Trading Bagels for Baguettes: Welcome to France

Moving anywhere is hard. All the planning, packing, shipping, and schlepping is tedious and sometimes frustrating. Moving overseas can be even worse. And let me just say, moving to France, is a whole other story altogether.

I arrived at the Strasbourg airport fresh from the DC heat. Sporting only leggings, a light sweater and a scarf, I stepped out onto the windswept tarmac. A balmy 42 degrees with raging winds was my welcome to France. Unaccustomed to arctic weather conditions, I hustled into the airport to wait for the over one hundred pounds of luggage I had packed. Why, when I was packing, I thought I would need 18 pairs of shoes is beyond me. But they’re all here, lined up on my shelves, waiting their day to be worn. (I’ve managed to make it through six so far, which I figure is a pretty good rate, for only being here a total of 4 days thus far). At any rate, one of my new roommates, Chrissy, was coming to get me at the airport with her mom. Her family lives in Stuttgart, which is not too far away from Strasbourg. I should probably take a time out and explain how I got matched up with my roommates in the first place. For those of you who know the story, by all means, skip ahead!

After returning from Spain and Croatia the third week of August, I was pretty much apoplectic about not finding somewhere to live in Strasbourg. But let me assure you, it was not for lack of trying. I had scoured website after website and contacted everyone I knew who might know someone in the city. All with no luck. Noticing my increasingly panicked state, my mom mentioned to a family friend that I was a little concerned at my soon-to-be homelessness in France. Well, Joan Cole to the rescue! It just so happened that she had good friends whose granddaughter had just graduated from UVA, was moving to Strasbourg, had just found an apartment, and needed roommates. Jackpot! We got in touch, worked out a deal, and I finally had a place to live.

Next step: find someone to share my room because the rent for just 2 was a little steep. Laura, my other roommate, who has yet to arrive, is also teaching English through my same program. We had been commiserating over how hard it was to find housing in France when this apartment deal fell into my lap. I proposed we share a room, she agreed, and then we were three.

And now, back to the story of my arrival. After meeting Chrissy and her mom, going back to the apartment and dropping my bags, it was time for lunch. Try not to get jealous, but we went to a small, hole-in-the-wall crêperie with fresh buckwheat crêpes and piping hot cappuccinos. Welcome to France, where good food reigns and meals are enjoyed, not just eaten on the go. After Chrissy raced off to class, her mom and I walked around the city to see the sights: the cathedral, Place Kleber, etc, dually noting the good-looking patisseries and boulangeries. I then made an appointment to set up my bank account with BNP Paribas, and walked to the post office to pick up some packages I had shipped to myself from the US. Note to self: never do this again. France happens to think my packages contain merchandise, and thus taxed me over $100 to bring them into the country. What they really had: a few belts, my old sheets, towels from my first year of school, and a pair of sandals. All clearly for commercial use. Note to you: If you ever send me anything (or anyone in France for that matter), check “gift” on the customs form to avoid this problem. After attempting to recover my lost 85€, I traipsed over to the grocery store. With my little cart in tow, I picked up some yogurt, tuna, oatmeal, shampoo, conditioner, soap, cheese, broccoli, water and the obligatory pepper grinder (it’s kinda my thing). Everything a girl needs to survive in France! My attempt to buy almonds, the last thing on my list, was a complete and total failure. Almonds in France are found in the produce section, of course. They’re a kind of serve-yourself food in a plastic bin with a scoop to dump your almonds into the bag. Well I thought to myself, nuts might be good to have on hand in case I get hungry, I’ll grab a bag. Little did I know the system here is VERY unlike the system we have at the Giant. You can’t just bring your bag of goodies to the checker and have them weigh and price your item, no, no. This is France, that would be too much work for the checker. So, when I moved through the line to check out, the incredibly grumpy checker informed me I had to go back and weigh my almonds. I went to the nearest scale, weighed them, and came back. No, she said, this is wrong. They are organic; you must use the organic scale. Well where the hell is the organic scale? Back in the produce section, of course. So I left the line (half of my items already checked out), raced to the produce section, properly weighed my almonds, and returned. All that for less than 2€. Well, lesson learned, I suppose. My advice to you? Don’t attempt to buy organic nuts in France, you will inevitably weigh them on the wrong scale and cause serious mayhem as the checker screams bloody murder and you race around the store like a chicken with its head cut off. Welcome to France, we make everything more complicated for you, just for fun.

After this harrowing experience, I went back to the apartment to unpack, and then back out for dinner with Chrissy and her mom. This time we were on a mission – tarte flambée. Basically Alsace’s version of the pizza, and it’s quite good. We found a small side street tucked away from the cathedral tourist beat, walked into a packed 10-table restaurant (with luckily one opening), and ate ourselves silly. Full on food and wine and exhausted from not having slept on the plane, I flopped into bed at 11pm. Little did I know I would be wide awake a mere 5 hours later…

I’ve never been one to get really bad jet lag. But this time, it simply isn’t fair. Every night I go to bed around 11, having taken no naps during the day. Like clockwork I am wide-awake at 4am, with no hope of falling back asleep. And let me tell you something – when you’re thousands of miles away from home, really homesick, exhausted, unable to sleep, and stressed about settling in, 4am is an incredibly lonely time.

But anyway, back to the story. So day two’s big event: IKEA: The Mecca of cheap furniture, bedding, decorations and storage. Just where I needed to shop on my tight, English-teacher salary. The store itself is less than 10 minutes from the city of Strasbourg, but how long do you think it took us to find it? An hour and a half. Welcome to France, land of no signs and incredibly misleading directions. After finally arriving around 4pm, we spent a good three hours accumulating duvet covers, pillows, blankets, bath mats, hangers, hampers, hooks, drying racks (we only have a washer in our house), boxes, bins, etc. My final adornment? A $6 orchid that makes my bare room look a little less like a mental institution. That, and a painting my sister made for me before I left, a small Monet-inspired piece that now hangs on my wall. All in all, not too costly for everything I managed to get. They were selling pillows for 1€, just in case you were wondering. And no, they’re not that bad.

After IKEA, we cooked at home, had a nice beef bourguignon for dinner, and around 10pm, I put myself to bed. I was so tired, I thought, I don’t need an Ambien to help me sleep, I’ll surely sleep through the night. Again, wrong. At 4am I was up and roaming about my room with nothing to do.

But no time to rest! At 8:30am on Friday I had my appointment at BNP to set up my bank account. I had all the necessary papers and documentation as to who I am, why I am in France, and where I live, but my account cannot be activated for another 10 days. Why? Because this is France, land of long wait times and complex procedurs. The fun continued when I met Chrissy and her mom at Darty, our supposed internet/TV/telephone provider. When Chrissy had arrived on September 1^st, she had made an appointment with Darty to have this all installed. They told her she had to wait – that’s right, 10 days, before anything could be activated. So she did. After 10 days the technician came out, attempted to make the installation, but realized he would need to pull cabling out of the wall to do so. Only able to do this with the permission of our landlord, he left the apartment as internet-less as he had found it. I arrived the day after this had happened, and took it upon myself to call the landlord and see what was up. He told me we weren’t allowed to put in internet this way because he had just repainted the apartment “à neuf” and we had to find another way. So on my third day, we went to Darty. I explained that our previous contract needed to be canceled because our landlord wouldn’t let us put in the high-speed system. That’s all fine they said, everything can go through the phone line. What’s the phone number of your house? Of course I had no idea. So they did a reverse search for the previous tenants of our apartment, found the number they had used, and set up a new system for us to go through the phone line. Only, we have to wait, that’s right, 10 days before our account can be activated. So we probably won’t have internet until October. Yipee! I’m trying not to stress too much about it though, I’m adapting to the French way of life where everything takes longer and is much more complicated, but everyone still seems to be pleased about it. As I write this, on my fourth day here, I’m trying to figure out exactly how to post this first blog entry…We’ll see how soon this one gets up. I may just have to wait until I go to Munich next Thursday for Oktoberfest, and use the internet in the hotel.

Despite all of my complaining, Strasbourg is a beautiful, amazing city. The architecture is wonderfully old and quaint, reflecting both the French and German heritage of the region. Church spires dominate the skyline, and soft pretzel vendors line the streets. The Orangerie, a beautiful park only 4 blocks from my apartment, is home to the summer house Napoleon built for Josephine. The outside loop of the park itself is about 2 miles, and the trails are overrun with joggers. There are swans in all of the waterways, and flowers adorn every bridge and pedestrian walkway. We are a mere 20-minute bus ride from Kehl, Germany, there is a modern tram system that connects all corners of the city, and more shopping than a girl knows what to do with. On top of all this, today was a beautiful day with nothing but blue skies and sunshine. In Place Kleber we happened upon an impromptu music concert, and on my run in the Orangerie, I stumbled upon a wood carving festival. Only in France.

And here’s a reward for those of you who made it to the end of this lengthy entry. A little life-comes-full-circle moment, if you will. 37 years ago, my mom studied abroad in Strasbourg. Armed with her map from the 1970s, and a few letters she wrote to my grandmother, I have been walking in her footsteps and re-experiencing her college study-abroad. I’ve found her old apartment, post office, and grocery store. I’ve visited her favorite picnic spot and taken the same bus into Kehl. I only hope to leave with as many fond memories of Strasbourg as she did, and I know that won’t be hard to do. Below you'll find a few pictures of the city, including the canals, the cathedral and the Orangerie.

Welcome to France!