It is sometimes easy to forget that these are still early days.
Early days of our marriage. Early days of living in Europe. Early days of adopting to a totally new culture and language. It is easy to become frustrated with the things that were so easy to do a few months ago in our home country - like calling to make an appointment for a doctor, or picking up a ginormous bottle of Advil from the 24-hour CVS around the corner, or telling the cable company that our cable box keeps turning itself inexplicably (and demonically) on and off, or expecting to be able to open a bank account without multiple in-person meetings where we sign reams of paper. Here, everything appears similar enough to be normal; but in reality, things are deceptively, and dramatically different. For example, over the past few months, both Michael and I have experienced our fair share of doctor visits. Some of it is just the normal cycle of developing a winter/spring cold, or continuing to deal with my eye issue, or encountering new allergens and pollution that come with moving to a new city. But the very last thing you want to deal with in a new country is not feeling well. It's easy enough to get a referral to an English-speaking doctor, but there is no guarantee that his/her receptionist speaks English (they usually don't), or that you can figure out how to get into the building once you find the address (turns out, you push the golden button and the door magically unlocks during business hours). And the trips to the pharmacy with our long list of medicaments requires us to visit a new pharmacy every few days so as not to feel like the local American invalids. I had an appointment with an allergist earlier today. When I arrived at the reception desk, I realized that I had forgotten how to spell my name in French. Yep, that actually happened. I know that these things will get easier, and keep reminding myself that we've really only been here a few short months. But sometimes, I really want to be at the point where the little things become little things again. These past few weeks have also led me to remember the moment when I learned the Italian word for "foreigner" - straniero - and how I felt so offended at the time for being judged as "strange" just because I was from another country. But today, I completely understand what they mean - strange just really means different, which is true in so many big and little ways.
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Yesterday would have definitely been a great day to visit the Louvre. If we had, we could have witnessed a dozen sheep storming the Louvre. More accurately, they were being pushed and dragged by group of angry French farmers protesting proposed reforms to the EU's Common Agricultural Policy. I love how they brought a sheep dog along to make sure everyone was appropriately herded. I really should add a category for crazy French protests to this blog.
This afternoon, our building elevator decided to stop between the 3rd and 4th floors. With us in it. I was taking this picture when the operator started speaking to us, but I think it perfectly illustrates what was going on. And if a picture is worth a thousand words, then this must be what my French sounded like on the receiving end.
Don't worry though - we made it out. Last time we were stuck in an elevator, we were rescued by a cowboy. This time, it was our slightly-obnoxious teenage neighbor who encouraged us to open the door, press another number... and voila, the elevator kicked into gear and ascended to the 4th floor. It seems like every time we step out the front door, an awkward moment is just waiting to happen :) Ah, life. For those of you who have known me for a while, you may have noticed that I started wearing glasses over the past year. Actually, it's not so much that I've started wearing glasses, as I've stopped wearing contacts. Why, you ask!? Well, my old friend allergies came knocking on the door last summer with a gift of allergic conjunctivitis. Much like its contagious cousin - which is caused by a virus, not allergies - it's a stinker of an affliction to get rid of. At first I thought I was having a reaction to a new type of contact lens. When I went back to the US optometrist last June, she flipped my eyelids inside out (yes, they do this on purpose), and diagnosed the problem as conjunctivitis. I had to stop wearing contacts immediately and start taking steroid drops - four times per day, for a month. After said month, I went back to wearing contacts. However, the problem persisted, so I consulted a second optometrist. Same diagnosis, same treatment... same outcome. The second round of steroid drops was no more effective than the first. At this point, the problem is getting a bit more than irritating as I had gotten the job offer for Paris and wanted to get this thing taken care of ASAP. So off I go to a third US doctor - an opthamologist this time - and was again prescribed the same drops. Only this time, I get two bottles instead of one, and am wished a bon voyage et bon courage! Needless to say, it hasn't worked either, and steroid drops are not exactly meant for long-term use. But now we live in France, and it was time for me to experience the best health care system in the world, at least according to the World Health Organization. It was actually shocking to discover the US ranked 37th, tied with Costa Rica. Granted, the last time the WHO ranked countries was in 2000, but my guess is that things haven't changed all that much since then. Maybe the Affordable Care Act will start to make a difference, but these things take time to truly change. Anyway, back to my saga. So after getting a recommendation from a colleague for an opthamologist here in Paris, I mustered the courage to call her office to schedule an appointment. Talk about anxiety - the only thing worse than speaking a foreign language you don't know very well is doing it over the phone. The French doctor diagnosed the same persistent problem, but instead of being prescribed my typical bottle of steroids, I was sent to the pharmacy with a long list of meds. On the left above, you'll find my all-too-familiar bottle of steroid drops from the US. It's small and mighty - but for me, ineffective and potentially damaging to keep using for months on end.
And on the right, you'll find the bag of goodies prescribed here in France. It was the same diagnosis, but what a radically different approach to treatment. I have heard from others here that it is not uncommon to leave a French pharmacy with a bag full of meds for any given ailment. I was also referred to an allergist to see if they could determine what is actually causing the issue in the first place. The last time I had an allergy test I was probably 10 years old; sadly, I'm allergic to most things on Earth, so we'll just have to wait and see how that one goes. Do I think my eye issue will be solved better here in Paris? I have no idea, and this has been a problem for so long that I'm a bit cynical that anything is going to work. Is our medical coverage here better than it was in the US? Absolutely. And we had pretty damn good insurance working for the federal government. Here, it's less expensive, and more flexible. And every time I have been to the doctor (a few times now), I have had about 30 minutes to talk with the doc directly - never with an assistant or nurse. There is even a set rate for a home visit for those on national health insurance. I can't even imagine a doctor offering home visits in the US - I'm sure it happens, but not that I've ever seen. In many ways, this feels like what healthcare should be about - taking time to address the health of the patient, and not worrying about the revenue that can be generated from a specific procedure, or how many people can be rotated through the office in an hour, or by proscribing higher-cost brand-name drugs instead of ones that have generic alternatives (which I discovered happened to me with another medication back in the US). I'm sure there are down sides to every system, but we're at least off to a good start here in France. For our second mini-honeymoon in France, we stayed local and headed to Euro Disney, which just happens to be located in the burbs of Paris about an hour east on the RER commuter train. I spent a lot of time at the original Disneyland in California growing up, and throughout college. Monday evenings in October with my girls were the best, but Saturdays at Carnation Plaza also hold a very special place in my heart. Michael and I spent a full day at the Park when we were in California a few months ago (thanks Mom!) - which was incredibly crowded, but also felt a bit like going home. In other words, Disneyland Paris had a lot to live up to, especially if it was going to be the location of mini-honeymoon #2, and the occasion to celebrate four months of marriage to this guy. Maybe it was the fantastic weather, with a definite sense of spring in the air; or the wonderfully-sane and manageable crowds; or just that good old magical Disney feeling that is probably induced by fairy dust when you walk through the entrance to the Park. Whatever it was, we had an awesome time.
A few highlights:
Check out a few more photos here. When I come home from work, and see this on the wall just inside our apartment building... I just can't help but imagine that the Lumière of my childhood is inviting me to be... his... GUEST! After months of rain, clouds, and temperatures hovering near freezing, this weekend brought some beautiful weather to Paris. I think this is actually the longest stretch of weather we have seen without rain since moving here.
Our first treat was getting to open up the windows in the apartment to enjoy an amazing cross-breeze. Too bad this old building wouldn't handle us hanging a hammock in the living room. Oh, well - next apartment. But the real party started when we stepped outside. It was one of those weekends where absolutely everyone in the city seemed to come out of winter hibernation to populate each and every cafe in Paris. This is going to be a good first spring living here, I can just feel it :) We went to a new restaurant for dinner last night that was recommended by a Parisian colleague at work who used to live in our neighborhood. It was an occasion to celebrate, as Michael handed in his first project as an independent contractor earlier in the day - I couldn't be prouder, so a glass of champagne was in order! And as the name implies, Au Petit Sud Ouest specializes in cuisine from the Southwest region of France. Cassoulet, fois gras, duck confit, and well, anything of the duck or goose variety are popular dishes from the region. They are reproduced to perfection in this small neighborhood restaurant 7 minutes from our apartment. Yes, those are geese on my wine glass, and that is a toaster on our table! Every table in the house has a toaster for crisping up slices of bread that will serve as the vessel for the evening's generous helping of fois gras (which I know I shouldn't love, but I CAN'T HELP IT!!).
Shane - whenever you come come to Paris, we will go straight to this restaurant from the airport. This can be your In-N-Out of Paris. Au Petit Sud Ouest 46 Avenue de la Bourdonnais 75007 Paris 01 45 55 59 59 I have been waiting for the trees to blossom in Paris for weeks.
And finally, today, I saw my first full-blown blossom explosion. Warmer weather and sunshine cannot come soon enough! And all of Paris showed up. Through a connection at work (the agriculture part of my "trade and agriculture" job), Michael and I received two free tickets to attend this year's Salon Internationale d'Agriculture. To be honest, we didn't really know what we were getting ourselves into, other than repeatedly hearing, "Oh, you have to go - it's such a Parisian thing to do!!" So naturally, as newcomers to Paris with free tickets to attend and an open Saturday afternoon, we headed to the Porte de Versailles Exhibition Center yesterday to check it out. From the moment we got off the metro, we were a bit shocked at the sheer number of people headed into the event. Once we got inside, we were completely overwhelmed with the crowds of people pushing their way through aisles of vendors and various animal exhibits. Neither of us like crowds, and this was perhaps the busiest exhibit either of us have ever been to. There were a total of seven or eight massive pavilion floors, representing the country's agricultural industry from farm to table. Visitors could get up close and personal with horses, pigs, cows, crops, wine, cheese, tractors, and of course stalls tended by ranchers, growers and producers. The ginormous prize-winning cows appeared to be the main attraction. And one could see why - here were a bunch of city-folk encountering animals that they typically only see on a dinner menu; us included. It certainly shed new light for me on what a "Blonde Aquitaine" steak actually meant (the lovely Ms. cow above). It did seem a bit insensitive, though, to have the cows situated right next to an artisan butcher. Educational for humans, yes, but perhaps a bit too soon for poor Bessy. In addition to all the farm animals on display, the other main attraction seemed to be the huge pavilion dedicated to food and drink from the various regions in France. Which would have been fantastic had there been maybe a quarter of the humans present. I took photos of the stalls, but it was just too packed to stop and taste anything, or to struggle through basic French while discussing the delicacies of regional cuisine. We stayed for a grand total of one hour, which was about 55 minutes longer than either of us really wanted to stay.
But, we did it! And thereby experienced something that apparently Parisians enjoy doing. Though how anyone could enjoy anything with so many damn people everywhere, neither of us could possibly begin to say. |
AuthorBecause why not get married and move to Paris to really kick off your thirties? Archives
December 2016
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