Restored Hope

And I haven't even visited the newly-opened Starbuck's! I figured out some things yesterday. I got up early, put on my Nikes, Patagonia jacket and J.Crew sweatpants, and I marched out the door like a true American to power-walk the streets and gardens of Paris. The air was cool and heavy with dusk's fog that hadn't yet been burned off by the sun. I left my iPod behind and just breathed deeply and let my mind wander, knowing I needed to figure out a solution to this funk I've been in. My friend Matty sent me an email wondering how I could possibly be feeling down in "the best city in the world" and as I walked down small cobblestone streets, past boulangeries with shining lights, emitting a melange of smells from the sweet breads and bitter coffee, I realized that I truly am in the best city in the world. People were out walking their dogs, carrying briefcases to work, their perfume still fresh, their hair still perky, their clothes still pressed. The streets were still wet from the night's washing, and as I rounded the corner to the entrance of the grand Jardin des Tuleries, I saw the Eiffel Tower still encased in fog to my left, the rounded metal rooftops so characteristic of Paris to my right, and the gleaming gold tip of the Concord pillar in front of me at the far end of the garden. Expanses of garden stretched out in front of me as men were already out trimming rows of hedges and tilling up the soil plots which soon will be planted with spring flowers. I noticed a tent being constructed along one side of the garden, and two men were installing a piece of modern art in a section of the garden seemingly dedicated to such (as the rest of the garden is full of marble statues obtained by Napoleon in his many conquests). I found two reflecting pools I didn't know existed, and on my way back through the Palais Royale garden, the large center fountain had been turned on and chairs had been unstacked for petit-dejuner at the various cafes lining the streets along my route.

Not only did I realize that morning walks may be the solution, but it also occurred to me that all this time I've been trying to fit in, I've also removed myself from the position I was in when I fell in love with Paris in the first place. I loved it for everything that made it so Parisian--the cafes with chalkboard signs advertising cafe and croissants, the sweeping art-deco design style, the beautiful buildings with wrought-iron balconies and expansive gardens with chairs set around the grass, flowers, and fountains. The little shops and tiny alley-ways and hidden staircases. And as I have worked to create my life here, trying hard to cease being and looking and acting like a "tourist", my senses have numbed to those things which thrill me about Paris. So as my morning walks will take me through different parts of the city, in my American walking gear, I will constantly be reminded of all those things that brought me here in the first place.

Today's medical appointment also restored some much-needed hope in the whole French way of doing things. Luckily I was in the first group of people for the day, but I was told where to wait, I was called promptly, they took an x-ray picture of my lungs (seen here, yes...I just love that I get to keep my proof of healthy lungs!), I spoke with a doctor who asked a number of questions and took my blood pressure, and then the receptionist explained the papers I was given and the process for buying "stamps" for my "titre de sejour" (residence permit). I walked to a nearby tabac to buy the stamps, went back to the building to see another woman behind a different desk to hand in all my necessary papers, and she told me when I could return to pick up my official (final!) "titre de sejour". Everybody was helpful and pleasant, and I was finished with everything in under 2 hours. As I exited the metro near my apartment, x-ray envelope and French newspaper in hand, I just started laughing. I am official. Everything is real--I'm living here, I have papers, I can come and go as I want for the next year and I made it through the process. And it wasn't so bad afterall.

That's the thing about slumps. When you crawl out of one, you can look back and say it wasn't so rough. It is even cold, gray and raining a bit today, but all of it feels good. I will meet my friend Henderson in a bit to make our "connaissance" with the Starbucks on my street, and then I will go to class. I do not have phonetics today, so I might even use my movie pass to catch a film this evening, especially if it's still raining. As Leah would say, the world is my French oyster, and I need to not forget it!

Sometimes a Starbucks just Helps

I need spring. Tomorrow is the first official day, and I have high hopes that it will help propel me out of the winter doldrums of inactivity, gray skies, and complacency. Okay, perhaps that's a bit dramatic, but I'm definitely needing a helping hand, as the "shine" of living abroad is waning. I am dreading my medical visit in 2 days, (yet another visa-extending process) as I've already been warned that I will be there for hours. On one hand I love that this is "normal" for me: that I bought a movie pass, have a French bank account, informed my landlord that I would move out early to search for a new apartment for next year and I'm looking into 1-year cell phone contracts that will give me a better price than pay-as-I-go. I found an interesting ballet that I want to see this Saturday, I discovered an equestrian performance at Versaille, and I just wrote down information on numerous temporary exhibits around the city that I want to catch. I'm in class every day, I have people to call, places to go, etc. BUT it's just not the same as being able to do the simple, every-day things that I miss about home. I miss walking across Wicker Park. I want to spend a Saturday afternoon shopping with my mom, and last night when my brothers called me from a Notre Dame benefit dinner they attended with my dad and the Foley's, I just really really missed being able to participate in those things. To see Josh's new office, to see how big Scout as gotten, to have coffee at Laetitia's with Leah, to drive up to Plymouth on a Sunday. To ride through the country, or take the time to go ride Mac, to visit my grandma and see my cousins. Sometimes I feel like I have to fill my time here, like because I'm here I need to be exploring and seeing and doing and trying new things. And it's exciting, but I remember feeling this way when I was in Zimbabwe too. After a while, despite how amazing and thankful I was/am to be doing something life-changing and experience-stretching, living in a different country isn't always roses. And I guess it shouldn't be. That's why, despite being rather anti-Starbucks at home, I can't hide my excitement that a Starbucks is about to open in two days at the end of my pedestrian street! Spring really is coming, I'm certain.

Manifestations

The Paris police are once again parked on certain streets in mass quantities. A new wave of "manifestations" (French for "protests") have lead to closing universities and lycees (the last 2 years of high school) for the last 2 days of last week, culminating in a sit-in at the Sorbonne which was stormed and evacuated by the police using tear gas and riot shields on Saturday. (In fact, I just got off the phone with Molly who lives near St.-Michele and she said there is rioting going on outside her building right now with things getting thrown and broken and tons of police who can't seem to stop any of it!)

Here's what's going on: the French Prime Minister proposed a new law replacing the current job contract for young workers with a new one. The new one--CPE (translated meaning first employment contract)--allows businesses to fire workers under 26 years old within the first 2 years of their employment without giving any reason or justification and without having to pay out any of the usual social security benefits. The old contract gave young workers a lot more security but, of course, made firing somebody who wasn't doing a good job nearly impossible for the employer. The idea behind this new contract is that employers will be more willing to hire/take a risk on young workers if they know they're not bound to keep them. This is a huge issue in France right now where the overall unemployment rate is nearly 10% and the jobless rate for young people (under 26) is 23% (although I've heard figures as high as 40%). This new contract will take effect in April, as it was recently approved by the National Assembly. The young people, of course, see this as a complete disregard for their voice, as it's an issue directly pertaining to them but without any possible way of having a voice in its approval. And here, protests are not unusual, as they are upholding the very-French revolutionary style of solidarity against the government.

The irony in all of this, however, is that the vast majority of the young "jobless" are those of immigrant decent living in the banlieu where the "civil unrest" took place in October. However, they're not the ones protesting. It's the kids in the universities and lycees. I talked with my friend Melanie about it last week; she's 24 and finishing her university studies this June. She's worried about not getting a job in her field (and this new contract is supposed to spur the sluggish French economy), and yet she doesn't want to lose any of the individual rights that she says sets France apart from so many other countries where people aren't protected by their government. Then in talking to Molly, whose husband's family owns the cafe, I hear their concerns over how difficult it is to run a business effectively when it's so difficult to fire somebody who's not doing their job. There are so many papers that need filing, so many statements and corroborations, that there's no incentive to take risks on hiring new employment. In my opinoin, this is where those in the banlieu are at a disadvantage. They're not the people whose friends and family own larger businesses that can hire them. So for the most part, I can see how they stand to benefit from a shifting of governmental regulations to an emphasis on personal responsibility.

Hearing these different arguments makes me think a middle ground exists in there somewhere. France, in my opinion, is too "socialist" in their policies, while the US doesn't necessarily provide coverage. In France, for example, if you are fired from your job, the government pays you 65% of your total salary for the next 2 years. And in fact, I believe that you only have to have held that job for 4 or 5 months before you qualify for all the social security benefits. (Here "social security" encompasses national healthcare, sickness and maternity benefits, unemployment, and retirement.) People in France are reimbursed for 90% of their medical expenses (including prescriptions), they have long maternity leaves, they have many protections in their job contracts (not to mention that they work 35-hour weeks and get a minimum of 5 weeks holiday per year, although I'm not sure if it's paid or partly-paid holiday time). I think many Americans would like just a fraction of those benefits. The overall way of life is undoubtedly affected by these issues, and that of course has its pros and cons too. People are much more leisurely and relaxed here, enjoying their food and wine and engaging in good conversations. They don't scarf down Big Macs in the car on a 30-minute lunch break, and they walk a whole lot more (I mean, I know I'm over-simplifying, but these are just some obvious examples!) Yet as I've also experienced over and over again, there's not the same "hustle" when it comes to getting anything done. You'll wait in a line here to do just about everything. (Okay, these aren't Russian bread-buying lines...but having just been to the prefecture today, I'm jaded on the amount of time and rigmarole it takes to get stuff done here!) In fact, a friend of mine who lost a computer in the mail (yes...a whole desk-top computer!) was told by a postal employee that 40% of packages sent from France to the US turn up "lost in transit"! (Um, they have a full-time employee dedicated to hand-writing into a ledger the tracking numbers of lost packages in Paris alone!) So...yes, there must be a happy balance. I have no solutions just yet, but I'm certainly learning a lot in the process...and in the meantime, I've already seen one manifestation, and I'll probably see more in the next few days, but I'm going to observe from a safe distance!

An Amazing Woman

So much has happened since my last posting, but this isn't the time to discuss any of it! Right now there's just one thing on my mind: the incredible time I had with my mom and Paul when they visited me for the past week!

I know I've been missing my family lately, so I was a kid before Christmas in the days before my mom and Paul arrived. They arrived last Wednesday, and we had a lunch of croque monsieurs before I had to go to class. I rushed over to their hotel that evening, knowing what I'd discover but bursting at the seams to actually see that it had happened. Mom mom was officially engaged!! Now she was the kid on Christmas morning, and she couldn't stop hugging me and smiling. Paul had the ring hand-designed, and the beauty and quality of ring itself is spectacular, but the symbolic meanings he incorporated is priceless. We celebrated with dinner at a cute and scrumptious dinner around the corner, and then we went to the cafe to celebrate with more champagne and friends. (I had told everybody I know here that my mom was getting engaged...and my friends wanted to meet her and be able to celebrate with her and Paul on their special day!)

The next days we met in the late morning for breakfast or lunch, I went to class, mom and Paul explored, went to the Louvre, did "Paris" things...and then we met back up in the evenings for drinks and dinners--Indian food, Moroccan, Traditional French, Italian... Paul and mom stayed in a great hotel that had live jazz music on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, so we'd start or end our nights (somtimes both!) in the hotel lounge. On Saturday we rented a car and drove to the champagne region of France. I had my atlas, but after we missed the first turn-off, we ended up following the "Route Touristique de Champagne" which lead us through every small town in the region, past old churches and around corners big enough for only one small car. We drove past nearly every small champagne "house," (which is literally people's homes with vineyards for backyards, and they sell their family-labeled champagne right there!). We ended up on dirt roads in the hills literally cutting through the vineyards, and we all decided that if we never even arrived in Epernay, we wouldn't feel disappointed! (The "tourist route" was over a 2-hour diversion from the direct path to the main city of champagne!) When we did finally arrive and drove down "Champagne Row" we found closed gates, dark buildings, and no cars. It's winter, and they don't do cave tours and tasting on Saturdays in the winter! Who would've thought!? So we ate a late lunch and then discovered just one champagne house that was open. It was perfect, as it was already nearly 4:00 by then. We toured the caves, tasted vintage and regular champagne, and then got back in the car and this time made it back to Paris in under 2 hours!

I slept over that night in their hotel room (got my own pair of slippers!)...in large part because I just didn't want to leave them...and the next morning was mom's 53rd birthday! We took a scenic walk through the Louvre, over Pont des Artes, through the Palais Royale courtyard and one of the original covered malls ("galleries")...but we also got snow/hail/rained on before arriving at a Cuban restaurant for brunch. Karina met us (after running the Paris half-marathon!) and we had a nice long brunch. Since the weather was still crummy, we ended up back in my apartment--mom napped, Paul read, and I did some homework. We had cups of tea and a little snack and then caught a cab to Moulin Rouge. We skipped the dinner portion and arrived for the show, had a great table, more champagne and wine, and watched a truly French cabaret performance!

Monday morning mom and I had "mother daughter" time, so she met me at my favorite breakfast cafe on my street, took a walk, stopped in some shops, went to a free black and white photo exhibit, took a coffee, and then we walked back to their neighborhood before I had to go to class. Paul took that morning to go to St. Sulpice (and consequently explore the vast majority of the 6th arrondisiment in trying to find the church!), since he was reading The DaVinci Code while he was here. That night we sat at low tables and feasted on tajines at my favorite Moroccan restaurant. Tuesday was their last day, and we had dinner reservations at one of the top 40 restaurants in Paris--Lasserre. I didn't really think about all the implications of a top restaurant in Paris--the city most renowned for its chefs and "haute cuisine"--so we arrived a bit underdressed (Paul had to put on a suit coat), and were then waited on by about 6 different people. The food was the best I think any of us have ever tasted!! We had different wines to go with the different courses, and the flavors mixed together in a way that took food into the realm of art. Exhausted and elated, we took a cab back to the cafe after I received a message from Edith that she would be there with Victor, her dad, and her dad's girlfriend. It was the perfect place for the last night to a superbly perfect trip.

After sleeping over again, mom and I had to say goodbye in the morning. I felt so good too have had the chance to get to know Paul better, to have interesting conversations with him about religion and science and history...to see the way he truly enjoys life...to see the way he and my mom love and support each other...to really feel good about their engagement and the life that they will build together. But after I said goodbye to Paul and he went downstairs, that's when it really hit me that I wasn't ready to say goodbye to my mom. Everything hit me--how much I cherish her for who she is, how much I love the way she has taken control of her life, how much I've come to trust her, and just how much I miss being close to her. As we both sat on the bed crying, the box of kleenex between us, I realized just how connected we are. I am so thankful that I can share my life here with her, that she wants to see and experience even a portion of what I'm doing here, and that she understands why I am still not ready to come home. She "gets" me. And I think I "get" her. I couldn't stop crying when I said goodbye and watched her walk down the hallway. Her being here, our great discussions, the chance to interact in a different space, and just having the time to re-connect and deepen our understanding of each other was the real highlight of their visit.