Pas surprenant

Every now and then, I remember that I can watch the journal télévisé online. Whenever I can remember, I watch the news shows to keep practicing my French listening skills and my trivial knowledge about what's going on in Europe.

Shocking that today they're talking about the huge educational strike, resulting one absence out of every two primaire (elementary school teacher) and one of four séconde (middle-high school teacher).

That's no surprise to me whatsoever, that most French schools are closed today due to the strike. (Or I guess that was yesterday since it's 3 a.m. in France right now)

Dollars and centimes

I'm actually a little surprised at how quickly this worked.

But now that my dad is back in the States, I no longer have any need for my French bank account. Since I still have the checkbook (but somehow lost my CA ATM card), I wrote myself a check for almost the entire remaining balance. I left a little bit in there to pay the monthly assurance for my ATM card, which is lost anyways.

When I first tried to deposit the check at Bank of America, it was after work just before closing. I was told that the latest they'll do international check deposits is before 3 p.m., which sucks because I never get off work that early. But I can come in late....

So this morning I went to my bank and deposited the check. I didn't have to walk past any glass doors, didn't have to go through a security check. I didn't need to provide any proof of who I am, where I live, anything.

Yet, somehow the Euro always screws me. When I was in France, the Dollar had reached an all-time low against the Euro, so I was getting horrible USD-EUR exchange rates. Now that our economy is affecting everyone else, the Euro is dropping meaning the Dollar is getting a little stronger in the world economy. So while I could have milked it for all it was worth back in May when I was back from France, I only made 1.2 percent off my deposit today.

Now I'll need to email Credit Agricole and explain how I no longer live in France and would like to stop the monthly charges on my ATM card insurance. Thanks to logical French banking, it actually would cost me money to close out an account, but if I stop my insurance charges, I don't have to pay anything to keep it open....

Yay, Health!

Alright, now that I'm no longer on the French government's dime (and technically no longer considered a dependent of my parents), I'm back on my own health coverage.

That means that yesterday I finally had my appointment at Kaiser in Walnut Creek. I've always had a PPO, so this was the first time I got to view the inner-workings of a very, very large HMO hospital. And let me tell you, the fact that I was able to figure out some of this crap in French astounds me.

Though many people are skeptical of Kaiser for its long-term negligence with terminal and elderly patients, I'm really pleased with my minor dealings with them thus far. Heck, on my plan vaccinations are free, visits are about $20, and I think x-rays are free too.

Furthermore, after being accepted to Kaiser, I was able to scroll through eight pages of doctors to find someone of my gender, who shares similar interests, is closer to my age range than my parents' and a doctor who is familiar with issues I have in my family (i.e., cardiac concerns). I picked my doctor and then met with her yesterday.

Not only did she give me a (VERY CHEAP) refill on my current prescription, but she also administered blood tests to check up on my heart vitals and sent me out to a nutritionist so we could help curb my triglycerides and cholesterol -- which have been historically high in my family.

After wandering the maze that is this hospital, I found the laboratory in the basement where I proceeded to draw a number and wait in line until it was called. Upon being called, all I had to do was show photo ID, my member card and voilà, instant blood-drawing. Much, much easier than anything I had to do in France and I didn't even need to bring a book with me, because the lines weren't very long at all!

When it was all said and done, I paid around $60 for a new prescription, doctor's visit, and eight lab blood tests.

But the best part is when I checked my personal Kaiser web profile last night, my blood test results came back only about six hours after the test! AND EVEN THOUGH I GAINED A BILLION POUNDS WHILE LIVING IN FRANCE, MY CHOLESTEROL IS ON THE LOWER END OF THE SPECTRUM!!!

Wow, I'm not excited about that or anything.

So for now -- I'm shocked to say this -- it's American (dental/health) bureaucracy 1, French (dental/health) bureaucracy -3. I figured it wouldn't be too long before we got something right in comparison to European societies.

Now if only Kaiser dealt with major issues this thoroughly...

And I'll always come back

I believe it's safe to say the book of "Monique's Misadventures in Europe" is finally finished. My story is written and I am now comfortably back home in California.

But let's reflect back, shall we? But before I get into it, I'm really glad I got to experience this entire situation, living and teaching abroad, because I learned a whole lot about myself. And on a much higher level than just moving away from home for the first time and going to college type of education. All I can say, is that it's good to be back.

I'm going to take the easy way out and say that my trip ended just about as horrendously and in the same by-the-seat-of-my-pants fashion with which it began.

Remember my first terrible encounter with French bureaucracy? As in, getting turned away three times from the French consulate in San Francisco before finally getting my visa and deciding on the spot, at the end of August, that I would be moving to France for supposedly the next nine months of my life?

Then when I finally did pack up my life and leave -- isn't this funny -- I came down with some really strange 24-hour stomach flu, slash nerves vomiting spell. On an international flight, in what is my opinion the worst airport in the entire world: Heathrow in London.

Then I had to deal with endless strikes day-in and day-out. Especially the first day on the job: Welcome to France! I was new, confused, and totally foreign to the city. That was a nice introduction to my life abroad.

My next hurdle came when the government said we all had to have a bank account open before October 10th if we wanted to receive our paychecks. That sounds reasonable, but opening a bank account in France is like... I really can't think of any good analogy because it was one of the worst things I've ever experienced. You need document X to open up an account. But you cannot get document X from the government until you have a statement from a bank. I'm amazed at how anyone ever gets anything done in that country...

Luckily I was on top of my stuff and got it done on time.

Since we're on the topic of impossible French bureaucracy and documents, I also had similar issues with my long-stay work permit, insurance, housing, and... other things that have currently slipped my mind. I guess they really left a lasting impression on me, even though at the time it seemed to be the end of the world ;)

Another disaster on the scale of misadventures in France came with my entire roommate situation. Nevermind she lied about her age and not smoking the day I met her. Nevermind she started making me pay for more than my half of the rent, when she was using the same amount, if not more of the utilities and water than I was. But when she stopped cleaning and then got mad at me for one day not doing her week's worth of dishes and when she threatened to kick me out for having guests from California over, even though she said two months in advance that it was cool for them to crash with us... the rollercoaster of love-hate between us came to an abrupt halt.

Nine months became seven because frankly, I don't need to be thousands of miles away from my friends and family and unhappy.

So now here I am, on my last day in Europe.

And what should happen?

More of the same old garbage. My two hour layover in Cincinnati became six. And I was doing all I could to keep my eyes open in the terminal. At least I got a free meal voucher out of it.

And at least I'm home safe! After having picked up so much more French, realizing that I can survive in any city in the world, completely on my own, without my parents' help. After working a career-type job, and for the first time not asking for anyone to pay my rent/insurance/tuition or any other expense that comes with being a dependent.

I went to France, I traveled the world, and I lived to tell about it! And that is worth every souci (worry, in English) I've wasted on my life over the past seven months.

P.S. I bought the A's shirt and shoes, since *drumroll* I got my CAF money for half my rent YESTERDAY!!! That means after being in France for seven months, I've broken even. No more debt for me... that is, until I find a job. And P.P.S., my fantasy baseball team is complete GARBAGE!

I'm not M.I.A.

...I'm just tired, that's all.

I'm really trying to be enthusiastic about this teaching thing, but I just can't. I mean, I'm coming up with new, fun lessons for my classes every day but in the back of my head I keep mentally ticking off my teaching days as they slide along. No, in fact, I actually have a paper sheet that I made up at the beginning of the academic year with all the number of sessions I'd have in each class to get a general idea for how many classes I'd have to prepare and how much time I'm allowed to spend on each unit.

Well it's now evolved into a "how many days do I have left in class" plan. And I swear to God, if I never hear "If You're Happy and You Know It," again...

But apparently I'm not as bad as some of my teachers. I'm not sure why, but when I showed up to one of my CE2 classes today, the maîtresse frickin' snapped! When I asked her if it was o.k. to erase the board and begin the day's English lesson, she started screaming at the class, "It doesn't matter anyways because we never advance. We're always falling behind on every lesson because someone wants to go to the bathroom, you forget something, there's too much talking..."

And then I saw the red darts come shooting out of her eyes. This sparked a five-minute rant that took up some of my teaching time as she continued chastising the children, blaming their insolence. (If I can get my two cents' in here, I haven't noticed their behavior to be bad enough to warrant this mess, but what do I know, I'm just the American girl who doesn't understand French, right?)

Either way, when my lesson was over I was about to head out the door. I finished five minutes early because the coloring page I set aside for the class to do was thwarted by this angry teacher. She told them they weren't allowed to have a fun activity today because they didn't merit such a thing. Instead she asked me to do something else to take up the last five minutes, like study vocab. This was requested of me so she could run to the bathroom for longer than five minutes. I had to stay in with the class during their recess break and babysit, while she did whatever the heck it was she had to do.

Oh, and might I add that she was doing absolutely nothing during the rest of the 40 minutes of my lesson. Couldn't she have gone then?!

But, I want to end this little puzzled rant on a good note. Because, as much as you might believe to the contrary, I am not an angry person who hates living in France. I'm rather enjoying it -- it's just the teaching part I'm not so sure about.

So in hopes of having some good news, I am finally done with all the French administrative, bureaucratic garbage for the rest of my stay -- I hope! Both yesterday and Tuesday I went to the CAF office which had been closed during the entire month of February, with all my filled out forms and carte de sejour. I don't know what the next step is, but at least I handed in all my documents so a folder could be created for me, meaning that in about a month, I'm going to start being reimbursed for about half of the money I've been spending on rent!! And if all goes well, it can't be better timing, as I'm going to need a bit of spending money for my trip to Germany and Spain over Spring Break :)

Now that hope's run out, the only thing left to do is cross my fingers

...I really just wanted to try my creativity at making up an "emo" title. And it came to me really easily, so now that I'm kind of freaked out by that fact, let's get on with today's post, shall we?

Anyways, today's entry is 100 percent inspired from this sign. I think I'll be happy if I never see it again, because that'll mean I never have to return to the Medical Insurance building!


Well, you've heard my billions of complaints regarding the process necessary to obtain a French social security number, which would in turn lead to medical insurance and reimbursement! Even though I do have a "temporary" social security number to prove that I'm employed by the state of France, it is missing the final two digits required to obtain medical reimbursement.

This afternoon, thirty-five copies of everything possible in hand, I made my way back to the Assurance Maladie office for the third time in three weeks, praying not to be turned away.

You might remember last time, how I was told my birth certificate wasn't official enough? Well, I brought the ORIGINAL with me today. Upon my arrival, I did my usual take a number wait 30+ minutes routine just to be called to the "pré-accueil" desk -- pre-reception. I explained that last time I was missing one or two documents to complete my dossier for social security, so the secretary registered me in the computer as requiring an official meeting with one of the agents, prompting me to sit another 30+ minutes. I've decided not to sweat this anymore -- I even came prepared with American Psycho to read while I waited. And I finished it this week, so after my appointment, I went straight to the Médiathèque to check out more books for my flight home, but that's neither here nor there...

When my number's finally called, I tell the agent that I think I'm all set for social security. He mindlessly takes my folder, without checking anything in great detail then begins to file it away saying the number and important info will be mailed to me in a week or so. Except, I told him I had in my hand the copy of my carte de séjour and official birth certificate.

He looks at me quizzically saying, "Oh, I thought I already saw those in your folder. But you don't need the original, a copy of your birth certificate will suffice."

Nearly fuming, I tried to compose myself enough to explain to him how the last agent told me my American birth certificate wasn't acceptable in France.

So, depending on who you ask what day, my folder is complete. I even turned in my dental records from when I had an emergency run a few months back.

Which is why I say FINGERS CROSSED. Hopefully this does indeed pass France's requirements and in one week I receive both a social security number and a check for over 30 Euros returned to me from my dental visit.

And for the record, I checked out two English and two French books at the Médiathèque. Currently I'm reading One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, which makes my fourth book of 2008. (Just don't mention the fact that I'm concurrently reading another, French book entitled Maintenant, qu'il fait tout le temps nuit sur toi, notice how in French they only capitalize the first letter of a title?!) Either way, I hope they last me the 14 hour flight(s) to and from San Francisco in the next few weeks, because I'm sure as heck not buying books in the United States to clutter up my suitcase for my final return in June.... which reminds me:

...FIVE MORE DAYS UNTIL CALIFORNIA!!

A sequel to mauvais temps

After that hurried little post I banged out this afternoon, the day got significantly worse. Perhaps this was the most unpleasant weather-related experience I've had to deal with all year!

Well, at first it was exciting. Like the first time you experience something "different," once you realize that it's a bother and imposing on every-day well-being, it becomes more of a burden than a novelty.

The hail and slush quickly melted off and turned into 45 minutes of non-stop torrential downpour. It wasn't that long really, but strong enough to cause mass flooding all down my street. I even saw the underground drainage system overflowing with water, running down the streets only adding to the car-size puddles in the roads. Because of this, the local police deemed it unsafe for cars to "float" down the street and subsequently closed off all roads near my apartment complex. Cool right? I could walk down the street, listening to my iPod in peace, without having to worry about French jackass drivers plowing through the puddles and unnecessarily spraying me with nasty road-water.

Except when the rain started coming in stinging angles and my pants were soaked higher than the knees -- front and back -- I realized it's probably worth the 1 Euro to take the bus. Well, that was 35 minutes into my walk, I was nearly halfway and sat and waited for the bus. However, since all roads north of me were closed, that meant the bus changed routes so I was left waiting in vain 20 minutes for a bus that never came!

Either way, I called my school and warned them that I'd be a little late because the floods were blocking my normal route and I couldn't hop on the bus like normally.

...Little did I know, my tardiness was pretty low on the grand scale of the day's events at my second school.

Now, I'm going to put out a radical statement here. I'm going to demonstrate, in my one small life-observation, how one English assistant's daily experience is a microcosm for France's immigration policy as a whole.

The second school at which I teach on Mondays and Fridays, and the following statement is by no means an over-exaggeration: is 75 percent populated by children of immigrants, notably from Northern Africa. Actually, I would venture to say that UNDER 25 percent of the students there are white and/or native French citizens.

This is mainly because Antibes is one of many French cities where children have to attend the closest school to their residential units. Thus, the school -- can I point out that it's right on the train tracks -- is plopped right in the middle of the immigrant district.

Why do I mention this fact?

Because after attending my other, whiter school this morning in the rain, nothing out of the ordinary happened. But when I arrived 10 minutes late at Juan-Gare, I noticed all the teachers were suited up in their rain gear, yelling at all 250 students in the courtyard (playground I guess as we'd call it in the U.S.). When I went up to the teachers' room to drop off my stuff and dry off a bit, I noticed no one was up there. Then I noticed one person running down from the third story, absolutely drenched, warning me not to go into any of the rooms. That's because a massive leak was dripping water from the third floor, including the now over-flowing toilets, all the way down to the first. The directrice deemed it unsafe for students to be in class, because should there be a fire -- HIGHLY unlikely in this sopping weather -- all fire exists were blocked and/or running with water. It would only take one student to fall down those stairs to cause a lawsuit that would eventually close down the school.

But my point here is that the rainstorm really was not that long. It lasted for 45 whole minutes. Where was the school district's maintenance crew? Why did one small leak cause such a massive problem? Why didn't the white school have this "inconvenience," as the administration kept referring to it, so not to verbally step on anyone's toes by pointing out the blatant racism at hand in this situation.

Well, it affected me, too. For two of the three hours after lunch, all the students were free to run around outside until the janitorial staff mopped up all the water. Luckily, the sun came out and halted any further damage from happening. So, as useless as I was, I was told to stay at the school during my normal hours, until someone decided it was ok to return to the classrooms.

Well, I only got in 40 minutes of actual instruction, which essentially was supposed to be a review session for Friday's unit test. Since two-thirds of my students never received such a review, I now have to push the test back until after the two-week winter break and expect them to have studied up and be ready to go.

Please, God, let my students be disciplined enough to study over the next two weeks without instruction...

The Day I've Been Waiting For....

Has finally arrived.

Except, judging from my reactions today, you'd never know.

I have this terrible habit of getting overly excitable about EVERYTHING. I always tip my hand and I don't know how to chill out when something big is happening. Actually, scratch that. Even with stupid little nothing events, I still get way too antsy.

So imagine my surprise when I got that letter in the mail yesterday saying I could retrieve my carte de séjour and during the walk to the Police Municipale today, my heart was not thudding in my chest. Normally, I'd be getting increasingly nervous, palms sweaty with anticipation accompanied by quick, shallow breaths. And usually things go horribly wrong.

So maybe that's the key, eh? Don't get over-excited and you won't get let down.

Either way, I went into the office and presented my letter, in addition to the receipt saying my card was on its way. I also took a thousand extra precautions and brought my passport, California identification, a copy of verification of my residence (in case they had my address wrong on the card) and my work contract. Of course, I was insanely over-prepared, but a few extra papers in my backpack really didn't weigh me down any more than usual.

The woman at the counter greeted me quite friendly, something I've never come across in French administration up until this point. That's the kind of person you should have working for your company, someone who genuinely gets excited about every person's ascent to *legal* residency in the country. She must have know what I've gone through to get to this step, because when she finally handed me the card -- less than one minute later seeing as how I was the only person in the building, another shocker in French bureaucracy -- a ridiculous smile overtook her entire face and I get the feeling that she actually meant it.

A little suspicious, I took the card and waited to see if I needed to do anything else, because really that couldn't be it. But it was and I hurried out of there before anything could go wrong.

Then during my walk back, I realized that today was a really gloomy and ugly day. Pretty rare for the week we've been having here in the South of France. And I couldn't help but think, I should be ecstatic despite the glum weather.

But I never once did the proverbial heel click, not even mentally. You know that feeling when you've accomplished something so great, a pat on the back just won't cut it? Yeah, I never even got that sensation.

Peu importe. All that matters is that I officially have a French identification card, even if it only is good for seven more months.... Perhaps I'll post a picture of it later. Or maybe, I'll post a picture of me flipping it off, giving you a sense for how I feel about French administrative hurdles.

So how did I actually celebrate such a feat?! I kept it pretty low-key and cooked myself a really good, healthy meal after a few hours at the gym. (Oh yeah, and I let myself have a candy bar!)

Tonight I chopped up some endives and cabbage for the base of a salad, then threw on some raw onions and radishes. In a lightly-buttered pan, I tossed in some of the onions with balsamic vinegar, honey, walnuts, golden raisins and pears for a sweet dressing. And the main course was easy -- I already had frozen, prepped Alaskan halibut in the papillote style tossed in a bag with veggies and herbs. All I had to do was pop that in the oven for a few minutes and voilà.

What a day.

...12 DAYS UNTIL CALIFORNIA!!

JOYOUS DAY!!!

...Well in theory it is!

BUT, today I opened the mailbox, my heart a-flutter because there was a medium-sized brown envelope in the box with MY NAME ON IT.

I ran up the stairs, taking three at a time in hopes of getting home quicker -- never once tripping thank you very much -- because the sender was the Mayor of Antibes and the official stamp on the back read "service des etrangers" (immigrant services)!!!!

Well, long story short, I have received an OFFICIAL NOTICE that my carte de sejour is ready and waiting in the mayor's office!! All I need is a few free minutes during the day to come collect it along with the proper identification.

Oh this is super, SUPER news!

The card is sort of like a form of identification in the state of France for foreigners. It will allow me to FINALLY collect the CAF assistance on half of my rent, and I'm now free to fly in and out of the country as I wish during the next six months.

Wednesday morning here I come, mayor's office!!!!

...13 DAYS UNTIL CALIFORNIA!

No Soup For You!

Attempt #2 at getting a social security number: FAILURE.

Exactly one week ago, I thought I had sufficient paperwork in order to begin a folder for me in the Social Security/Medical Insurance office. Since I am being employed by the government, I'm allowed to claim FREE health insurance. And it'd be silly to buy my own insurance at this rate, a.) since hardly anyone in France has private insurance and b.) they're not paying me enough for that.

Thus, January marks month #4 without any kind of insurance whatsoever.

So today, I went back with copies of the documents I needed, and I even went to a doctor's office this morning. He's French and was born here, but grew up in Georgia, thus he's the only French man I've ever met with a Southern accent. And his French sounds American, so that makes me feel better about myself. Either way, he speaks English, doesn't require appointments and signed off to be my doctor for insurance purposes, so that's a step in the right (medical) direction.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I don't even have insurance!! Part of my folder is the American equivalent of the acte de naissance, which I naturally assumed was an official birth certificate.

WRONG. Supposedly they have problems with Americans registering for social security because the birth certificate is not official enough.

I cannot continue the process of getting a social security number until I bring in something he called an "extrait de naissance," which supposedly is a registry or official paper signed by my mayor or something at the time of my birth.

WTF?!?!? I have no idea what that is, nor have I ever heard of anything remotely close like that given out in the U.S. This man would not budge and said that other Americans have brought him the correct paperwork, so in theory, I should be able too, and I'll just have to halt my request until I can procure said document.

Both my parents are telling me the only document from my birth is the certificate -- duh, since that's THE ONLY THING they give us to prove American birth -- and that I'll have to try back again. But I'm stuck and backed against a wall. I really don't know what I'm going to do if they don't accept my birth certificate a second time.

If any other assistants are reading this, and have any idea at what kind of paperwork they're looking for, please please PLEASE let me know, I'll love you forever.

Whenever I finally do finish my folder, it should only take about a week to actually get my number. But here's the rub: In order to get medical insurance, and thus be reimbursed for any dental/doctor visits I've had, I need a carte vitale which I can get when I prove I have a SS#.

However, the carte vitale takes MONTHS to process and be sent out. I imagine that would take us to about June, when I'm leaving. Then I'll finally have all the papers I need and will be able to collect all the money the government owes me. How convenient that I'll be out of the country by then....

I'M SO OVER ALL OF THIS BUREAUCRATIC B.S.!!!!! And I want to go back home.

...18 days until California!!

And now ladies and gentlemen...

We present the amazing, the fantastic, the freakish and exotic, Miss Monique!

And let me tell you dear patrons, you're in for a special treat tonight, because she's traveled far and wide to be here with us. From the warm and sunny beaches of California all the way to the rain-soaked South of France, here she is!

...I've had to jump through yet another hoop this morning. And for my next act, I'll be juggling knives while eating fire. Scratch that, I'll be applying for the position of 1,000 lb. lady.

Just kidding. But this morning was a bit of a waste of my time, since I tried in vain to get my social security card and medical insurance over here. Two days ago, the woman just above me sent an email explaining that I should have all the necessary documents to get my social security. Documents that were sent back to me in October, without any instruction whatsoever. So I took a look at the documents, which supposedly listed what other papers I needed to bring along with me. Basically, I had everything including "official documentation," which I think said, be it a birth certificate or passport. So I opted for the passport instead, because I put my certificate somewhere -- which I'll be needing to find later.

Anyways, Sarah and I braved the rain to find the insurance building at 8 a.m. in order to avoid all the messy lines usually associated with French bureaucracy. We get there and it turns out I'm missing a doctor and eight hundred photocopies of everything. I guess that means I'll be photocopying like a madwoman at school tomorrow and I'll have to find a doctor willing to sign off my medical references. Essentially I can only see one approved doctor.

Now, where to find such a person....

But the best part is how disgusting I must have looked throughout it all.

Seeing as how I got home from the teachers' dinner this morning at 1 a.m. then woke up at 7 a.m. to get to the insurance office on time. Times like that, I really wish France had some sort of portable coffee available, i.e. STARBUCKS. Man am I tired.

The dinner itself was fantastic. I tried to keep conversation in French, but it was hard seeing as how we had about a million people and Moroccan music was blaring all night long. My stomach was also not helping my cause, as it was grumbling so much I could hardly focus. That's what happens when you don't eat dinner until 10 p.m., after having lunch at noon.

On the way home, two of the male teachers -- probably in their mid-30s -- started talking to some drunk on the streets. They're not very serious people normally -- or ever for that matter -- and so when said drunk begins asking them if "so-and-so" should be coming soon, they joke with him saying yeah, he's going to be late, blah blah blah. Turns out they have no idea who or what this man's talking about and I guess he started to get really upset because his friend wasn't there. So one punch gets thrown and that's all I really noticed. Next thing I see was a flash of bodies all throwing this man into the nearest store window, sending off the police alarms after midnight in Downtown Cannes.

When they finally settled things down and started to walk away, the drunk threw himself on them again and subsequently wound up on the floor in a crumpled heap. I guess one of the teachers does kick boxing and judo, so the others joked that he missed his training/practice yesterday so did that instead. Oh yeah, and after 15 minutes of fuss and the break-in alarms going off, not one police officer EVER showed up.

And when the directrice -- principal of the school -- asked the other teacher what had just happened or how he was doing, he replied:

"I don't think I should have eaten that pizza before coming earlier tonight."

Jesus.

What part of LOCKBOX don't you understand?

After yesterday's Grenelle de l'environment (French envoironmental summit) where headlining invitee was Al Gore -- go figure -- the French media is going public with more designs to combat global warming.

Let me get this off my chest before I go any further. Al Gore, Nobel prize winner, should NOT BE INVOLVED WITH ALL OF THIS. Other than putting his name and voice over a movie, what has he done to help us counter the effects of global warming? What are his new designs and inventions? All he's doing is giving us really vague over-used sayings, such as "If you want to go quickly, go alone, if you want to go far, go together. Our challenge is to go far quickly." And how would he suggest we do that?

"We need a 'Grenelle mondial' so that we can all go far quickly." You mean like the one at which you're already the guest speaker?!?

Really Al Gore? You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. All the attention he's getting is ridiculous. Kind of like back when he claimed to have invented the Internet.

Ok, sorry for the little rant. But supposedly he was only at the grenelle because they wanted to send a message to George Bush. As in, "We're inviting your presidential opponent because we support him more than you and your cabinet." And oh yeah, after Gore spoke, many French reporters made fun of his one minor attempt to speak French. I think they just wanted a humorous guest to keep the entertained.

Anways, supposedly lots of major French cities are either doing so already, or planning on building light-rail trams in the center of every town to block car traffic. The thinking behind that is people NEED to go downtown, so they'll have to use public transit and cut down the gaseous emissions that cars produce.

That's all nice and well -- BUT FRANCE, YOU'RE ALWAYS STRIKING!!!

And it continues today. Air France is starting to strike now for hundreds of domestic flights. The SNCF national train society still is not back to running 100 percent of its trains, and the buses in my city alone are still striking every Thursday and in the middle of the day. Apparently hotels are going to start doing the same now that a two-week national holiday begins for all of the schools.

Whatever. At least I get two weeks off. Hopefully the trains and hotels I reserved to go to Tours next week will still be valid. Keep your fingers crossed for me!!

I leave you now with one of my FAVORITE SNL skits mocking Al Gore during the 2000 presidential bash:

There are some of you would like to spend our money on some made-up war. To you I say, "What part of lockbox don't you understand?" What if there's a hurricane or a tornado? Unlikely I know, because of the anti-hurricane and tornado machine I was instrumental in helping to develop…but what if? What if the scientists are right and one of those giant glaciers hits Boston? That's why we have the lockbox.

The circle is my least favorite shape

Today was brutal because I've already been rejected by one French bank for not having the right paperwork... and what they're asking of me is impossible to get from the U.S. The other thing they want, my carte de séjour, is ALSO impossible. The Catch 22 is that I can't get my account without a carte de séjour, but I can't even apply for the carte until I have a bank account number. So this afternoon after I finished my observations, I went to Crédit Agricole to hopefully sign up for a compte. Supposedly this one is way less anal than Banc National de Paris (BNP). I have an appointment tomorrow morning at 9:30. WISH ME LUCK, because this is the THIRD really bad day I've had in a row. Homesick is totally an understatement for what I'm feeling.

And since I'm on the subject of school, today's observations were at my headquarters. This one's very close to my house so I can walk. And I suppose the busses are back up running today, because people are waiting at the stops. Funny story, my stop was DEMOLISHED yesterday. It's still gone today but now there are people huddled near the construction posts.

I'm a bit reassured about teaching, because now I have some sort of direction. Still not 100% reassured. Although, I met a teacher today who gave me an English book to use, but it's ridiculous. I'm not sure what she wants me to do with it or how to divide the lessons, but supposedly we're supposed to be on the same course. This will probably come with time. The food at La Tournière is not as good as Juan Gare, but still a lot better than I remember in elementary school. I think we had the equivalent of "mystery meat" today, as it was steak -- or pork -- in a brown broth with mushrooms, accomapnied with the French version of cheesy rice, really puffy grains with camembert. And then we washed it all down with the famous French cheese platter, fruit, and bread.

And again, the differences between our educational systems is astounding. I can't really speak too profoundly on the matter, because I only attended three or four different schools in the U.S. But from what I recall, we weren't THIS excited about education in elementary school. And I've noticed the teachers have much more restraint over their students than all mine did. I think that's partially due to the strict nature of the French in general. Everyone here is so guarded and closed off at first, but they warm up rather quickly if you give them a chance.

But back on topic, every time I enter a new class (third through fifth grade), the maître(sse) introduces me as the English assistant to his or her class, the children light up! Today my first class was so excited, half of the children jumped out of their seats. Then when he announced I was from California, the other half jumped up.

When I arrived at Ecole Juan Gare yesterday, all eyes were on me. A group of girls approached me and asked if I was there to teach English or Italian. When I responded, "anglais," the girls jumped up and down together shouting, "Ouais! Engleesh!!" Very cute.

So soon I'll be Maîtresse Moyal. That's Mistress to you. I better watch out before some sort of power-trip arises.

YOU WOULD!!!

Figures the ONE day I actually need to take the bus, THERE IS A STRIKE.

I have to be at this school in Juan-les-Pins at 9:30 to begin the first observation and sign all my papers so that I can start my journey to becoming a French resident. Without the conseiller pédagogique's signature, I am nothing! And today is probably my only window to get that done.

So I've called the school and they're trying to figure it out. But it looks like I might be walking soon... (Although where to, I have no idea)

Merde!

Let the interesting French stories begin!

This is awesome.

Things are finally starting to fall into place and I'm becoming much less stressed than I was one week ago. Part of the reason is the fact that I've gotten in touch with some people from my school and city -- all extremely helpful!

But in typical French fashion -- or what I would believe is typical at this very early stage -- things didn't work out totally according to plan. Back in July/August, I received contact info for the woman at my school who deals with the English assistants and although I've unsuccessfully tried calling her numerous times, even attempting to leave a voicemail, I decided to give it another shot on Monday around 6 p.m. in France.

She answered and I think I quickly maneuvered through that conversation, only to find out the French districts re-routed and she no longer works with La Tournière in Antibes. However, she never took the intiative to actually call/email me back to notify me of the change, now did she? How would I have known if I couldn't get in contact with Mme. Serafino? I forget which city she now works for, but I think it's in the Var district. She gave me the contact info for the man she thinks is taking over for her, but of course, he doesn't believe in voicemail, so I've yet to get a hold of him. Either way, Mme. Serafino -- my "contact" in Antibes -- wasn't fazed at all by the change. She's completely go-with-the-flow about it all and acting as if she is my supervisor, giving me all sorts of advice on what I should bring and how to plan my lessons, etc. The only thing she can't answer is whether or not I'll have a place to stay.

Which brings me to my next point! I've been researching French colocation websites (roommates wanted ads) as a basic member. Premium members have 30 Euros less in their pockets each month as well as free reign of any member. I can only send/receive messages that say, "I like your post, do you like mine?" Ummm, Borat, anyone? "I like you! Do you like me?"

Again, long story short, within five minutes of posting my ad, I received a "flash message" from this guy who's renting out a room. It looks like a nice place and I consider responding.... until I see that he's 65 years old!!!!! His picture, which is strategically placed at the bottom of his ad, is of him and a girl I suspect to be his GRANDDAUGHTER. No thanks.

That's the nice thing about being a basic member. If you accept a message, I assume you get the other person's email address (since I've yet to accept a message/have mine accepted). Whereas if you reject someone's, they can't see anything. It's just like you've never received their message in the first place and everyone goes on their merry way. Not a bad deal.

Hopefully this all works out in my favor! Everyone seems so stereotypically French and really exciting! The biggest plus for me is that living with a Frenchie will quadruple my language skills and improve my chances of making some friends in the city! So far I've sent messages out to people renting in Nice (including Vieux Nice!!!), Antibes, Cannes and Juan-les-Pins.

UPDATE 12:44 p.m.: So apparently you CAN see that someone rejects your offer. The 68 year-old, yeah he wasn't 65, he changed his age on his profile today!, chastized me for responding "no." He got all pissed and explained that usually, you should just ignore someone's offer. Maybe he gets ignored frequently?

I also received another humorous offer in my inbox this morning -- in addition to three normal ones -- but these two men Edwig and Guy sent me a message saying they're renting out a room in their house, it's a nice family environment, yadda yadda... So I look up their profile and it's two gay 45 year-old men!! I must be a magnet for this kind of thing :)

This is a much better outlook with only THREE DAYS REMAINING until my plane leaves American soil.

Yay, social reform!

Manifestations in Nîmes, March 2006... yes I was re-routed from Toulouse to Lyon via Nîmes -- what a nightmare.

Just when you thought the coast was clear, i.e. after I struggled to get around the country a year and a half ago...

According to the International Herald Tribune,

Employees of France's national rail network called a strike for Oct. 17 to protest President Nicolas Sarkozy's push to do away with their special privileges in the pension system.

The CGT, Sud, CFTC, FO and CGC unions plan to take part in the strike, the CGT union announced Wednesday. Three other unions have decided to consult with members before making a decision.

The strike will begin Oct. 16 at 8 p.m. (1800 GMT) and will continue the following day. Unions left open the possibility that it could last beyond that.

Similarly, the Strikes in France website warns of taking any French public transport during the fall months... like I will be doing very soon.

And apparently, two French energy unions are calling for the same thing -- big surprise -- strikes.

Could it be that any of these planned strikes happen to fall on the anniversary of Nuit Noire, a massacre in Paris during the War for Algerian Independence, when French governmental officials used unnecessary force to break up a peaceful demonstration of over 30,000 Algerians? Interestingly enough, there's a metro station in Paris renamed "17 Octobre 1961" this past February. Coincidence? Maybe, or maybe the French are just overly-zealous to quit working for an "important" cause.

Yeah, I know right, if I was forced to work 30 hours a week and take an exhausting 2-hour lunch break every day, I'd get real fed up quickly too.

With all the planned grèves, it looks like I'm going to be purchasing a bike ASAP!

(Oh and speaking of demonstrating for a cause, go see Across the Universe! I loved it!)

...UNE SEMAINE!!!

And you thought US borders were tight...

So after reading this article from BBC.com, it seems like border patrol in France under Sarkozy is on track to be a heck of a lot more strict than the United States.

It seems that both countries have similarities in that they're both nervous of neighbors to the south -- Americans of Mexico and the French of Northern African nations.

It's extremely bizarre that the government allows and welcomes foreign language assistants to enter the country and teach their children our native tongues, especially because the more I'm going through this process, the more I'm seeing that I am on the upper end of the spectrum as far as grasp of the language is concerned. And I am by no means fluent yet. Yeah, I can get by, but not at a level I'd like. The few people I've encountered through this process who will also be assistants in a few short weeks only have a quarter/semester or two of the French language under their belts.

And yet, if you're an immigrant from Morocco or Algeria -- I assume this is directed at North Africans -- you might have to pass a French language proficiency and DNA test as well as prove financial stability to gain entrance into the country?

But Americans/English/Germans can easily enter the country with a poor knowledge of the language and hardly any financial stability whatsoever. I guess the traditional thinking is that if you can provide a worthwhile service -- instead of sapping money and jobs out of the economy -- you'll be allowed in.

That seems a little bit out of whack doesn't it?

...12 jours!!!

Ah mon dieu!!!

Someone up there IS listening to me!!!

After the most horrendous experiences with the French consulate in San Francisco I finally have a visa in my hands! I can go to France, it's official!!!!

...Well not quite, I still have to purchase my ticket. But the hardest part is behind me.

Let me just update you on what I had to go through to get this god-forsaken sticker pasted inside my passport. Last time I tried to make an appointment with no avail since the website was down. So after going to the consulate, I was rejected -- three times.

Anyways, I almost kind of gave up on this. Actually, I did give up. I applied for a whole bunch of jobs with minor league baseball teams and sports pages across the country. So if anyone tells me I have a job, I'm probably going to turn it down. Back to my comedy of errors though. Today I'm all ready to go with all of my paperwork; I hop into my car and turn it on... only to hear the engine never actually catch. It keeps trying to start up for a very, very long time. Shit.

Although my mom just left for work an hour before, I begged her to come back home to get me and drop me off at the closest BART station in time so I could get to the city before my 11:00 appointment. But the French gods were out to get me today.

On the way home, my mom apparently encountered some light traffic, basically meaning I'd miss the train I wanted to be on by five or six minutes. Ok, no big deal, I was just praying that I'd make the train to arrive at 10:45 and then walk the 15 minutes to the consulate as fast as my little (BLISTERED) feet would take me.

Two-thirds of the way there, the BART train stopped. Three times! And at this point I'm completely panicking. So we finally get there and I sprinted. It only took me six minutes to get to the consulate from Market Street, which last time took me over 11.

I probably jinxed myself by calling my mom and telling her I had more than 10 minutes and I was going to get my visa without a hitch. She told me to hang up and go get it already. My favorite security guard was standing there and I prayed that he didn't remember me. After some snide little comment I handed him my appointment slip and passport, when he asked, "Do you have a copy of your passport?"

Of course, I have three copies of everything. But I couldn't find them! He told me not to worry, that STA Travel next door made copies. But in true French fashion, they were closed for a three hour lunch. Then my heart starts racing again. He said I could run to the corner of Bush and Market and get a copy made at an Internet café. So I sprinted, despite my burning feet. And I couldn't find the shop. I ran into a UPS store a little farther down the street and located the only copier in the building. Frantically I pressed a million buttons and the machine would not comply with me, nor would the cashier who was blabbing away on his cell phone. Luckily it worked, I threw him a quarter and ran back up the next two blocks -- with my fingers crossed so tightly they were turning purple -- hoping that I'd make it back before 11 a.m.

Instead of wonder and excitement about the French corner of San Francisco with the Tabac and cafés, I cursed it all for mocking me so. Even though I had my camera, I vowed right then and there that regardless of the outcome, I did NOT want photographic reminders of this nightmare to obtain my visa.

Of course, I made it back with five minutes to spare, my heart still racing every document they checked over, because I had a gut-wrenching feeling that I forgot something. But I didn't. So naturally, I stressed myself out a thousand times more than what was necessary.

And after my paperwork was in, I sat down in a chair to wait for them to print out my visa (an unnecessary two hour process!), sweating and trying to catch my breath. And then I found my passport copies -- figures!

At least I got to meet a few other girls who were also in the process of applying for their teaching assistant visas as well. Just talking with them for an hour made me more excited than I ever have been during this entire process! I cannot wait to go to France in one month :)

La choque

I guess I'm going to start August off with a new outlook on my supposed European journey:

Salops.

Today is the day I was supposed to apply for my visa. Read that line very carefully. After getting off BART, I was pleasantly shocked to see San Francisco heavily covered in a chilly layer of fog. But my spirits were up, because soon I was going to have physical evidence of becoming a French resident. As I turned a few corners -- impressed because I was navigating the big city alone, something I've never done before -- my energy seemed to increase as I saw more and more signs I was getting close.

It was as if I had been transported right into the heart of a French metropolitan city. To my right I saw a Tabac sign, just like the ones I grew acustomed to on every street corner in France. On the left, L'Hôtel des Arts and then another small, yet bustling, French café opened its doors to Francophiles along the gray streets of San Francisco.

The tri-color flag just down the street signaled the French consulate and I was gliding on air at that point. Standing in line, my eyes wandered to the consulate's hours of operation sign. My heart raced a little when I read the words "Appointment only." How did I miss that on the website? I triple checked the website to make sure I had all the right papers with me. Two copies and the original of my passport, passport-sized photos, my arrêté de nomination, the visa application and an itinary for my flight. It was all in my envelope, taunting the fact that I was not 100% prepared.

I figured I'd give it a shot anyhow. What's the worst that could happen? I'll stick around after making an appointment in person? Turns out I ran into the rudest security guard I've ever encountered in my life. He spoke neither English nor French very well. After he informed me that I could only make an appointment online, I still wasn't panicing and called my mom to see if she could do it. However, the link was broken.

Trying my luck a second time, I walked up to the security guard and told him the site wasn't working and if I could just please speak to someone who could help me make an appointment in person... But he would have none of it and sent me off, broken-hearted.

I'm beginning to learn a lot about my character as the years go on, because my eyes welled up with giant tears right there on the street. I couldn't hold it in, but by the time they started falling, I was already fleeing the French corner of the city that I so badly wanted to be in.

Now all it stood for was a dream that was always just beyond my grasp. If I'll ever be able to make an appointment, you have to do so three weeks in advance. That takes us to the end of August. Then it takes 2-3 months to process a visa request, which would be about late-October to November -- too late for me to start teaching by my October 1 deadline. I tried calling the program coordinator, but I don't think she can do anything to expidite this process. All I can do now is wait and keep checking the website each day.

So now I'm at a loss once again. Do I schedule my ticket and risk blowing $1,000? Or do I wait until I have my visa to do so and then have to pay close to $2,000 so close to the departure date?

And if I don't go, I know I'll always be wondering what it could have been like, upset at myself for never siezing this chance when in reality it was kind of impossible. Then I'll be stuck in the United States with no job, no place to live and no boyfriend, because in preparation for my departure, we kind of decided to split up in order to lessen the pain that could possibly ensue had I left for France fresh off the break-up. The one thing that's worse than breaking up with someone and not being able to see them because you're thousands of miles away is being only 300 miles away, without him.

So that means that right now I'm heart-broken without a good cause. And the only thing that could make me feel a little better about that fact is slipping away from me.