Let's give credit where credit is due! The school experience has surpassed our expectations. Both Ford's and Asha's teachers are extremely agreeable, and they seem very dedicated. They have really welcomed Ford and Asha into the school setting and the kids have had no trouble at all getting integrated. We were impressed when Asha's teacher sent a note home that he would be staying late with groups of kids on Thursdays between 4:30 and 5:30 to work on weaknesses. And we have had great reports from the teachers about the kids' performance in school (especially in English, but also in the other subjects).
We should also note that all of the kids have been very nice to Ford and Asha and they have made many friends.
Also, the other parents have been extremely welcoming to us and have treated us great, without exception, even though we are foreigners. Conveniently, all the fathers in the school seem to have the same first name (Laurent) which makes it easy for us to remember who's who.
Add to this the fact that school is a short walk from home and that the kids rave about the cafeteria food, and things are going just swimmingly. Today was green beans, chicken, lentils, goat cheese and baguette. And the school makes a point of saying that everything but the baguette is "bio."
Remember when Jack got sick and tired of all the red tape?
Jack just wanted his toast! And we just wanted our cell phones. In fact, it got to the point where we really didn't care about the cell phones any more. We've gotten along quite well for a month without them thank you very much. This was becoming a matter of principle. Of course, no one has ever been anything but exceptionally nice and polite to us . . . unlike the waitress in the clip above . . . even when they're making things a little challenging.
You may recall that even after receiving our all-important Carte Bleu, the cell phone functionaries at the Orange store had rejected us earlier in the week (again!) for lack of documentation even though we have our internet service through them. Don't you think that's queer?
On Tuesday we decided to try again.
Tuesday happened to be a day when Asha went to school but Ford stayed home because his teacher was on strike. Averil spent part of the morning accumulating every last scrap of paper she could lay her hands on including the only document we had from the Orange company: an official looking letter directed to us at the house here in Vaison, which we had received by post, confirming our names, adresses, telephone number and status as customers of Orange's internet service. Surely this letter, along with our passports, bank account information, and myriad other papers and methods of payment would be sufficient to prove that we were also worthy of being cell phone customers.
Or would it?
We were slightly aprehensive as we left the house armed with everything but our most recent colonoscopy readings. We would need all the help we could get. And we took solace knowing that this 3-inch mantis was praying for us in the driveway as we left home:
This Thing Was Gigantic! We Knew Its Prayers Must Be Very Powerful.
We drove the 10 miles to the Orange store in Nyons. Mind you, this was our fourth cell-phone specific visit.
And what do you think happened?
That's right. We were rejected. Again. Now the queer had turned into the absurd and I was feeling like I wanted to knock water glasses off the table (even though I would never do that to such polite people as the Orange folks). The Orange people told us that we needed a printout from an actual recent BILL (from anyone, including them) not just a letter. The problem with this, of course, is that the utility bills that relate to the house are in Averil's parents' names and are sent to them in Seattle. So we had no utility bills. And although we had a special letter from the Orange company and were vetted Orange customers, we had yet to receive a bill from them in the mail. But the functionaries at Orange were sure we could get a copy of a bill from them by going back to the house and trying to print one off the computer but they couldn't do it themseles because they don't have our password and neither do we but if we go home our device will know it is us and blah blah blah.
Personally I was done with Orange at this point. And, I figured, what did we really need cell phones for anyway?
But Averil was undeterred, for this is the way of fanatical generals.
Averil was determined to return to Vaison, go home, get online, get what they said we could get, and then drive the 10 miles back to Nyons. "We're going to do this, and we're going to be done with it today!" she cried.
I also cried. But in a different way.
We realized that by the time we returned to Vaison it would be 3:00 p..m. Asha would be released from school at 4:30 p.m. and someone should pick her up since big brother was not at school. So this meant we would have to split up. Given her superior language skills Averil was designated as the person who would go to the house, get the special papers from the internet, and return to Nyons for the fifth cell phone-specific visit. I would stay in Vaison, get a haircut, pick up Asha from school, and wait for Averil to return.
I got the haircut. (I had a great conversation with the barber by the way . . . she lives in a neighboring village. It is small. Not big. It is pretty. It is nice.) Then I picked up Asha from school. When we got home, we found this note from Ford:
The River is Very Shallow But There Are Pools With Huge Fish
By now it was 5:00. Averil had not returned from Nyons.
Then it was 5:30 and I started to think about dinner.
Then it was 6:00 and Ford returned from the river.
Then it was 6:30 and I started to chop garlic.
Then it was 7:00 and Averil still wasn't home.
By now I was starting to get a little worried. Averil had been gone for 4 hours . . . Nyons was only about 20 minutes away. What was going on? Where was she? I started to play out a few scenarios in my mind and I began imagining the worst. I must admit that I freaked myself out a little bit.
By now it was 7:30. To kill time, I recorded this:
About this time, Averil called! From the new cell phones!! She was almost home!!! I got ready to record the triumphant return!!!!!
Then we had dinner in the dark and Averil drank a bottle of wine.
Over dinner she explained what had happened. As it turns out, she got onto her Orange account (per the instructions of the Orange functionaries) and the document she was told would be there did not exist. But, because Le General was still determined to outwit her evil foes, she called her father in America. Her father happened to have a recent bill with the address of the house on it. But he had no scanner or fax machine. So he literally took a photograph of the bill with his camera and e-mailed the photograph to Averil, and she took the photograph of this bill to the Orange functionaries. The bill, of course, had her father's name on it, but they share the same last name, and when she arrived at the Orange store Averil waited for the one decent Orange functionary to finish with what he was doing so that he could be the one to help, and somehow, some way, she was able to prevail on him to accept this photograph as being sufficient.
We still don't know quite how it happened.
Was it the prayer of the mantis?
(P.S. We haven't had any reason to use the cell phones yet. Maybe they'll come in handy some day?)
Nothing of much interest has happened, but I know you're all jones'n for a blog entry! So here are some random bits of uninteresting information:
Who can guess why Ford does not have school on Tuesday? (Answer at the end of the blog entry).
This Note Was in Ford's School Notebook
Puppy in restaurant:
Dogs Can Freely Go Into Restaurants (Indoors and Outdoors)
Boy with dog:
Dog chooses strange place for nap:
Ed makes plum tart:
and tomato and red pepper farci:
And from the "red tape update" department, there's this breaking news:
You may recall the 12-day 23-step saga that it took for us to get internet service from the Orange company in the neighboring town of Nyons. You may also recall that we were going to get our cell phones from them as well, and the final step to get our cell phones was to acquire the coveted "Carte Bleu" which we now have. Well, we went to the Orange company in Nyons on Thursday last week to get our cell phones. We explained who we were and that we had recently gotten our internet service at that store (it's a very small store) and that now we had the Carte Bleu (we proudly displayed it) and we were here to get our cell phones. The Orange employee was in accord with this information. We spent the next 20 minutes picking out the phones and payment plan we wanted.
Then it was time to complete the transaction. He asked us for a recent utility bill with our names on it. I thought he was joking. We replied that we were already Orange customers, that we had recently completed the 12-day 23-step program in this very store, that we were fully vetted, and that we were now getting Orange bills every month for internet, and that we had come from 10 miles away and that we had not thought to bring a recent utility bill and why could they possibly need it given that they were themselves sending us bills! He was very sorry, he said, but he could not give us cell phones without a recent utility bill even though Orange already knows who were are and he was staring at our information in the computer and Orange itself is sending us bills and has already admitted us as customers. Averil showed him a bill from earlier in the year (she carries it around in her purse so we can get local discounts) but he said that wasn't recent enough. We should please return with a bill from the last month or two.
I was sure Averil was going to go postal . . . or at least say something to express our joint displeasure. This was going to be good! I withdrew a couple of steps to watch the fireworks:
Man: I'm sorry, you'll have to return with a recent utility bill, there's nothing I can do.
Ave: Oh, well that's OK, I'm in accord.
Man: Well, good day to you.
Ave: And good day to you too!
Man: And goodbye!
Ave: Goodbye!
Man: Here, let me get the door for you.
Ave: Oh, thank you!
Man: Goodbye again!
Ave: Goodbye, have a nice day!
Man: You have a nice day too!
Ave: Ok, goodbye.
Man: Goodbye!
[Answer to question of why Ford has no school on Tuesday: His teacher is striking for the day. We are not entirely sure why Asha's teacher is not striking.]
Before you read this post, let me warn you: Averil makes me videotape all the little things that happened in the Big Day, as if people will actually be interested in this minutiae. Whatever . . . I just do as I'm told. If these tiny details make you bored, please skip the blog today and tune in next time.
It all started with Le General announcing the plans for the Big Day:
Sound ambitious? Not for Le General! Now that our bank account was finally open 4 weeks after arriving in France, we had received our very own money in the account, and we had justified the withdrawal of a large number of euros by documenting our car purchase so the French government could feel confident we would not spend our money in the black market, we felt we might actually be able to acquire our car!
The first stop was the insurance agency. That went off without a hitch. We have video of it, but it is too boring for this blog and I have secretly taken it out of the blog against the direct orders of Le General. Then, it was off to Carpentras for the next part of the Big Day!
We would get to Carpentras. But we arrived on Market Day. Would we find a parking spot in all the hubub? Listen to Le General narrate the harrowing tale:
We found a parking spot! But would we find the bank? Check out this exciting action:
Sorry, that was the part where we asked for directions. Here's the really exciting part where we actually found the bank:
Yeah baby, we found it, we found it, we found it!
After the victory dance, we had to go inside. This required passing through a top secret airlock which would admit only one person at a time. Then we went inside where we were helped by a soft spoken monsieur who pushed buttons and wrote on papers and sealed papers inside secret containers as he worked . . . and worked . . . and after 25 minutes of silence, he invited us into a top secret bureau where he provided us with the money so that we could take it to Sorges and promptly spend it on a used Korean Hyundai.
Have you ever been on a used car lot in France? You haven't? Well, you're in for a treat!
Then Le General went in and signed the papers for the used car! Yes, the used car salesman is her new best friend:
You can't see the dragon tattoo in this picture, sorry.
Then Le General insisted that I record the actual taking of the delivery of the vehicle.
After that, can you guess what the final stage in the Big Day was? Yes! Returning the rental car! This actually involved some high drama:
So Le General took matters into her own hands:
After that, we found the Europcar that was at the train station, and this one was open! We successfully dropped off the car!
Le General does more before 10:00 a.m. than most people do all day!
Check out how she puts the laundry up to dry behind the house first thing in the morning:
Then Le General went and kicked some booty in town. First she went to the bank and finally, after 4 weeks, she has secured the coveted "Carte Bleu!" Not only that, but she filled out the necessary paperwork (several stacks, in triplicate of course) to get another carte bleu so that both of us can have our own debit card! We should have the second carte bleu in just a week or two! But for now, we can maybe get our cell phones!
Not only that, but Le General found out that our wire transfer was completed properly. This means that we can get the money out of the bank to go buy the car that we put the deposit on 2 weeks ago. Le General also arranged for the auto purchase contract to be faxed to the big bank branch in Carpentras since it is prohibited to withdraw a significant amount without proving to the bank why you want the money. Duh, of course! How can you withdraw your own money without proving that you have a good reason to do so?
Then she went to the doctor's office to get the doctor to sign another form so that Asha could be approved to play soccer, since the previous form only included dancing and horsing.
And she went to the post office to get the appropriate postage for a letter! You see, the post office closes between the hours of 12 and 2 and when she went yesterday there was a line for both regular people and business people and she waited in the regular people line and then the business people line person called her over and then he said if she only wants stamps she should go to the machine, but there was a long line at the machine, and the bank was closing soon and now she had lost her place in the other line and . . . well, never mind.
And she went to the mayor's office and paid 2 euros to get a lunch ticket for the kids tomorrow since they are not signed up for canteen and without a ticket you can't get into the canteen and they are serving mussels and fries with tomato salad and provincial compote!
Being from the Pacific Northwest, we have not had a lot of experience with scorpions. But from time to time, they appear in the house here in France. Naturally, Averil always makes me catch the scorpion (very gently so as not to harm it) so that we can put it in an empty yogurt container or wine glass and study it up close. Here's one God's creatures that we caught today:
This Scorpion Was On Our Bedroom Wall
Scorpions are probably old hat for lots of people, but not us. Knowing next to nothing about scorpions, I went to an authoritative treatise (Wikipedia) where I learned these facts among others (cut and paste feature active):
There are about 1700 described species of scorpion, but only about 25 are dangerous.
Scorpions live a very long time: between 4 and 25 years!
Scorpions can only ingest food in a liquid form; they have external digestion. The digestive juices from the gut are egested onto the food and the digested food sucked in liquid form (like a smoothie).
Scorpions can consume huge amounts of food at one sitting. They have a very efficient food storage organ and a very low metabolic rate combined with a relatively inactive lifestyle. This enables scorpions to survive long periods when deprived of food; some are able to survive 6 to 12 months of starvation
Sexual reproduction is accomplished by the transfer of a spermatophore from the male to the female; scorpions possess a complex courtship and mating ritual to effect this transfer. Mating starts with the male and female locating and identifying each other using a mixture of pheromones and vibrational communication. Once they have satisfied the other that they are of opposite sex and of the correct species, mating can commence.
Fried scorpion is a traditional dish in Shangdong, China.
When the mood strikes, I enjoy an occasional gym workout.
Fortunately, I am not a gym snob. I'll work out in just about any gym no matter how dirty, noisy, small or old fashioned. My requirements are minimal.
Unfortunately, the only gym here in Vaison la Romaine doesn't cut it. I'm sure many prison gyms blow this one away. On top of that, the hours are pretty bad: Monday through Saturday 8:00 to 7:00 except Tuesdays which does not open until noon and Saturdays which closes early and Sundays which is closed altogether. Plus, the guy who owns it (who is a nice guy but likes to fly airplanes) takes off whenever the mood strikes and closes his gym for several days at a time.
That's why I was pretty glad when I found that there is another gym in the region -- in the town of Nyons, about 12 miles away. I went there one day and met the owner -- a guy named Serge.
I was enchanted! And I told him so.
Unfortunately, that's about all I could say. And Serge's English is as minimal as my French. But we communicated using international gym rat sign language. By pointing at various body parts and gym equipment and making other noises and gestures we found that we understood each other well enough.
Serge is a legitimate bodybuilder, which I never expected to find in the region. He's competed in a lot of French competitions. Here's a picture of him in his underwear:
Serge
I signed up at Serge's gym. It's adequate. I've put some mildly amusing video of it at the end of the blog.
There is another interesting side-benefit to driving to the gym in Nyons: roadkill. On the way to the gym this morning I saw a dead animal in the road. From a distance, I thought it was a pig. It was huge! But when I got right up to it and stopped and looked, I realized I'd seen pictures of that animal before, but never in real life. It had a pointy snout, big claws and a stripe on the top of it's head. I thought, "that's a badger!" And sure enough, when I got home and looked it up I learned that badgers definitely live in the area and are the largest wild carnivore in France:
Yes, Le General had much more in mind than a simple invasion and occupation. She also set her sights on appropriating a brand new Golden Retreiver puppy of superior French pedigree. (Her foot soldiers did not object to this order.)
Soon after we got to France, Averil located a new litter of puppies in the tiny town of Rians, about 200 kilometers from Vaison la Romaine. Through her cunning skills, she reserved for her family a female. Sunday, September 18th would be pick-up day. We were excited. A picnic lunch was packed and the car was fueled with a full tank of diesel. We knew it would be a beautiful day for a picnic. But a huge rainstorm blew in. Undeterred, we set off at 7:30 a.m.
It Was Raining Cats and DOGS!
Lacking any modern means of navigation (no GPS, no cell phones, and no printer ink), Averil expertly guided us through 200 kilometers of previously-unexplored Southern France using only this ancient means of car piloting:
20% Off at Borders' Going Out of Business Sale!
We arrived in the town of Rians by 10:00 a.m. Once we arrived in town we had to find the exact location of the puppy kingdom. This proved slightly more difficult. First, we consulted an intoxicated florist:
One hundred meters later, we consulted the baguette lady:
And one hundred meters after that, we consulted a distracted policeman:
Then we went totally old-school! We got a calling card from the tobacco shop and used a pay-phone to call the puppy person:
The puppy lady was nice and she wanted to sell this puppy. So she sent her husband into town with her car and we followed him to the puppy place. When we got there, we got to see the puppy. It was fairly cute:
We decided to take her home:
When we got home, we had to pick a name. There were several nominations on the wall:
Carpe Diem! That was our joint motto as we sent the kids off to school Thursday. We had plans. Big plans. BNP Paribas be damned! We weren't going to sit around and wait for our bank account to materialize anymore. With our rental car coming up for expiration in just a few days and with our Hyundai just sitting there waiting for us in Sorgues, we were going to find a way to pay for our Hyundai so we could return our rental and stop the daily charges.
You see, we have a secret weapon: Averil. She kicks booty each and every day. Check out this video of her giving the "what for" to a French telemarketer:
"And don't call again!"
Between the two of us (with me driving and occasionally trying to look intimidating and Averil doing everything of substance), I knew we could pretty much rule France and take possession of that Hyundai without waiting for stupid old BNP Paribas. You see, we had certain amount of American dollars available to us. And we figured we might just be able to turn those dollars into euros and, combined with a stealthy and well-timed series of bank machine withdrawals, we could accumulate a sufficient amount of euros to pay for our Hyundai in cash. BNP Paribas could take their own sweet time for all we cared once we had our new used car!
Through a series of inquiries at various local "banks," we had learned that there was only one reasonable option for where to turn our cash dollars into cash euros: The Banque de France.
Let me back up for a minute and remind you that banks here in France are different from banks in the U.S. For one thing, they don't have tellers when you walk in. And they don't seem to handle much cash. And they don't seem to want your business that badly. (Or at all.) And I learned early on that they don't change currency.
But they all said the same thing: If you want to turn dollars into euros, you must go to the Bank of France. The Bank of France seems to be some sort of patriarch of all the other banks that the little people use. It was spoken of with reverence. (Converting a decent amount of currency at the currency exchange places you see in airports and train stations was out of the question . . . the fees are too high to make it worthwhile for one thing).
We knew that there was a Bank of France in Avignon, which is the nearest medium sized city and about 45 minutes away by car. We had even seen the Bank of France building on an earlier visit . . . . an ornate building in the middle of the walled city near the Papal Palace. We resolved to go there. We had all day after all.
We would need it.
We went there. We parked outside the walls of Avignon. A 20 minute walk later, at 10:45 a.m., we were standing in front of the Bank of France. It was closed. Permanently.
There was a crude sign on the outside. It said the Bank of France was now located on the outskirts of Avignon in the direction of Marseille, near the House of Agriculture. No problem! There was even a map of sorts. Of course we were warned that it would be closed every day between 12 and 1:30. (Didn't you know that everything is closed in the afternoon in Southern France?):
But I digress. We were going in search of the Bank of France. We walked outside the walled city. We got in our car. We drove in the direction of Marseille. And I don't know how we found it, but we did. It was pretty awesome that we found it. Pretty incredible if I may say so myself. We were pretty pleased. We figured no matter what else happened that day we had won. We were victorious. We had seized the day!
When we got done high-fiving, we remembered that we were there to change money. It was a modern building, and very imposing. It looked nothing like a bank. What was this place? We were intimidated. But we took a deep breath, and went in.
Or tried to anyway. The gigantic door wouldn't budge. Was it 12:00 already? No, it was only 11:40. Then we heard a buzz. The door clicked open and permitted us to enter. We think someone had been checking us out with a video camera. We walked in. Dorothy and the Scarecrow, up to see the wizard.
This was no bank. It was a hall of papers of some sort. Or a ministry of documents. Or a bureau of officialdom. There was one man at a long counter and he gave a woman an official looking pass of some sort. And then we walked up. "Good day sir! Do you change dollars into euros?" He laughed and told us to go change our money at the train station.
So we went to extend our rental car for a week. No problem. We knew we had to do it in person, and our agency was in Avignon. When we walked in, there was no line at the rental counter. Hurray! It only took half an hour for the clerk to push the buttons to extend our rental seven days!
Since we were totally seizing this day, we decided to do a little random shopping at Auchan as long as we were in Avignon. Have you ever been to Wal Mart? It's awesome right? Well Auchan is just like that but it's even better, partly because there are workers stationed throughout the store at "info" stools waiting to tell you exactly where everything is. (Except the peanut butter . . . I stumped the lady real good when I asked for "butter of peanut.") But we had to remember not to get separated inside the store. Because the store is vast and we don't have cell phones (remember: no bank account, no Cart Blue, no cell phones, blah blah blah) and if we got separated it could be hours before we got reunited. So I was patient with Averil while she looked at bed covers. And Averil was patient with me as I looked at all the useless items in the "PROMO!" bins. "For better or for worse" we kept telling ourselves . . . .
But we were being seduced. It was the call of the Auchan Sirens. After a while we forgot what we were putting in our basket. Why did I need a set of six box cutters (only one euro!). Why did we need any of these things? Why were we in Auchan? Why had we even come to Avignon? What were we even doing in France? Who were we? The neon "PROMO!" signs were swirling before our eyes. We seemed to be falling into some sort of endless abyss . . . it was a French trance. . . .
But suddenly I came to! "Averil!" I said, "Snap out of it! Keep your wits!" "We are two Americans in France. We have two children together! They are in Vaison la Romaine! They will be home from school at 4:30! We have to get out of this store and get back to Vaison! Quick, follow me!" So we made out way out of the store in the nick of time. It was close. I wish we would have gotten the escape on Youtube. It would have gone viral!
There is something evil there at Auchan. . . .but alluringly beautiful . . . .
The Siren Call of Auchan
We were passing by the community of Sorgues on our way back to Vaison. We stopped at the used car lot where our Hyundai is waiting for us. We saw our friend with the winged dragon tatoo on his neck. Averil explained that it would be at least another week until we could pick up the car. He said it was no problem. The car would be ready for us when we were. And, by the way, how hard is it to learn French?
We arrived back home at 4:00. There was half an hour until the kids would start home from school. Just enough time to relax . . . . but then we saw that there was a note on the gate. It was from our neighbor. Averil read it. It said, in essence, "Come and See Me."
I hoped that maybe our neighbor had baked a cake for us. But I remembered that this particular neighbor was the one we had listed as the emergency contact on the kids' school papers. And, as you know, we had been gone all day . . . . and we didn't have cell phones . . . because of the bank and all . . . . so if something had happened . . . .
Sure enough, we learned that the neighbor had been called by the school that afternoon. Asha had fallen on the concrete and hit her teeth. She needed a dentist. It was unclear how bad it was. We should come and get her out of class.
This was bad news. But I immediately saw the silver lining, while Averil scurried around finding the Vaison phonebook and the dentist listings. You see, the interior of the school has been off limits to us from the outset. Parents are not allowed in except by invitation or in emergencies. So I was curious. What was her classroom like? What was her teacher like? And here was a perfect emergency -- not life threatening by any means -- that might allow us to see the inside of her classroom! At least this is what I was thinking . . . . I think Averil was mostly focused on the supposedly broken tooth.
We got there and we were taken up to her classroom. We got to see inside and even meet the teacher! But Asha was pretty upset. Not about the teeth, but about the fact that we pulled her out of school right when they were having some cake to celebrate the teacher's birthday.
In fact, we were not greeted by any broken teeth. Asha explained that she had hit the front one hard and that it was a little loose. Yes, it was wiggly. Within minutes, Averil was on the principal's telephone calling a dentist. He answered his own phone. He said his office was only a 5 minute walk from school, near the post office. He said "Just bring her in this afternoon in 20 minutes or so . . . I'm here." So Averil and Asha walked to the dentist:
Asha's Dentist
They walked right into his office. No receptionist. No assistant. No paperwork of any kind. And he was very nice. And he looked at her teeth and asked her some questions and said that the front one was a little loose because it was in shock, but if she didn't use it to chew that it should firm up within a few days and be as good as new. Then he complimented Averil on her great French (he's right by the way, it's remarkable) and asked if she was new to the region and refused to charge any money whatsoever for his services and to have a wonderful evening and "Goodbye!"
