Taking Matters Into Our Own Hands!

          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!"

          Isn't France great?!