Quiet Saturday
Saturday wasn’t too exciting, just a day of walking around in mediocre weather. I got another strawberry fix and an almond croissant for breakfast. Those croissants are sinful. I did a few errands on the left bank – getting the notepad replaced that was stolen, getting some cheap black flats, etc. Chief on the list was getting a new wallet, but no luck. After a day of walking I headed to my favorite Indian restaurant, where the waiter (Majeed) was working again. At one point he said something to me that prompted a dialogue like this: “You like to listen – true or false?” “Uh….pardon?” “You like to listen – true or false?” “Uh…true?” “You’re looking so gorgeous tonight.” I mean, come on! If that’s not a testament to what the Parisian air does to people, I don’t know what is. I did turn down the offer to meet him at an Irish pub when he got off at midnight, though…too tired.
A surprise date with Majid
Work today was average, boring. I’m just used the fervor and pace of my department back home, and it’s just not the same here. I miss the frenzy, I gotta say. The good news, though, from my workday is that I got $1200 from NI deposited in my checking account to account for my stolen items.
After work, though, was fantastic. Majid had emailed me telling me that the plan for Friday was to meet at the Gaite metro station at 8:00, and did I want to join? I said sure, even though I didn’t want to crash the party – most of the guys who would be there were going to Andalucia together tomorrow, and I didn’t know if they wanted to hang out and talk about the trip. Oh, well.
When I got there, I expected there to be several of us, but it was just Majid. As it turns out, Cyrille had picked the bar where we were going, but Majid had told me to be there half an hour before everyone else was scheduled to be there. Very smooth. When we found the bar, we drank, talked, and flirted heavily, and I was glad when everybody else was late in getting there. Throughout the night it seemed pretty clear that this was a date, not just hanging out with the group, and he even mentioned to everybody else that he had “succeeded in bringing me with him.” Cute in context. One of Majid’s friends, a girl, happened to turn up at the same bar, and he was pretty specific about the fact that she was “a friend, just a friend.” Not bad. Majid was also very attentive, asking if I needed anything and helping with my French when I needed it. At the end of the night, he drove everybody home – Cyrille, an out-of-town friend staying at Cyrille’s the night before they left, and another guy whose name I never can catch – which was nice, since the bar where we were was on the side of Paris in the direction where Majid lives. He dropped me off last, though, and at the end of the night, there was the awkward good-night moment. He made it less awkward, though – when I leaned in to do the kiss-kiss cheek thing, like always, he kissed me squarely, but sweetly, almost the way you used to kiss in the 8th grade. It was very cute, and prompted me to return the favor – a perfect end to the evening – sweet, very unlike my experience with his friend Cyrille. I think I have a crush now…
The end of French class
Today was a pretty easy day. Instead of driving to work, I metro’d to Montparnasse, where we were having an event for a (semi-new) version of LabVIEW, our company’s flagship product. I just stuck around for the morning; since I’d already given the presentations being given (and they were in French,) I mostly just wanted to check it out and then get outta there. I did have some good conversations in the hallway with our newly-selected marketing manager and area sales manager here, though. I headed out around lunchtime and decided I was just going to go home – by the time I walked to the car, drove to the office, and drove home, I would’ve lost almost 2 hours. I figured I could work at home just as easily, right? (Admittedly, though, I was exhausted and ended up taking a half-hour nap towards the end of the workday.)
After that I metro’d in to take my last French class. I was a little sad that it’s over, but also a little glad. Frankly my progress has been a lot slower now that everyone else has showed back up – we’ve been doing things the past couple of weeks that I learned a few weeks ago – not exclusively, mind you, but still not the progress I was hoping for. After class I did exchange numbers with a couple of guys in the class, the Spanish guy (who’s moving back to London in a month) and a Croatian guy who’s here for a couple of years to study trumpet. I told the Croatian guy, Dario, that I might do private sessions with the teacher if I want to continue, and would he want to join? Our skills are at a similar level, we seem to learn at a similar pace, and it’s a lot cheaper for 2 instead of 1. He was keen to do that, so maybe I’ll call him, who knows…
Darn -- a missed opportunity for a good date
After work I had dinner with Frederick Drappier, the branch manager here. I thought he was asking me to have dinner as “sorry-you-got-robbed” consolation prize, so I also thought it would be a pretty nice dinner on the company. He asked me yesterday if I could go that night, but since I had French class (not to mention my date with Jimi,) I suggested today. This was, of course, before I knew that Jimi and I would really hit it off. I said I wanted an early dinner, maybe 7 or 7:30 (to try to meet Jimi, of course,) which is unheard-of in France, but Frederick said it would probably work. There was also another NI corporate person in town (fortunately someone from facilities here to tour potential new offices in other less-sketchy parts of Paris,) so the three of us were going together. When it was almost 8:30 and I hadn’t heard from Frederick, I called him, and he was nearly downstairs and ready to go. I was pretty irritated, since he was an hour later than I wanted to eat, but oh, well, it is France, and 8:30 is on the early edge of a regular dinner hour. The three of us walked to the top of Montmartre, which is a nice view but has pretty crappy touristy restaurants. I would’ve much preferred La Rughetta, to be honest. After climbing the walls, itching to get out of a mediocre dinner with boring conversation about building facilities, I was ready to get outta there and try to meet Jimi. When we’d walked back down the hill to my apartment and said good-night, I called Jimi, who was just leaving the bar, as the game was over. Damnit!! What a loss of a good night. But as Jimi said, there will be other chances…
A weird day, but a great night
Somewhere between sleep and awake this morning, I had a minor panic attack. No, my Paris address wasn’t in my purse – I don’t think so – was it? But there was a copy of the apartment key in there, and they have my name, so could they track down where I live? But I’m renting short-term, so no, I wouldn’t show up in any address book. But wait, I get mail here though – does that mean they could find the address and just let themselves in? After enough of that, I decided I wasn’t leaving the apartment again until the locks were changed. I made a few phone calls, first to my landlord to make sure it was ok and then to locksmiths – in French, mind you – which generally went ok until they started asking lots of questions about the type of lock I have. One place nearby figured out I speak English and passed me to a nice man; when I told him I wanted an estimate first, he sent out somebody who told me it would be 260 euro. People at the office thought no more than 200, so I called another place, but when they said 400, I called back the 260 euro place and made an appointment for later that day. Finally mid-afternoon, I had a brand-new, industrial-strength lock on the front door, and I ventured out to get cash, the one thing I didn’t have but needed. The people answering the phone at my credit card company were pretty unhelpful – “just go to any bank with a MasterCard sign outside” – but they didn’t realize that there aren’t any of those in France, and I was nearly laughed out of the one bank where I tried. So finally I called back and got someone who told me that someone from my home phone in Austin could call their number and reset my pin, so that I could pull cash from an ATM with that pin. So I called Dad and sent him to my Austin apartment with strict instructions on how to call and reset my pin. Finally, near 5:00, I had cash. Voila! A whole day wasted just to get a new lock and cash, but oh, well, welcome to France. Things just don’t move as quickly here.
I metro’d in to French class – nothing eventful there – but I was excited about my post-class date with Jimi, the guy from the Italian restaurant. He lives in the Marais near my class, and I was going to meet him at a nearby English pub to watch a big football match. The match was fun – the crowd was totally into it – and there was some decent chemistry between the two of us. The match was over, but we kept ordering more rounds and talking about all kinds of stuff – music, cycling, etc. Turns out we have a lot in common, and the conversation was probably the best I’ve had since I’ve been in France. Before I knew it, it was 1 AM, and time for me to get home. He really wanted me to come watch the football match tomorrow, so I should call him if I could come, or even if I couldn’t, still call him… We did the French kiss-kiss cheek thing, and I did notice that he was a little closer to the front than on the side. (Something I learned from Daniel, my close friend from Mexico City, is that you can tell if there’s interest there by how close to the mouth they get. Very useful information.) Not sure if I can make the football tomorrow, but I’m damn sure gonna try…
Not my best day ever
Well, today pretty much sucked. It started off as a normal day, except that I was running slightly late and the traffic was horrendous on the way to the office. As I was sitting there on the A1 highway minding my own business, trying to find something good on the radio, two guys broke the passenger window of my car, stole my purse, and ran. Very scary. It’s a cliché, but what they say is true; you don’t really know what’s happening until it’s done. When I heard the crashing glass at first I wasn’t sure what was going on, until I saw a guy halfway into my car. I screamed, he took off, and I watched him and another guy run across a lane of traffic (as I was in the middle lane,) off the shoulder, and into the wooded area just off the highway. For a split second, I thought about going after them, but I figured: #1) that was probably stupid; they looked young and probably therefore unarmed, but you never know; and #2) they already had enough of a head start on me to get away, anyway. So I just sat there catching my breath, realizing what happened, and thinking of all that was gone – the bag I loved, my digital camera with a few weeks of photos, my iPod, the company cell phone, my wallet with about 60 euros in cash and almost all my cards, some make-up, my map book, my French phrase book, etc…. – I sat there ticking off everything while I watched the woman in the right-hand lane just stare at me through my now-non-existent passenger window. A nice man, though, in a car behind her asked if he could call the police for me, to which I obviously said yes. We pulled off together at the next exit, where he was very nice but told me that the police said I just had to go in. He was very nice, but he just shrugged and said that they (the kids who did it) need money, like “what can you do?” I raced back to the office, ran inside, and spent the rest of the morning on the phone with every bank card, credit card, and calling card company, canceling everything before the kids (bastards, as my colleague told me to refer to them) could access any of my accounts. After that was done, mid-morning, Sophie and I went to the local police, since her car had been broken into in the NI parking garage over Easter weekend, and she needed to go, anyway. The cops were very nice and helpful – I wasn’t expecting to get my stuff back, but I needed this police report to start the insurance process for the window and reimbursement. The cop said, not surprisingly, that they target single women, and they target people in nice cars – bingo. He actually said “welcome to the 93” (the area where it happened.” Apparently to the cops, this is common, even on the highway.
So Sophie and I trucked back to the office. Everyone was very friendly and supportive – they were pretty shocked, too, I think, with the violent way that it happened. Everyone was trying to help me in every way they could; the IT guy even offered to take my car to get the window fixed for me if I didn’t feel like driving. I felt like it was partially my fault. Sophie had warned me about people trying to open the door and get your purse, but I was naïve enough to think that it wouldn’t happen on the highway, and that they wouldn’t break the window to get in. Everyone all day told me to put my purse in the trunk, which actually started making me a little crazy – either you should’ve told me this before, or you should do it yourself! (since everyone told me to do it but admitted they themselves don’t.) Ah, well. The afternoon was basically useless, except going to the window fix-it place, which took an eternity, and then I just went home. Enough shit for one day.
One smart thing I’d done on the day I forgot my wallet at home (and therefore had a minor panic about it being stolen) was that I took out one credit card and left it at home, “just in case.” Thank God. For dinner I went to my favorite Indian restaurant, where I knew it would be quiet, where they’d be super-nice to me as always, and where they’d accept my credit card sans puce (without the chip) with no problems. Just what the doctor ordered.
Touring a medieval castle and champagne house
On Sunday I woke up waaay earlier than I wanted to, but for good reason. I was going with a colleague to a castle north of Paris and to Champagne, to visit a famous vineyard, Mercier. (Is it a vineyard if it’s for champagne and not for wine?) I picked him, Emmanuel, up at his home east of Paris. (First of all, I was guilted into having coffee across the street from my parking garage with the garage attendant. Apparently they often sit over there at the bar and run back to the garage only when somebody needs them.) I’m not sure why I was driving – considering the fact that Emmanuel knew where he was going and he doesn’t even like champagne (so no worries about driving afterwards) – but oh, well, I was nominated; so be it. We drove to Pierrefonds, north of Paris, where there’s a fantastic medieval castle and a lovely little town. (http://www.casteland.com/puk/castle/picardie/oise/pierrefonds/pierrefonds.htm) The castle was cool; I’d obviously never been to one before, unless you count Versailles (which is clearly in a different style.) This one was renovated by Napoleon, though, so he had all the interior redone with color – not too medieval. Around noon we headed out to Epernay, the town in Champagne we wanted. (We also stopped halfway for lunch at a place called Buffalo Grille, which is sortof like TFI Friday’s meets the rodeo, and where every dish is a steak named after something Texan. Very funny to a Texan.)
Emmanuel told me that everything would look different when we got to Champagne, and he was right. You could tell that this was a place where people had more money than neighboring areas. The houses were a little nicer, with a fresher coat of paint outside, and with more flowers. Apparently the soil for growing champagne grapes is very specific, and it must be on a hillside for drainage, so everyone wants their land to be champagne-certified. (There’s an agency, apparently, that does this.) For those that get their land certified, apparently it’s like hitting the jackpot. Epernay was even better, and it’s a great day trip outside of Paris. The town is filled with lovely little squares, kindof like Aix-en-Provence, and all the champagne houses are lined up right next to one another on one big street. (I think they call it Champagne Alley.) So basically you can bar-hop your way from one maison to another. It’s not like most vineyards I’ve been to, though; the grapes are grown elsewhere and brought there, so the actual places need less space and are therefore closer together. The one we went to, Mercier, is one of the best, according to Emmanuel. When you walk in, there’s a giant vat, over a story tall, that was built and filled with champagne for the 1889 World’s Fair in Paris and was apparently a rival attraction to the unveiling of the Eiffel Tower. You can get a ticket for the tour plus one glass of champagne, or three – we chose the one-glass tickets, although frankly, I would’ve been happy with the three-glass tickets, having come all the way there. But oh, well. First there was a brief movie about the history of the place, conveniently with no spoken words, just English and French on the screen. Then we took the underground trolley through one of the 18 kilometers of bottle storage they have down there. (The tour was in French, by the way – the English tour was leaving later – so I had to just catch from the guide what I could and asked Emmanuel to translate the good parts.) The brilliant thing about it is that their underground storage tunnels connect directly to the French railway system – brilliant! Plus the champagne was pretty good, too, in my opinion. Anyway, if you want a day trip and you like champagne at all, it’s worth the trip.
http://www.champagne-mercier.com/default.asp#
