Friday, September 21
This turned out to be one of those rainy and cold days when
you only stay outside for long periods of time if you really have to. The
business administrator of my residence hall suggested that I stop by his office
to fill out paperwork stating that I’m young and poor and should receive partial
rent reimbursement from the government. I was glad he was there to help me
understand what was going on because I’d read about this program in advance,
but I probably would’ve filled some things out incorrectly on my own. The funny
part was when he randomly said: (in English) “Oh! What is ‘whisper’?” In my
head, I was like, I don’t see how that
relates to any of these forms.... But then he said that he had been
listening to the radio in English that morning and had become very frustrated
upon hearing a word that he didn’t understand. I was glad that this was one of
those “fun” words (to use Will Ferrell’s expression from the movie Elf) that has always stuck with me from
my French classes, so I was able to provide an immediate translation: « chuchoter. »
After this, I continued out into the rain to work on my
original goals of setting up a bank account and phone service. Oh! I forgot to
tell you that the Wifi in my room is working a little better now as long as I
log-in to our residence hall’s online community every time that I turn on my
computer instead of just trying to access the Internet right away. This seems
to give me at least 15-20 minutes or so of reliable signal, which was enough
for me to figure out the location and hours of the allegedly international branch
of the bank I needed. The weird thing was that I was going to pass the central
branch of said bank just a few blocks before the international one, so I took
note of both addresses before heading out.
There was no questioning when I arrived at the very imposing
structure that served as the central branch of this-very-major-French-bank-that-shall-remain-nameless.
I felt like some serious business must go down within those four walls! I
approached the reception desk and stated in my most polite French that I wanted
to open an account. The lady just said, “Oui….” I was like, Hmm, didn’t know this was a full-fledged
interview. I told her a little more about my circumstances, and she wanted
to see proof of residency. Now I had a folder full of stuff in my hands, but
none of the paperwork was “official” enough in her mind to show that I really
did live at the residence hall. I’d only received a handwritten receipt when I
paid my rent upon arrival and then I had the paperwork from the government rent
reimbursement program that I had just filled out prior to coming to the bank.
The most legit item I could show them was the proof of renter’s insurance with
my address on it, which was funny (tenuous, even) because that hinged upon my
establishing a bank account in France. I was expecting to be sent packing, or
at least to the international branch down the street, but she said that someone
would see me and gestured to a desk nearby. That was especially odd because
there were other people waiting in the lobby. But I wasn’t going to ask twice.
Soon I was seated with two French bankers (a man who looked
very familiar and a woman) who asked me 50 million questions about what I was
doing here and wanted to see just about every piece of paper that I had brought
with me, especially regarding my job.
When I mentioned that I would be receiving additional money beyond my
teacher’s assistant salary, they seemed to brighten up, and the man asked if it
would be from the Franco-American Commission. I think that my affirmative
answer somehow helped keep the conversation moving forward. I was proud that I
was able to hold my own during this whole interview process, and I got more
compliments on my French. There was only one part when I couldn’t remember a
word fast enough and felt embarrassed because I had just learned it in Business
French during the Spring 2012 term. The banker asked me if I wanted a « compte
d’épargne » and as I was repeating it to myself he said in thickly-accented
English “savings account.” I think I said out loud, “I knew that!” in French.
They were just like, “Ok….”
After they decided that I was legit, it was just a lot of
signing papers to open a young person’s checking account. It’s interesting that
you have to write out the phrase “Read and approved” above your signature on
official forms here; they made me do that at the residence hall too. Even
though I told the bankers that I could get whatever proof of housing they needed,
they decided instead to go ahead and set up the account on a conditional basis
and mail something to me at my address that I will have to sign and send back.
They also said that they have a partnership with a major phone company that
will help me get a discount on a phone and/or plan as one of their customers as
long as I can wait for my address to be validated, which will probably take
until the end of next week. By the end of my time there, I had figured out why
the male banker, who I think was an intern or something for the female one,
looked so familiar: his face and hairstyle were exact replicas of Zac Efron’s.
I couldn’t help but smile to myself as we finished up the meeting.
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| Tea at the UGA-themed restaurant :) |
At this point, it was really cold and raining pretty hard,
so I ended up stopping in a restaurant that was on my way back to the residence
hall to get something warm to drink. I’m not much of a coffee or tea person,
but this was one of the best pots of tea that I’ve ever had. Plus there was a
nice view of a major roundabout from the window where I was seated…so I ended
up ordering some food in order to give me a reason to people-watch longer.
Besides, I didn’t have anything other than breakfast food awaiting me in the
fridge, and I wasn’t in the mood to carry home groceries in the rain. I
realized after a little while that I must’ve picked that café because of the
red and black décor – Go Dawgs! Speaking of UGA, one of the buses that passed
by the window had an ad for a movie called Kirikou:
hommes et femmes, which I assume is a sequel to the Kirikou movie that we watched in my FREN 3010H class freshmen year.
This is weird how stuff from my classes keeps popping up. And I haven’t even
told you the half of it!
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| My view of a rainy roundabout as I ate |
Saturday, September 22
So if yesterday was sedentary, today was active to the
extreme. At one point, my lower back, feet, and
right-knee-that-used-to-give-me-trouble-when-I-ran-track were all hurting, and
I realized that I had been walking around for several hours without stopping
and needed a break. Basically, my goals for today were to re-visit my old
stomping grounds from my month in Paris as a high schooler in 2006 and to see
some of the touristy stuff that would remind me that I’m actually here in this
world-famous city. Spoiler alert: both of these goals were duly achieved.
I woke up at a pretty reasonable time this morning,
especially considering the fact that it was a Saturday, and went to the kitchen
to have breakfast. There was actually someone else there – a native of France –
so I had to rev my foreign language engine right away. As I ate my cereal
(called Frosties instead of Frosted Flakes), she asked me about my family and how
I’d heard about the residence hall and told me about how its central location
is ideal. She also asked me if I’d packed my winter clothing because she didn’t
think that the weather in Atlanta was like that in Paris (correct assumption).
In fact, she said that in the south of France where she’s from, people go
swimming through the end of October whereas here she has already seen girls
pulling out their boots and winter coats. She was like, “It’s cold, but it’s not
that cold!” [I agree that some people look overdressed, but it got pretty nippy
in the rain yesterday and can be chilly even just in the evenings.] I then made
the mistake of saying that I’d heard of her region of France in one of my
classes, and she got excited, which meant that I had to continue that thread of
conversation. I was like, “Yeah, in my Business French class we talked about
the main things that people do (for a living) in the different areas of the
country.” She was like, “Do you remember what our specialty is?” My brain
started racing. I was like, “Did you say you were from Prôvence-Alpes-Côte-d’Azur?
Isn’t that tourism?” Thankfully, she said yes. She said something about her
region having the best sand or something and there being tons of (« vâchement
d’ ») Americans there all the time. She also said that the trend/dream
among young women in France right now is going to America or Australia to be a
nanny (au-pair). It’s funny because I tend to think about that dream existing
in the opposite direction (from America to France) and had never heard of the
Australia part.
After a map consultation, I headed off to conquer the Métro for
the first time in 6 years. I walked to Notre-Dame-de-Lorette on line 12 instead
of Cadet because of my destination; they are about equidistant from where I
live. I’m glad I asked for advice from the station attendant before purchasing
anything because he suggested getting a youth day ticket for today (Sat 9/22)
and another for tomorrow (Sun 9/23) then buying a weekly pass for Monday
9/24-Sunday 9/30 and monthly ones thereafter. I hadn’t noticed the youth day
tickets that are only valid on weekends and holidays on the chart so that was a
much better option that the 1-, 3-, or 5-day Paris Visit passes I was looking
at. The attendant said that I’ll need a card to get the weekly and monthly passes
and that I needed to go to a full-fledged ticket agency in order to get one. He
called ahead and sent me from Notre-Dame-de-Lorette to Pigalle, which was only
2 stops away, albeit in the opposite direction from which I had planned to
travel. As I waited on the Pigalle attendant to return to the window from
elsewhere in the station, I read more about this card that I was attempting to
obtain and started to see that this encounter wasn’t going to go well. You see,
the sign said that the Navigo card is free to those who reside and/or work in
the Paris (specifically, Ile-de-France) area. I had a feeling that I would have
to prove such a claim in order to obtain the card. And…I was correct. Actually
the lady said that working there wasn’t good enough. I needed (drum roll,
please) proof of residence in order to get the card onto which the weekly/monthly
Métro passes would be loaded. So the bottom line is that I’ll have to ask for some
kind of documentation showing that I live in the residence hall on Monday,
besides the handwritten note saying that I paid partial rent for September. And
hey, maybe I’ll swing by the bank and show it to them just for kicks to see
what happens.
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| The park! |
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| My old front door! |
Anyway, I used my youth day ticket, which cost €3.55,
to get around town today. (You can consult a Métro map and decide if it was worth
it by the end of my tale.) From Pigalle, I went waaaaay across town on the
other side of the river to Volontaires on line 12. As I mentioned before, I
came to Paris in 2006 for a month through International Seminar Series: Service
Learning in Paris and had one of those life-changing experiences that cannot be
described in a few words. As a matter of fact, I talked a lot about what I did
back then when preparing my application for what I’m doing (or about to do)
right now. So there’s definitely a connection. Volontaires was my old Métro
stop. As soon as I headed up the stairs, my body knew what to do. Of course,
like I said earlier, I had looked at a map in advance, but I totally recognized
where I was as I emerged from underground. There was a sign for I guess what we
would call a corner or convenience store (« Tabac ») right in front
of me, and I knew to turn right onto Rue de Vaugirard. There were other
familiar places like the post office and shops here and there. Then I reached a
corner with a hair salon and thought about all of the Black women who have
asked me where I am going to get my hair done in France to which I have
responded that I have already given it one shot at a salon right by where I
lived in ‘06. I can’t say for sure whether this was the same exact chain or
whatever, but it was still a hair salon. I almost forgot to turn down this
street (Rue Bargue) because the name of it was not the name of the street I
lived on (Rue Tessier), but then I remembered that the front door of my building
was on the other side of the block. After I passed by a couple of vacant stores
(a lot has changed since 2006 for everyone, I guess), I saw a very-familiar
laundry room in the basement of the corner building and an-even-more-familiar
park in front of me as I turned onto Rue Tessier.
Before spending time in the park (which is apparently called
Square Necker), I went around the other side of the block back out to the main
road (Rue de Vaugirard) to see if my go-to bakery was still there. It was, and
I got the €6.50
(or €6,50
as they write it in French) special which was a sandwich, dessert, and drink. I
went back to the park and ate there as I had done many a time before. There were
lots of little kids playing, so I had to stay alert to avoid getting hit in the
head with a ball. I also saw my first of three games of « boules » for
the day. It was weird being back there at Résidence LeJeune, which is
actually kind of similar to where I’m living now except that I had my own complete
bathroom attached to my much smaller room, and everyone in the building shared
the same kitchen, as far as I know. I had forgotten, though, that this was a
hall reserved for nurses, as the writing above the door announced, except for
during the summer when American teenagers invaded it.
From there, I went one stop to Pasteur to change to line 6
and then got off at Bir-Hakeim to see the Eiffel Tower. I kind of just wanted
to know that it was there, relatively close to me. As soon as I got off the
train, I saw all of my “beautiful, beautiful Black men,” to use Nikki Giovanni’s
language, selling every Eiffel Tower souvenir you could possibly imagine. That’s
not to say that I haven’t seen Black men, women, and children everywhere around
the city, by the way; I’m just saying that’s who was in charge of this hustle.
I didn’t have to go far before I could look up and see the icon of Paris right
there in front of me. I walked to a bench at the base of the Tower to enjoy my
dessert while observing all of the tourists going to and fro. Lemme tell ya,
Americans are easy to pick out by the way we talk, dress, walk, and everything
else. I felt like I was back at UGA on Tate Plaza when I went around to the
area where people were lining up to ride up the Tower and found people with signs
around their necks offering “Free Hugs” / « Câlins Gratuits ».
I walked across the park adjacent to the Tower (Champs du
Mars) partly in order to get a better view but also because I wanted to know
what the fancy building on the other side was. I managed to snap a few solo
shots of myself with the Eiffel Tower in the background in spite of the crowded
photo area. There was a group of cyclists at the end of the park that had just
finished riding in support of finding a cure for strokes, I guess, and they
were all cheering as they took their victory shot. I couldn’t really figure out
what the building was except that it had some military-sounding term on one of
its wings, but I guess I should’ve put two and two together when I boarded the
Métro
at the École
Militaire (Military School) stop. From there, I rode to Concorde, changed back
to line 12, and got off at Abbesses in order to check out Montmartre.
I followed the signs for the funicular that takes you to the
top of this great hilly area and was delighted to learn that the fare for this
ride was included in the pass that I had already purchased to ride the subway.
As I prepared to board the car, I heard someone – an adult – crying like it was
the end of the world. I turned to see a girl sitting near the exit of the
funicular with her purse and other bags spread out in her lap as she explained (in
French) through sobs to her significant other that someone had pickpocketed her
and made off with her « pièce d’identité (ID), carte vitale » and
more. I’m not 100% of what the second item is equivalent to, but I know that if
I had something called a “vital card” in my wallet, I wouldn’t want it stolen.
This was a very sad reminder that I was spending my day in ground zero of
tourist land and needed to make sure I kept tabs on all of my stuff.
At the top of the hill, I had a great view of the city. I
also got a little too trigger-happy and took a picture of the reservoir that you
can see right as you exit the funicular thinking that it was an important
church. Hey, it looked fancy enough! I did go inside of the Church of St.
Pierre de Montmartre and the famous Basilique du Sacré Cœur, which I had visited in
2006. Oh! But what I forgot to tell you was that before I rounded the corner to
get on the funicular, I saw a poster for a gospel choir concert that was
happening this evening at a church in central Paris, and I was like, Get out of town! I had already been
wondering where I would attend service in the morning to get a taste of home,
but this would definitely do the trick if the choir was any good. I saw the
flyer like 800 more times in Montmartre, so it wasn’t hard to remember the
information; I just didn’t know if it was sold out yet. So my new plan, instead
of walking back towards the residence hall from Montmartre, was to get
something to eat that I could take with me to the 1er arrondissement
(district where the concert was being held) and figure out what the deal was
with tickets before sitting down to eat somewhere nearby.
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| The funicular ascending the hill to Montmartre |
So, armed with a crêpe and Coke to-go, I left Montmartre
from the Abbesses station, changed to line 14 at the Madeleine station (instead
of the crazy St. Lazare one), and went one stop to Pyramides. I figured this
out while seated in the Sacré Cœur church, by the way, so I did my
best to look like a pro instead of a tourist when I was actually on the train
and/or in the station. I did have to consult a map when exiting the Pyramides
stop; things get tricky when there are multiple ways out from underground and
you just have to go with the flow of the crowd sometimes. As soon as I saw
where I was, I headed to St. Rochelle Church on Rue de St. Honoré,
which is where the concert was being held. They were still having evening mass
led by a priest with a very thick African accent, so there was no one providing
any information about the concert at that time. Actually, an Asian woman came
running up to me and said in very labored
English that she was interested in attending the concert and wanted more
information. I was basically like, “Me too, babe.” (I get “babe” from riding in
the car with my brother and hearing him refer to other cars/drivers that way.
So now if a car cuts me off in traffic, a masculine voice in my head says, “Come
on, babe!” Of course, it’s really only the first two letters that are
pronounced, to be accurate…)
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| Orsay and Eiffel Tower (right) across Seine; no bateau-mouche |
Anyway, I ended up going like a block away to a very
well-known park – the Jardin des Tuileries – to eat while killing time. I went
back and got a ticket without any trouble. I guess I was kind of surprised by
the fact that it was like paying for a real concert; I was kind of expecting…I
dunno, like a 5 euro donation. I mean, weren’t they singing for the Lord? Well,
they had some people paying €30 to sit up front! Even though I wasn’t
one of those people, I still wanted to come back relatively soon to get a good
seat. While sitting in the garden, I had realized exactly where I was, so I
went back and walked to the bridge overlooking the Seine River that flows
through town and saw both the Eiffel Tower and the Musée (Museum) d’Orsay across the
water. I think there was even a bateau-mouche (tourist boat) going by at that
time, which reminded me of a phrase from the French in Action series that we
had to memorize when learning some grammatical structure. A « si » (if) clause, I think. « Et
si on allait (something…prendre ?) sur un bateau-mouche ? » Hmm,
can’t remember. Anyway, from there I walked in front of the Louvre with
its iconic pyramidal entrance. By this point I was singing part of the Kanye
West/Jay-Z song “In Paris” in my head: “Excuse my French, but I’m in France!!!!”
(I think those lyrics come right before my absolute favorite part of that song: my interpretation of the lyrics - “Prince Williams had it wrong if you ask me: If I was him I would’ve Mary Kate
and Ashley.”)
Soooo back to the concert. I did get a good seat. At first I
was disappointed that the soloists didn’t have mics, but most of them were
loud. Oh, and as a novice drummer, I kind of wished that there had been a drum
set in the house in addition to the keyboard and saxophone. But besides that,
the group was pretty good. They really had me going when they did “Total
Praise.” They started saying, “You are the source of my strength! You are the strength
of my life!” in perfect harmony, and I felt like standing up. However, I
decided to stand up in my soul because everyone around me was just trying to
understand the words and see what was going on, so it wasn’t the right time.
They also did “O Happy Day” and “When the Saints Go Marching In” with full
audience participation in addition to some traditional African chants and other
selections. It was so interesting to hear them talking and singing like members
of an African-American church choir but then greeting the audience in perfect French.
I was like, Somebody’s been listening to
some gospel CD’s and doing some spot-on imitation. It was a fun and random
thing to do, though, smack-dab in the heart of Paris. And yes, Mom, I got right
on the Métro
at Pyramides and went right home to Cadet on line 7, which I had already
planned out in advance and knew how to do since I knew it would be dark when
the concert let out ;)
