Je Suis Vraiment Conne, aka, I Am Really a Schmuck

Also titled "How to make friends in Paris"

After a long and tiring week, relearning french grammar and running all around Paris to get cell phone and internet service and buy a new matress (which is yet another amusing story).  I was so looking forward to a comfortable night`s sleep and sleeping in for the first day in weeks.   Oh, mais non, on ne peut pas faire ca;  Not happening.

It was rather late last night when I returned home from shabbat dinner with Marc`s cousins, Victor and Ariene and their sons who are in university and remind me of Jonathan and Sam, very studious and on their way to becoming doctors and lawyers.

When I got home, it was dark and I was tired and all the buildings in the gated residence looked alike.  In fact, it didn`t phase me a bit when my key pass didn`t open the door to the building.    Luckily, so I thought, there was a woman in the lobby who opened the door for me and the two of us complained briefly about how nothing ever works in France.  I felt very grateful she was there to help me out, what would I do at that hour if I couldn`t get into MY building?  I went up to the 5th floor, as usual and put my key in the lock.    It didn`t go in very easily.  I took it out, thinking, maybe I was on the wrong floor and went back to the elevator.  Nope, I was on the correct floor.  I went back to the door and pushed my key inside the lock when I heard a voice coming from inside the apartment.   This is when I started to panic.  The door opened and a very scared and irrate woman appeared.  It was then when I realized I was in the wrong building.  She callled me all kinds of very impolite names while trying to dislodge my key, to no avail, it would not retreat.  I could not believe this was happening.   What was I to do?  I imagined sleeping on the streets in Paris until Marc arrived.

I apologized profusely, in french, explaining that I don`t live here, I was only visiting from the US for a few weeks and since it was late and dark and all the buildings look the same, I was disoriented and made a mistake.    Apparently, she realized this could happen to anyone and her demeanor softened.  In fact she melted.   She decided to call a 24 hour locksmith,  he would arrive in a half hour.   She invited me in  to sit down and offered me a drink.   I felt terrible for the error and promised to pay for any damages, wondering to myself,  how much would it cost and hoping they would take a credit card.   The woman was very nice,  as we enjoyed un petit degistif (a stiff brandy)  she told me she lived alone as she was a widow for 3 years.  She became afraid when she heard me at her door, knowing it couldn`t have been one of her sons whom she was not expecting and she apologized profusely for her previous name calling.  

Her name is Beatrice, same as my mother`s.  She is 60 years old and still very elegant and beautiful.  We discussed economics, politics, family life, love and how there are good things and bad things in life, all in french, of course.  Beatrice is quite conservative in many of her views, a practicing Catholic, very polite and proper and she says "Merde" alot which made her all right by me.  She is in favor of Sarkozy changing the age for retirees in France to 62, its a question of math which the french do not wish to consider and she doesn`t care about his love life.   She is not as enthusiastic about Obama anymore.  She is very proud of her heritage.  Her mother is of nobility and her father was a diplomat.  She is worldly and cultured and she complimented me on my ability to speak and understand french.   I thoroughly enjoyed our discussions and we laughed at how our paths very strangely crossed.

Finally, the locksmith arrived.  He was very grave about the situation.  He had to break the lock, break my key and replace everything incuding MY door, too.   It would be very expensive and he couldn`t possibly do it that evening, which was now early in the morning.    Luckily I remembered that Marc left a spare key with conscierge so I only needed to have  Beatrice`s door restored but the concierge was not there until 7am, so I was stranded,  I imagined sleeping in the hallway cold and cramped.  Beatrice insisted that I spend the night in her home.   Can you imagine if I happened to place my key in a mean man`s lock, oh I`d hate to think of it.    I was obliged to accept her gracious offer.  But what else could be done.  Just how expensive would this be? Beatrice demanded of the locksmith.  Over 1300 Euros.  It was an outrage.  What injustice.  To take advantage of a older woman and an American was a crime, she argued on my behalf.   They knocked off 10% and required only a 300 Euro deposit instead of the usual 50%.  It was still aweful.  And he didn`t take a credit card.   I only had 60 Euros on me.  How was I going to get that sum of cash at that hour.    He drove me to 3 different ATM machines, none of them worked, not even for 100 Euros, which by this time he would have gladly accepted.  Finally I thought to call my bank, luckily it was open and I asked them to raise the cash limit.  Finally I got my money and gave it to the locksmith.  

I returned to chez Beatrice.  She waited for me by the elevator, worried about me because I was gone for so long.  She appologized to not have a proper spare bedroom as she was doing some renovations and had just a futon.  She offered me her own bed.  Of course I could not accept, she was too kind, cèst normal, she insisted.  She made me a bed on the futon, gave me pajamas to wear, handed me a towel for the bathroom and even tried to find me a new toothbrush.  She was really lovely.  But, I didn`t sleep very well.  I had a brand new matress that I was so looking forward to sleeping on, I was feeling sorry for myself and at the same time I was so grateful for Beatrice.  She is truly une mere de la monde; a mother of the world.    I awoke early, ready to confront the day.  Beatrice was up just after me, making us coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice, toast, honey, confiture.   She called the conscierge for me and explained everything so I could retrieve my key.  During breakfast in her beautiful updated kitchen, we talked more about love and life.  She really misses her husband and she began to cry.  I told her she is still very beautiful, "oh no", she said, "I used to be, but now; wrinkles" as she raised the skin on her face besides, men her age are ugly, she likes them young and handsome and virile.  We compared our cultures around money and the use of time and how opposite and extreme are the differences.  How Americans obsess over money and French obsess over taking time for time and  somewhere in the middle lies the answer.   We talked about how Americans move their residence more often than the French.  Her chateau in the high Loire Valley has been in her family since the 17th century but her siblings want to sell it with all the antiques and paintings.  Its just a question of money for them but to her its something so much more and she is trying to figure out a way to buy them out so she can pass it on to her children and grandchildren.  The same thing happened to Marc`s uncle when his brother pressed for the sale of the family country home, sadness still surrounds this topic.

I went to the conscierge to get my key and to the bank to get the balance I owed the locksmith.  It felt good to turn the key and enter our apartment. I took a long hot shower to let some of the mounting tension subside.  It had been quite an ordeal.  Finally the locksmith returned after forgeting some of the parts, quel con.  I went back to chez Beatrice and waited for them to finish.   The lock is very high security and very expensive to replace, thank god I didn`t have to change our lock too.   It took 2 lock specialists 3 hours to take the door apart and replace the parts, all because I stuck my key in the wrong lock.   I paid them and they left.  Beatrice invited me to stay for lunch and to eat every meal therafter at her house because I probably just spent all the money I had.   She invited me to see a film with her on Tuesday night, we`ll take the metro together.  She invited me to call her if I ever need anything or want to walk around Paris or go to a museum and to let her know when the next time we are in town.  Its truly amazing how I made a very good friend in Paris, nobility, no less.  And who said the Parisians are rude.

Student Encore

Today was the first day of my french classes at the Alliance Francaise.  I was one of 3 Americans in a class of 20.  There are students of all ages from all over the world.  An attorney from England, a rugby player from Scotland, young college students from Holland, a woman thorasic doctor from Brazil on vacation for a week.  I guess she couldn`t just lie on the beach.  Another Brazilian getting his doctorate in history.   Another from South Korea and Australia.  One of the American`s is a pilot for Southwest airlines, he doesn`t fly to France but he needed a challenge.    Tomorrow I`ll be in another class because, I, me, Alecia, can speak better french then any of them.   TEEHEE.

I knew I was becoming French when I had to wait in line to change my class.  Of course my teacher, lovely as she was, didn`t sign my student card recommending that I be moved to a different class.  This precipitated me standing in 3 different lines in order to make the change official because I needed a signature from a real professor.  I have been observing the french and how they do not wait in lines.  So I decided to do the same.  I feel bad for practicing my new identity on unsuspecting internationals but oh well, you gotta start somewhere.  I maneuvered myself to the front of the line and sat down for the prof`s coveted signature.  A woman came up to me demanding in broken french that she was waiting longer.  I pretended not to understand  her and the teacher told her to go sit down and wait.  The teacher smiled very proudly at how quickly I was catching on as she wisked me through very quickly and it was then official.

I had to learn about waiting in lines the hard way when I needed to setup internet service.  Each long line I waited in I was told that I was in the wrong place.  Finally its almost my turn in the third store when a very chicly dressed parisienne walks in and stands right in front of me, as if her Chanel outfit gave her the right.  She was half my height so I wasn`t going to let her intimidate me.    I puffed up and informed her `il y a une ligne` (there is a line).  She looked up at me meekly and shrank back to the end of the line.  The person behind me chuckled with a thumbs up sign.  Et Voila.

I`m truly living my dream.   Not only am I in France learning french.   I have a French family here, too.  And they take very good care of me and feed me very well.   And thanks to me, or because of me, they get to see Paris.  As lovely as this place is, when you actually live here, you don`t see any of it.  Yesterday, I went with Marc`s Aunt and   Uncle and cousins to Montmatre like we were tourists.  We all went inside Sacre Coeur Cathedrale for the first time. I can understand that coming from me but not for someone living in Paris for over 50 years.  They truly are lovely and make me feel so at home here and I`m having the time of my life

Marblehead - Grasse Sister City

Its been a few days since I posted because of a lack of internet service so I will recap our few days in Grasse.  We were part of 10 person delegation wined and dined by the mayor of Grasse and his gracious staff to inaugurate the sister city relationship between Marblehead, an artsy New England beach town and one of my favorite towns on the East Coast, with Grasse, the perfume capital of the world in the South of France.  http://www.nicematin.com/article/grasse/marblehead-grasse-lamitie-au-dela-des-oceans

Since Marc is le Parfumeur, he was invited to be a delegate and I got to be apart of this amazing event to honor the relationship between the two cities and Marvin Gilmore, the oldest surviving, black World War II veteran from Cambride, who was part of our eclectic party which also included the French Consul, the President of the Marquis de Lafayette, the select woman/mayor from Marble head, owners of the Landing, a restaurant in Marble head and our friend Myriam Zuber, who I met thru another friend who is Myriam's cousin, at Palermo, of all places.  And so that is how I, the peanut gallery was apart of history in the making this past week. 

After being guests in Grasse, we headed to Juan les Pins for a few days of R & R on the beach.  It was so relaxing to sit on the sand after a swim in the mediterranean.  The town is so nice to visit in September, the weather is perfect, the sea was refreshing and the crowds have all returned home.  Its so nice to call this place home.

Last night I arrived in Paris.  I parted with Marc at the airport and hopped on a bus for the city.  A little unhappy to be alone, but at the same time, very excited to be embarking on my dream to learn french and live in Paris for a month.  I am sorry to report that my first night, I ate dinner at McDonalds, I was feeling homesick and lonely and a Big Mac did the trick, it also gave me indigestion.  This morning, after a good night sleep, I walked down to the outdoor market and started to feel my confidence return.  I bought some beautiful raspberries and peaches, a croissant and a roasted chicken with potatoes for lunch.  Marc has taught me how to order and how to grocery shop so I don't get overwhelmed by 14 types of cream or butter or cheese, but I can head for the best ones and be off.   Back home, I made myself a lovely breakfast of farm fresh eggs, croissant and a perfect of cup of coffee that I am happy to report, I only had to redo once.  Things can be confusing in France and making a coffee is one of those things.  That and figuring out how to open a door, get on the internet and cross the street!   I walked  2 hours to the Alliance Francaise, where my french lessons begin on Monday.  It was a beautiful day, the sun was out, the air a little cooler now that its almost fall.  Tonight I will have dinner with Jean and Jacqueline, Marc's aunt an uncle, a very charming, quinticentially french couple and tomorrow we will have Kol Nidre and then Yom Kippur on Saturday.   I miss Marc, but I am having the time of my life,  I really do feel like Cinderella, only my prince charming is for real and his feet are smaller than mine :)

Erev Erev Rosh Hashana

On the eve of Rosh Hashana, the jewish new year, I reflect on the past year with its ups and downs and I pray for a happy and healthy next year.  I look back in gratitude and with a fullness in my heart at the abundance in my life.   A lot has happened in the past year.  My life barely resembles what it was a year and a half ago, in fact if you asked me back then if I would be living in Boston, engaged to a frenchman, adored by his 2 young kids and traveling to France several times a year, I would have said, thats crazy.   But its true.   It hasn't always been a bowl of cherries.  There have been depressing times as well.   Missing my sons has not been easy, I cried constantly the first 3 months.  And,  not to mention the cold winter in Boston,  but I survived it and the boys are pretty much on their own now, after moving into their very cute apartment in Westwood, this past week.   Then bringing Emma to Boston only to learn that she had only 2 more months to live.  She was my connection to Ventura, to my family and that too, was gone.

I am alone in Ventura now, as I write this, in Palermo, my favorite coffee shop.  I come home to an empty house, it feels very strange.  Last night I went thru each of the rooms, feeling gratitude for the 7 years my family lived in our home, feeling the waves of emotion and the memories of times spent, good and bad, the meals cooked and enjoyed as a family with friends, parties I have thrown and the laughter echoed throughout the house.  Remembering time spent in each room, and how I used each room differently, the dining room that was my office, then my sitting room for sipping tea, reading a book or simply looking out to the garden, I was very creative on how I used each room, not conforming to the traditional use of space.  Just because its called the living room, doesn't mean I can't  transform it into a grand dining room with a 12 foot farm table.  It was cathartic to have this ceremony of departure.  I will have to leave this house, not sure if I will short sell it or let the bank take it.  I am prepared for whatever unfolds.  I have a new home now..with Marc and Ben and Leah, my boys have their own home, too.  I am grateful for the life I have created and the life I am leaving, but its not without sadness.   Walking on the beach this morning, I was aware that my time here is changing, again, like when I moved from Pierpont and knowing that nightly sunsets would become a memory, I went to the beach every day while my house was in escrow to enjoy every moment  of it, knowing I probably would not get to see it this way when I moved away from the beach.  Its more final now, but the Boston skies are really pretty, too.

Its  not easy to move on to a new life because you have to leave the old life behind, its very bittersweet.  I have to admit that the past year, I had one foot in Ventura and one foot in Boston and my eyes were looking toward France.  I was not rooted in the present.  I always wanted to be somewhere else.  Every month I looked forward to being in CA and I counted down the days until I was heading here.  Its an exhausting pace to keep up.  I was truly bi-coastal all year and worn ragged by this schedule.    I felt that if I put roots down in Boston, I would loose California.  I didn't ever imagine living in Boston, after all, I wanted to be in France, but that is where Marc happened to live.  Thank God he didn't live in Kansas!  I knew that with the boys not quite on their own, I could not just move to Paris, but its interesting how Boston is exactly halfway between LA and Paris.  Marc says that the way to have both Paris and LA is to plant my feet firmly in Boston,  be present, settle down and make it my home.  He certainly has done everything to make my life comfortable and wonderful in Boston.   He is so understanding of what I've gone thru the past year.   It was very difficult for me to make the transition, I always welcomed change before, but when change meant leaving my family it was very difficult.   This next year, I am making Boston my home, and by doing so, I'll always have California...and Paris, too, of course.