reviews. Based on how well you did you got one of three rankings. DNE (does not meet expectations) ME (meets expectations) and EE (exceeds expectations). Now you’re prolly thinking that a girl who can control the flow of water with paper clips and a hair ties of course is going to get an EE but sadly I did not. I got an ME. Twice.

The problem with this is when I see an ME I see a big, fat ‘C’. And I’m not a ‘C’ student. Did I deserve an EE? I read my review and everything sounded like I did a good job. Was this not enough? Since I was unsure I decided to ask. I posed the question: “How does one get an EE?” to my supervisor.

“You have to do something outside of your job description. Something we did not expect of you.”
You mean if I answered the phone for the secretary for a couple of hours I’d get an EE? No maybe they expect I would do something like that. What about murder? I’m sure nobody would expect that AND it’s not part of my job description.

You see my problem here? What does that even mean? After many inquires I realized what they wanted. They wanted a superstar. A person that goes above and beyond the call of duty. Top 1 percentile.

Yeah that’s not me. A co-worker I know who got an EE uses his paid vacation on his timesheet when he’s not doing actual billable work. Um. Yeah. That’s not how I roll.

So accepted my ME status. Until the following occurred.

So there’s a guy on my team that everyone knows is a slacker and doesn’t do much. We’ll call him Mr. Slacker. So I asked my supervisor, Mr. Supervisor what did Mr. Slacker got on his annual evaluation?

ME.

This infuriates me. Is it b/c I’m getting lumped into the same category as Mr. Slacker? Partially, yes. But what infuriates me the most is that I could be slacking off a heck of a lot more and get the same grade.

If you were to quantify DNE, ME, and EE into numbers a DNE would be 0-59, ME would be 60-94, and EE would be 95-100. Let’s say I’m putting in enough work to get 85. Do you see what I see? Slow down sucker. All you need is a 60.

Now maybe you’re thinking it could be worse, I could get a DNE, the worst of the worst. Well apparently nobody at this company gets fired and that’s what happens if you get an DNE so it’s very very hard to get a DNE.

Actually one might even say it’s harder to get a DNE then it is to get an ME. So really it doesn’t go DNE, ME, EE in the order of difficulty. It goes ME, DNE, EE.

In other words I’m getting a big fat ‘F’.

Yeah yeah, what about work ethic and personal integrity, blah blah blah. All that stuff is important too but is it me or is the system absurd and maddening?

And that pretty much sums up how I feel about life sometimes. ME.

Oh and the meat part? Well the name meetsexpectations was taken so I changed it to meat b/c, well, to know me is to know that I love meat.

So there. Definitive proof that I did NOT in fact mean for meat and sex to be a part of the name of my blog and I do not in any way, shape, or form endorse or sanction such misconstruing of a perfectly innocent naming of my blog.

Having said that. I hope the mix-up gets me more hits.

aujourd'hui est productif

You know what sucks more than signing 80 traveler's checks? Signing, dating, and then signing the back of 80 traveler's checks.

Today I went into the center of the city with Julien to open a French bank account. French banks are very similar to American banks with the exception that this one had, in the middle of the lobby, a car sans it's exterior (there were seats, a muffler, a steering wheel - you get the picture). I asked Julien what was up with that and he said the bank is reminding it's customers to take care of their cars before they become like the display. I commented that this was weird. He agreed.

After speaking with the woman for 10 mintutes, filling out the necessary forms for 5 minutes, and then signing over my traveler's checks for what seemed like eternity and giving myself carpool tunnel, I was all set. Best part was they deposited 40 euros into my savings as part of the student program. Sweet.

The other productive things I did today? Found rice, bought a stamp and sent a postcard to my Japanese family telling them of my whereabouts, and I exchanged a comforter set for a bigger one.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: Really Kelly? Is that something to be proud of? Honestly, the answer is yes.

When you are in a foreign country and don't speak the language you are rendered partially retarded. Common things you take for granted like buying flour to bake cookies can become disasterous (this happened to me in Japan. I went to the supermarket WITH a dictionary, matched up the kanji for flour and ended up baking cookies with tempura flour. The cookies tasted like fish.)

The problem with Rouen is that everyone speaks French so I am forced to use my limited French to do anything. Ask "Parlez vous l'anglais?" and the answer is "Non." followed by them staring at you until you either walk away intimidated or say something in French.

Today's usuage of French:

"Un timbre pour envoyer a Japanois?" and "Ou." (I needed to know where the mailbox was).

"Je peut echanger? Plus grand."

Like I said. Partially retarded. Anywho it's getting late and the sun is setting. Did I mention: Les nauges en Normandy sont tres belle. Time for dinner.

Rice awaits me.

8 paper clips + rubber hair tie =

remember my annoyance with my shower? well no more:

the above illustrates two things:

1. all those years of watching mcgyver have paid off.

2. i have way too much time on my hands.

the above may also explain why in the near future i may have a paper clip back and/or eye injury since the structural integrity is a little questionable. i'll keep everyone posted.

le big mac

So today was suppose to be my errand day until I found out that everything is closed on Sunday. Having eaten all the food I had in my apartment for lunch this meant today was going to be the day I would explore the center of the city [read: find food].

I made my way to the metro and into the city where I walked around for a bit. Was feeling a bit hungry so I stopped by an outside vendor for pain au chocolate and some coffee. Unfortunately they were out of pain au chocolate. How about a croissant? They were out of that too. All they had left was tomatoes in a baguette. Er. No thanks.

So walk around some more and see a crepe stand. Mmmmm… crepe au chocolate. I got into the ridiculously long line where one girl was making one crepe at a time (pouring it, spreading it, folding it once, twice, three times) per customer. Half way through the slow moving line I realized everyone is handing the girl a blueish paper and not money so I realize you have to go into the bakery behind the crepe stand to purchase the crepe before you get into the crepe line. Faced with the prospect of very long bakery line along with having to get back into the end of the long slow moving crepe line, I left.

Having been foiled twice at this point in my attempts at food I decided that I wanted to go somewhere with a 100% accuracy rate for getting food in my stomach. Mc Donald’s it was. Never have I been so satisfied by a Big Mac.

i heart the autoban

Back in Rouen after 3 days of travel with Tray. He came into Rouen Wednesday around 6 and we headed into the city for dinner. My first real French meal. We had tuna tartar for appetizers and duck for our entrée. C’est bon. After we walked around for a bit we headed back to my apartment and then discussed the fact that Tray would have to sleep on my cold hard floor. Went driving around for a bit to look for some bedding but by this time it was round 10pm and everything was closed. GPS told us the closest Walmart was some 300 clicks away. We opted for the closer alternative which was to buy a bottle of wine and pass out. This was where I spoke my first complete French sentence: “Je veut un outil pour ouvert le vin.”

I woke up the next day to see Tray pacing around in my room with a blanket wrapped around him. I guess the wine idea didn’t work out very well for him. He looked tired, miserable and cold. Poor guy. I remedied the situation with a big “I told you so.” as to avoid responsibility for his misery.

Unfortunately there was no time for him to recuperate since our schedule was tight. Chateaux de Versailles Thursday. Friday Tray had to go back to Germany for work. Louvre Saturday and then Tray had to fly back home on Sunday. As you can see there was no time for the luxury of sleep.

So we headed out and about 30 minutes in our carefully crafted plans went to shit. During our lunch rest stop he got a call from his co worker telling him his client approved the upgrade for that night and not Friday night.

Awesome. This seriously always happens when I made plans with Tray. His work always manages to get in the way. Now I was faced with a choice of making Tray drop me back in Rouen and then head out for a 6 hour drive by himself with 3 hours of sleep or accompany him to Germany. After getting a flash image of his deranged corpse splattered on the side of the road I decided on the later.

So instead of walking the beautiful grounds of Chateaux de Versailles I sat in a car for 6 hours to go to a small town in Germany called Landstuhl. The only saving grace was the autoban.
Ah the autoban. No speed limit. For long stretches of German road people just floor it as fast as they can without fear of any form of retribution aside from death. Did I mention Tray got a Mercedes Benz as his rental? I have now experienced driving at 115 mph.

As for Landstuhl itself it’s a quaint little mountain town you can walk in about 30 minutes. Not much to see or do and by the time we got there it was around 6/7 so we just went to dinner. I had some pork dish (a little dry) with green beans wrapped in bacon that Tray raved about (they were ok) and some really weird tasteless rubbery noodles that I didn’t eat. The meal was saved by the delicious apple strudel I had for dessert.

Ok. I’ll admit the situation kinda sucked but I confess it wasn’t that bad because of the hotel which had 1. Internet 2. A shower that gave water freely and 3. A comforter on the bed. I was clean, warm, and connected so I was happy. As Tray left me to go do his upgrade I cautioned him that my happiness was contingent upon only staying in Germany for one night so he better the hell get his shit done and done right.

Not sure if the prospect of Angry Kelly had anything to do with Tray completing a successful upgrade that night in a cold shack but he did and we left Landstuhl the next morning for his uncle’s place in the suburbs of Paris. We arrived at around 4pm and headed into Paris to see the Louvre. Lucky for us it was Friday and the Louvre was open till 10.

I confess I’m not much of an art person and I can only look at art for so long before I kind of get bored but the Louvre is very impressive in its entirety. The building itself is gorgeous and walking through its grand halls admiring the great works of art is a very enriching experience.
Afterwards we searched for a place to eat but very few places seem to still be open (I think it was around 9pm at this time) so we popped into a Japanese noodle shop. Coincidentally the shop specialized in Sapporo Ramen. Small world. I ordered in Japanese (futatsu!). I think the waitress was Chinese.

After dinner we walked around for a bit to explore Paris at night. The city is beautiful and vibrant with so much to see and do. Unfortunately Tray and I had to catch the last train back to his uncle’s place so we made haste and just caught the last train.

The next morning we headed out to Chateaux de Versailles. All I have to say is that that place is huge. I mean it’s like an estate. We spent 5 hours there walking around and I don’t think we covered the entire exterior and we didn’t even get to the interior (the ticket line for that was ginormous). The grounds are immaculate with beautiful fountains, trees, and fauna. Definitely made for a nice day out (the weather was gorgeous).

After Versailles Tray took me back to Rouen before going back to Paris (we had stopped by the mall before Versailles to get me some much needed supplies – namely a giant comforter). I said goodbye to Tray and the Mercedes knowing that I would not get to see them again anytime soon.

Having Tray around after my second day in France eliminated the loneliness and hardships that comes along with moving to a foreign country by oneself. Now I’m back and Tray’s gone and I have to deal with the realities of the situation. Stupid reality. At least I have my giant comforter.

il fait froid

My apartment is seriously cold at night. Note to self: buy a comforter stat. I’m sleeping in a sweatshirt under my winter coat like a homeless person.

Phone woke me up twice. One by Tray at like 2 in the morning talking about coming to Rouen. I was too tired to really remember the conversation but I do recall telling him my apartment is freezing and don’t know where I would put him except for the cold hard floor. I think he said he’s ok with this. I hope the conversation wasn’t long. I’ve been using my “emergency” international phone like whoa. And shit ain’t cheap.

Second time was by my Dad at like 11am. Only I didn’t know it was that late b/c 1. I got woken up at 2 by Tray and then couldn’t fall back asleep till 3 b/c awake Kelly realizes how cold she is and 2. The shutters on my window are so ridiculously good that not only are they automated but they shut out ALL sunlight. It’s like a sensory deprivation chamber up in here when those things are shut all the way.

Needless to say that the fact that I was still sleeping at 11am convinced my parents that I was sick and on my deathbed instead of the rational conclusion normal would reach that I was simply jetlagged. Wasted more minutes convincing them I was alright.

I’m going see Julien today about some things. Namely internet access. I feel so displaced without it.

rouen at last

So I made it! I arrived in Charles de Gaulle airport around 3 and was picked up as promised by a shuttle that took me to my apartment in Rouen. The trip took longer than I expected (about 2 hrs) and I was greeted by Julien Pacheaux (my contact from the school). Good thing he was there. I live on the second floor and there’s no elevator.

Was introduced to the lady in charge of the residence (I think her name is Beatrice) and she gave me a quick tutorial of the place. Her English is pretty good and she’s really nice. So nice in fact that when I went downstairs to talk to her she decided that the three guys going to the nearby grocery store would take me with them. I needed toilet paper so I went.

The guys were nice but I don’t think they knew what to do with me. Their English was ok and I was way too shy and tired to speak any French so the trip was a little awkward. Highlights include them asking me if there was a word for a beautiful man and if I knew the show One Tree Hill. Oh and they also asked me what the English word for Man who likes man. The only French I used was to ask them their names. They gave them to me but the names were too French for me to be able to retain them.

Actually the encounter wasn’t very different from interactions I have with the Japanese. Maybe exploiting language expertise and pop culture name dropping are universal cultural bonding techniques. Despite the inability to communicate I hope to see them again. They were nice.
Currently in my apartment in Rouen. It’s an efficient [read: small], clean, and fully furnished studio with a bathroom and small kitchen. I like it. It reminds me of my apartment in Sapporo only the furniture is slightly bigger.

The apartment however has two annoying qualities. One is that it doesn’t have readily access to internet. Unfortunately, in order to purchase internet one has to speak French (I’ve already planned on asking Julien). Second is that the shower has the type of nozzle where after you push it, it slowly starts to turn itself off so you have to push it every 30 seconds for water. I am not ok with this.

dublin layover

So here we go again. Round two. Leaving everything I know for the unknown. Currently in Dublin, Ireland for a 5 hour layover. As I sit here drinking my 4 dollar shot of coffee (stupid dollar/euro conversion) and recuperate from hauling roughly 50 lbs of luggage for about a mile (Dublin airport definitely needs a shuttle) I can’t help to compare and contrast this time to the last.

What prompted the comparison? Perhaps it was the rather nasty spill I took as I ascended an escalator, beginning with myself losing control of my carefully constructed tower of rolly/laptop bag and ending in somehow straddling my rolly baggage as the escalator was going up and I, my rolly, and my laptop bag were going down much to the surprised and horrified looks of the people behind me. Would’ve been quite humorous had it not been so embarrassing.

After collecting myself I couldn’t help but be reminded me of the nasty Tokyo spill I took in 2003. That spill involved also another rolly, hands full of papers, pants that were too long and my inability to walk in heels; all of which culminated into me face planting in a nice lobby of the Keio Plaza with a dozen Japanese workers coming to my rescue and yelling “Daijyobu?” thus drawing attention to my bruised knees and bruised ego.

I smiled at this flashback and wished Megan or Mel were around to commensurate in the memory instead of me laboriously dragging my stuff to my gate and grinning to myself like an idiot. Sometimes the choice I make is a lonely one.

Five years ago I made this choice for the very first time. I remember writing about it and it involved some idealized objective of finding myself. Having done it I know you don’t find yourself (at least I didn’t) but you learn. A lot. You grow. You expand. You step outside the box of linear thinking. You dive into the unknown and realize that if an idiot like you can survive it’s really not that hard. You’re less afraid. And I think that’s important.

Several people have asked me how this time differs from the last. The biggest difference? This time around, it’s harder. I know this sounds counter-intuitive since I’m more seasoned but it’s true.

Firstly when I went to Japan I had the benefit of the Japanese thinking I was an idiot and did everything for me. They bought my ticket. They got my visa. All I had to do was show up and they put me up in a nice hotel and threw money at me to teach kids how to say ‘banana’.

This time around I was on my own. I had to get my own visa. I had to book my own flight. And I had to figure out how I was going to survive in a country where the U.S. dollar is worth 70 cents with no income. Not fun. If I was playing a video game Japan was level 1. Now I’m on level 10 and dodging ridiculously marked up conversion rates and 3% international charges.

It’s not just logistics that is harder this time around it has also been emotionally harder. I know the cost of leaving those you care about behind, if even for a little while. When I left the first time (being the self-centered ego-manic that I am) I thought that everyone’s lives in the states would hit pause and resume when I got back. Not so. When I get back it will be like a t.v. show that has jumped 5 years into the future in one season. Some things will be the same. Other things will be different and it will take some time to figure things out and find my place again.

Part of me is kicking myself for leaving again just when I’ve started to get into the swing of things. But that’s what happened when I left the first time. I may not have found myself but in traveling I realized that I was a traveler. And like most things you love, it consumes your life demanding devotion and attention and in the end you have to make sacrifices.

For the past week I have been feeling really sad. I soaked up all I could of family and friends and the more I enjoyed myself the sadder I got. But the tears never came (I suffer from emotional constipation). Last night when my family walked me to security check in and I hugged my nieces for the last time in a very long while, the tears came and my parents saw me cry for the very first time since I was a child.

Apparently the kisses of a 2 year old and the smile of a 9 month old are my emotional fiber. And here I thought it was wine.