An American in Provence

I should have stayed in bed Thursday.

Our car has been making noise for awhile now, and we haven't been able to take to the garage. Well, in our defense, it has been a perma-vacation for the mechanics in the South of France for the past month.

Anyway, we took it in for a Contrôle Technique, which is a review of the car that is obligatory every two years. We actually didn't need to take it yet, but we wanted a rather unbiased opinion of what was wrong from someone who makes no money in forcing expensive repairs on you. We were told nothing major, but perhaps the power steering needed some work. Indeed, whenever I turned the steering wheel sharply, like to park, it made noise.

Anyway, the mechanic near my work finally opened back up two weeks ago, so I had him look over the car. He said he would call me when he had an opening, surely by the end of the week. Stupid me, I waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, this last Wednesday I called to see what was up. He had lost my number and said to bring it in this morning. Okay, great.

Before leaving for work Thursday morning, I got a call. He said he couldn't take it that morning, could I come in tomorrow (Friday)? Okay, fine for tomorrow.
Except, when driving to work on the highway, not okay!
The battery light kept coming on and off, and then for awhile the exhaust pipe started smoking. The electricity seemed to be coming in and out (trouble opening and closing the windows). I went slowly, and when I got near Aix, a knocking sound started.

I called the mechanic again, begging him to fit me in today. He kept asking "tomorrow isn't okay?" NO tomorrow is not okay. I waited for a week for you to call, and now look at the situation I am in.
He said to call back around noon.

The power steering went out, and I could barely park it in the parking garage. As I was backing in to a spot, I heard a bang!
I managed to park, raised the hood, and looked inside.
But who am I kidding? I have no idea what could be wrong, unless some tube starts spurting liquid.
I then noticed a big round metal circle on the floor, right where the car had been before I had backed up. This is not good.

I picked it up and put it in the car, getting extremely dirty in the process. I managed to stain my white fuzzy shrug (and also got mashed banana in the lining of my purse - not a good day).

I went to work and called again around noon. No answer. I decided to try and move the car, as well as to take a picture of the mysterious part and get my parking pass, as I knew we would have to borrow my in-law's car.
I managed to move the car out of the parking garage, at a slow pace, and park it across from the garage; (Nine euros a day, thanks so much).

I called again, leaving a message that the car was now across from the garage, and I would bring it in Friday morning.

No reponse. I called my in-laws, explained the problem, and as luck would have it, they were coming to Aix that afternoon for a doctor's appointment. After work, I walked over to the clinic and met them. They drove me back to their house, and I took their second vehicle, a Fiat Panda (like a car, only smaller).

Otherwise, I would have had to take the train back to Marseille, the subway home, then Alain and I would have to go out to their house on Alain's motorcycle, then I drive back in the car and he on his motorcycle.
I showed Jacques and Josée the picture, and they had no idea what it was. They also described it to Nicolas, my brother-in-law, who is a mechanic for the Army. He had no idea either. I would publish it here but can't seem to get it off my phone.

Anyway, Friday morning, I parked Josée's car in the parking garage, and went to wait for the mechanic at 7:45 a.m. like he said. And waited. And waited.
Nothing.

I left a not so nice message on his machine, paid another 9€ for Friday's parking, and went to work. I called another garage nearby and got an appointment for Wednesday morning. The other garage seems more professional, asking what type of car, what seems to be the problem. Um, parts falling off? Everyone keeps asking if I am sure that the part came from the car, and whether I picked it up and kept it.
1) Fairly certain due to the loud bang and that it was exactly where the car was
2) Do I really look that dumb? No, I decided to just leave it there in the middle of the floor as it obviously is unimportant and inexpensive.

Anyway, Friday night before leaving work, I again paid for Saturday's parking. Hopefully I will only have to pay for one more day, Monday, as Tuesday is a holiday.

Also, here's hoping that I can get it the 500 meters to the other garage, that they are open and haven't just decided to take vacation, and that the repairs aren't more expensive than the car is worth. It is over ten years old, and has 218K kilometers, so I am leaning towards getting a less-old car if it will cost us more than 500€ or so, but Alain disagrees.

This afternoon I checked my cell phone, and saw a message sent last night, around 9 pm. It said that the code to validate the purchase for €988 was (six numbers). If I have any questions, please contact La Banque Postale.

Um, yeah I have a question. Who the heck has been trying to purchase something for 988€ with my credit card on the internet!!!

The banks here in France have implemented a secure internet purchase system. First you have to register your cell phone with the bank, which I did. Then, when you buy from certain sites, before the purchase is finalized, a six-digit code is sent to your cellphone. You then have to enter the code before the purchase goes through.

I have purchased a few items this way (though certainly not for almost 1000€) and knew that is what it was. I first checked the number to make sure it was indeed La Banque Postale, and not some site in the Caribean at 15€ a minute, and called. Indeed, someone had tried to purchase something with my credit information. Super.

I then had to call another number to cancel my card. On Monday I have to go to a police station and make a declaration of stolen information (I still have the card), and then send the copy of the declaration and the canceled card to the financial center who will then send me a new card. I also have to monitor my account, to make sure no other purchases were made, for example from sites that don't have such a verification system.

Le Sigh.

So now I will be without a credit card for approximately two weeks.

Man, I love the information age!

I am really curious as to what the person was trying to buy. The message didn't say what the purchase was for, nor what site.

So what would you buy (for fun) with 988€? (1300$)

I would either buy an IPAD with all the options, or else a Lancel Adjani purse. But no, I have to save it for boring stuff like taxes.

Some people, when they run, get very happy, love the world, love being alive, love moving, love the wind, love the sun, love other people, love the birds chirping, love the light refreshing drizzle.

Not me. I am a very grumpy runner.

After a few weeks of admiring my new running shoes in the box, and a few too many comments from one Frenchman along the lines of "So, did you spend 83€ on new running shoes just to look at them?" (well yeah, at least until spring, duh)
I finally laced 'em up and headed out.
There is a track right nearby, which is usually not too crowded. The problem is, everyone else bothers me.
The father and son playing soccer and my occasionally having to kick the balls back their way mid-stride. The two women walking slightly faster than window shopping in the first two lanes. Move over! Geez. You would think that after being lapped by me 20 times passing a few inches from them, they would get the hint and move over say, to lanes 2 and 3, but nope.

The other runners with their headphones turned up REALLY LOUD. The kids playing with their remote-controlled trucks on the track. The person in the apartment building looking over the track with music turned up at 9 am on a Sunday.
The group of men standing in a circle taking up the entire width of the track, kicking around a soccer ball, whereas there is plenty of room in the center of the ring formed by the track for them to play, plus empty goal posts. I don't care. I run right through them, whereas other runners go over into the weeds to get around this group of men.
The track is for running.
I am on the track.
I am running.
Ergo, I have priority.

Hmph.

I am so ready for summer to be over. It seems interminable.
Operation in June followed by weeks of thinking "I'll never take sitting up from a lying position without pain for granted again".
Sore rear motorcycle trip in July, trip to San Remo in August with bad weather, my results from the exams (not as good as I hoped but better than I expected).
And hot hot hot weather. The kind where you put the air conditioning on in the car on the way to work at 6:30 am.
Oh yeah, plus the medication I'm taking gave me hot flashes. In July. In the south of France.
Fantabulous.

Please let cooler weather arrive quickly!

As I was walking home from the metro station a few nights ago, a man passes me in his car, and does a double-take. I don't think much of it, and continue on my way. I saw him park his car, and then he got out and ran up to me. He said I was so beautiful, so I said thanks. (Didn't know what to say/do. Nothing? Smile?)

He noticed my accent and right away starts in on the where are you from -America. Oh I was in New york several years ago for three months... blah blah blah.
He says I must give him my cellphone number, we must go have a drink together.
I tell him I am married.
That doesn't matter, love isn't guaranteed, things can change, etc.
I try to continue on my way but he grabs me and starts doing the bises..
I still try to get away and he is following me.
I finally say I will take his number (to try and end the conversation) but don't have a pen. He then says to put his number in my cellphone, and when I take it out he takes the phone from me and enters his number and then calls himself so that he has my number.
He told me his name and that he is Italian-Spanish. In his thirties I would say. He says that I must be about 23.
I tell him my husband is very jealous and protective of me.
He says that any man would be with me.
He keeps grabbing me and kissing me on the cheeks (but trying for the mouth) but then finally leaves, saying that he didn't even lock his car.

Yikes.
The next two days, all day long, text messages and voice messages from him.
A sampling (spelling and grammer reproduced as-received.) :

Ok beauté je sui dacord d etre ton amie ok

Chaque hommes est unique toi t es unique je sui diferent de tous une femme com toi c est speciale je le resent trop c est enorme megane tu comprend devenons amie deja fesons conaissense ok

Ont boi un coup t as finit le boulo t es ou beautè?

Ok beautè dmain je te fai plein de gros calins choisi la robe qui te plai je te l offre ok

Bjr beautè bien domie cava mieu le roume?

Tu as penssè a moi un peu megane?

Ma cheri cava

Cava beautè gross jounè je dois dèposè les dossiès d un permie de constructions ds l aprè midi je vais faire de la dèmolutions ont a aquis un bien imobiliè tu finita quel h qu ont bois un coup beautè?

Il faud qu ont parle tré serieusement toit et moi beauté!

Tu ser au cing avenu a quel h beautè?

Ont boi un coup beautè dit ma di se soir?

(and the last, after I finally sent a message telling him to stop communicating with me, that I wasn't interested)

Tempie pour toi
________________
Nothing since, so I am hoping it is over.
If he calls again, I'll let Alain answer the phone and give him what-for. That should do the trick.

I don't think he knows where I live (though the general neighborhood), and I don't think he knows my last name. But I will be keeping my eye out for him nevertheless.

Geez 'o flip.

It just illustrates to me how much it is ingrained that one shouldn't make a scene, and not to say an outright "No, I'm not going to give you my number, get away from me." for fear/risk of 'disappointing' him, appearing 8itchy/rude/cold/stuck-up/arrogant, to the point where the man is grabbing you and pressing himself against you. Bleh

Guess I learned a few lessons:
1) Don't engage in conversation;
2) Don't let a man take your cellphone and enter his number;
3) Make sure he doesn't follow you home; and
4) Next time a man grabs you and kisses you on the street, effing scream Megan!

Had an interesting experience yesterday on my way to the Strasbourg train station. I was walking down the sidewalk, minding my own business and lugging my suitcase along. A guy passed me on his bike, and suddenly spit and said "Sale race" to me.
(roughly translated: filthy/dirty race/breed)
Took me a few seconds to figure out what happened. Did that guy actually try to spit on me/at me and say that to me?

I turned around and yelled a choice phrase in English at his back. I don't know if he heard me or understood me, but he kept on biking away.
I mean, wha???

I hadn't really looked at the guy, but if I had to hazard a guess, I would say Middle Eastern.
I mean dang, it wasn't like I was wearing a "I hate Arabic people" shirt or anything.

I must say, I was a little shooken up by the experience. The guy didn't seem drunk or anything.

Which reminds me of the time I was walking down the street in Marseille at about 9 am and a falling-down drunk guy said something along the lines of how what I was wearing made me look like a prostitute (yeah, jeans and a very conservative sweater will do that).

When : Saturday night, 23:45
Where : Marseille, on the landing outside our apartment
Who : An American in Provence and one Nutty Frenchman
Situation : Locked out of their apartment, and really needing to use the bathroom
Why : Key stuck in very old lock
Agravating circumstances : leaving on the train in six hours for Strasbourg

Yep, Alain and I were locked out of our own apartment Saturday night. We had been out to dinner with some of the other people from Alain's karate club, up in Pelissane, and left after dinner was over at around 10:30 to return to Marseille. Figured I would wait until we got home to use the toilet, wasn't that urgent right?
Well, an hour later it was getting urgent.
Park (in a totally illegal spot, the only kind available after about 19h in marseille) sprinted back to our apartment, where Alain put the key in one of the five locks (yes, we have five but only use three) and...
Nothing.
The key had twisted, making it impossible to pull it out or turn it.
What to do?
Panicing, we head over to the McDonald's on the corner (this McDonalds has served us well in our times of bathroom need, like when we didn't have a toilet for a weekend due to replacing it with a new one).
Bought a soda, used the facilities and debated what to do next. We could head to his parents' house for the night, waking them up in the middle of the night, but my train was leaving at 7:40 the next morning, with all my stuff inside the apartment (and not quite finished packing either I might add).
We decided to call information. Anti-cellphone people that we are, we had to find a payphone (not easy nowadays, there are fewer and fewer payphones around). There happened to be one right across from the McDonalds, so we called information and were put through to a 24 hour locksmith. We gave him our name and address and he said he would be there in about 30 minutes, and it would be at least 200€. I was just hoping that the door wouldn't have to be broken down- sure to wake all the neighbors (and our neighbor would probably call the police on us) plus, as nothing is standard size, we would have to have another specially made. We headed back to the apartment to wait. I waited down by the building entrance while he went back up to try again to get in.
About five minutes later, he comes running down, tells me that he managed to open the door, and is about to sprint out to the payphone when I call after him "Why don't we just use the phone in our apartment then?" He turns around and runs back up. We get in (after all these years of moaning about this apartment, it sures feels different after you are locked out of your own home) and he dials the number given by information. Hello, we just called about the lock... Aren't you a locksmith? Oh. Sorry for waking you.
Call information again, get the (correct) number for the locksmith, call him again, tell him that we managed to get in and don't need his services anymore.... He was rather annoyed, which I suppose is understandable, and hung up.
Went to sleep a little before 1, for five whole hours of sleep.
Got to the train station at 7 am for my train that leaves at 7:40. Alain was teasing me about being so early, but I told him "you never know with the SNCF". Indeed, a few minutes later, my train completely disappeared from the sign. One minute it was there, showing as "on time", next minute, nothing, like it never existed.
We quickly asked one of the agents what happened, and she said "Oh, it has been canceled due to a strike." what else is new?!
We quick ran over to a train leaving at 7:10 going by Lyon as well (which is the one that I usually take) and I managed to hop on board, without having the correct ticket and without validating (composté) my ticket.
Managed to sit behind two families with young children who had portable DVD players with "the Lion King" showing to keep their kids entertained, without headphones of course. Really, the last thing I want to hear at 7:30 am on a sunday morning after five hours of sleep is
Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba Sithi uhm ingonyama Nants ingonyama bagithi babaSithi uhhmm ingonyamaIngonyamaSiyo Nqoba IngonyamaIngonyama nengw' enamabala!!!!!

Ahhh!!!

Honestly. Some people have no respect for others. Please readers, if you have children, I understand that you want/desperately need to keep them entertained. But do you really want your fellow passengers contemplating throwing you/your kid/the portable DVD player out the window of the TGV?
Thank you.

Today, being one of my Fridays off, I decided that we had to go back down to the Prefecture for my tri-monthly happy happy fun time. Quick recap- we went to renew my Oct 2006 - Sept 2007 card in Aug 2007. By October had not received the Oct 2007- Sept 2008 card, and I needed it to go to China and Korea for my work, so I got a temporary recipisée for three months. Got it renewed in January. Got in again renewed in April. At the end of May I received a letter from the Prefecture. I was hoping that it was the "convocation" saying that my card was ready and to come down to the Prefecture and pick it up. Nope. They were asking for two more photos. I figured that they had lost mine. I sent in two more regular ones, the kind that you can get from one of those automated photo booths. My current recipisée expires July 3rd, so we figured that we would go today.
Alain has to go with me once a year to prove that we are still married and sign papers to that effect. Then we are able to have the file that we have to file out showing "proof" that we are still married and living together, like a bank account or something. Though how that is "proof" I don't know. I would prefer for this whole process to be shorter if they would just interview us like in the movie "Greencard" if it would mean that I didn't have to go back to the Prefecture every three months, but oh well.
Anyway, we waited in line for about an hour to get my recipisée renewed and to get the file for the next card. (will it ever end?!) We finally get to the front and the woman tells us that it is ready but that it was my fault it took so long because I didn't send in the proper photos. Well, they never specified anything about what type of photos they had to be. Alain got annoyed with her, she was speaking to us like we were children. And she cannot give us the file for the next year without my having the valid card for this year.
Anyway, she said to come back around 2 pm. However, we decided to wait anyway because we had been told before that it would be around noon. So we went upstairs to the general stuffy crowded, screaming-babies waiting room and waited for another hour.
A little before noon my name is called and I go in, and get my recipisée with a stamp on it, saying that it is good for another three months. Why they didn't make another one like the last five times, I don't know.
We asked the woman about my carte and she said that it should be ready in about a month. Also, that it wasn't a problem with the photos (format) just that they didn't scan in well.
So we will have to go back again, get the new card (which will most likely be valid for about two more months by the time I receive it) and right away get the file for next year.
After three years of one-year cards, I can get a ten-year card. Then after four years of marriage, we can start the file for me to get the nationality, which I guess takes about a year. That is, if Sarkozy doesn't change the laws for foreigners in the meantime.
Sometimes I really wish we did not live in Marseille- that way, we could go to another sous-Prefecture, such as in Aix. It might take just as long, since there is apparently only one central office that makes the cartes, but at least there wouldn't be as many people crowding around and pushing. Sometimes it is just such a struggle to live here in France. People come and visit and think it is great and how they would love to live in the South of France, but they don't see the administrative hassle- getting carte de sejours, and driving licenses, and all the rest.

A year and a half ago, when we bought our apartment, we had to open a bank account with another bank. We decided to keep our bank account at La Banque Postale, so we have in effect two accounts, 'his' and 'hers'. Not really intentionally to split our money, but it seemed easier as far as access to money, the different savings account options, etc. Alain wanted to cancel his La Poste debit card, as he now had one at the new bank, and unlike US banks, you have to pay for the services such as having a debit card, checking your account online, etc. He sent a letter in October I think it was to the financial center, saying that he wanted to cancel his credit card. Never heard anything back. We didn't do much about it, until we decided to open some more savings accounts, specifically for our retirement. I made an appointment with a financial consultant of La Poste. While there (at the beginning of March), we brought up the subject of his debit card again. She sent in the letter and his debit card, asking them again to cancel it. Nothing for a month. Again in April we complained and she sent the information again. On Friday we received a letter from La Poste, happily informing us that following our request, our account has been transferred from an account Adesio to a "compte simple". Uh oh. Not sure what they did but I am pretty sure it wasn't the right thing.
Saturday morning I go to La Poste to buy some stamps. I use the automated weighing machine instead of having to stand in line for half an hour. This machine only takes coins or debit cards. No problem! I have my debit card! After about five minutes of weighing all my packages and letters, I stick in my debit card, enter the code. Code bon. (which is a relief since I have been having problems with the whole pesky 'remember your pin number' thing, which happened again in March and it took me three weeks to get a new card. Another reason why I *love* La Banque Postale. Anyway. Moving on.)

Operation annulé.

Hmm, perhaps the machine just isn't hooked up to the network properly. I will get some cash from the ATM. I stick in my card, enter the pin number. Code bon. Nothing.

Try again. Code bon. Still nothing.

Suddenly it hits me. Those idiots have canceled MY credit card as well/instead of Alain's!

Now I have really had it.

For our retirement account, they were supposed to start withdrawing the money in April, and they never did because they got mixed up with the dates. It will supposedly start in May. Yes, because 04 is quite similar to 05.

For my Livret A savings account, they continued to withdraw money from my checking account, even though my Livret A was full and we asked them repeatedly to stop.

They leave me without access to money AGAIN.

I think this time we have finally had it and are going to stop our checking account, cancel the retirement account, leave the Livret As in place, and transfer my paychecks to Alain's bank.

Every morning, I leave a little before 7 am, wait in lines of cars to go up and over the Passerelle (rhymes with "Make my life hell") the overpass which is one lane in each direction. The purpose is to provide a direct connection to/from the interstate, as opposed to the people who live in that quartier.

Sometimes though, it is so incredibly slow to get up onto the MakeMyLifeHell.

I find the French to be much more of "Get the hell outta my way" drivers.

I have never had so many cars flash their lights (get out of the left lane because I am coming through and I am not slowing down) or the more subtle left-turn blinker in the left lane (also meaning, move the heck over please). It irritates me so much. I am usually pretty good about not lingering in the left lane. If I am there, it is because I am actively passing or planning to within the very near future. I don't just cruise along for miles.

I only had this happen once (lights flashing) in the US. I find American drivers to be much more of the clueless, "I'm gonna poke along and talk on my cellphone and not notice that you would like to merge" type. But perhaps that is just because I didn't do much rush hour highway driving in the US?

What are French/American reader's opinions on this?

Anyway, another thing that really irritates me is that whenever there is a long line of cars waiting to merge together into one lane (such as to go over the MakeMyLifeHell) there will always be the ones who don't want to wait in line for FIVE WHOLE MINUTES and go right up to the front and expect to be let in. Why do people let these people in? If these drivers would just learn that they are slowing the entire process down. But of course, they don't care. They don't want to actually have to wait.

Such as the reasoning on why there are no 4-way stops in France- two or more French drivers who arrived at the stop would always insist that they be the first one to go through, so they would just probably stop in the middle, get out, and start yelling at each other.

So I eventually get to one of the four commuter parking lots on the outside of town (because in-town parking is expensive and/or non-existant). It is 25€ per month or 2€ per day, and includes the bus to/from the centre ville. Luckily, my office is close to the bus stop. Get on the bus, get off several stops later, walk to office. Arrive around 7:35.

5 p.m: sprint out the door so that you can get the bus that passes around 5:07 to get on the highway by 5:20 so that you can get to the MakeMyLifeHell by around 5:40, sit in line for 8 minutes before actually going up and over it, wait on the most poorly designed street in Marseille (more about that in the next installment), finally begin searching for a parking spot around 6 pm. The funny thing is that if you get back too early, such as before 6 pm, there are no spots either because people haven't left from work yet to go home. So the ideal time is between about 6:15 and 6:45 to look for a spot.

Oh and why I can't park in the courtyard spots behind our apartment- because those are closed in by a gate, because otherwise, believe me, people would park there.

All my previous jobs have had, in retrospect, fairly easy commutes. Nothing more than 30-40 minutes on average, many times only 10-20 minutes.

Now I am doing a lot of highway driving. It is 35 kilometers each way. This was originally a long rambling rant, but I decided it would be more coherent if I broke it up into a series.

First, I am going to start with parking, or lack of.

This is tricky because in this quartier, for every 2 legal parking spots, there are 3 cars that need to park. Some areas are worse, such as in the very center of town, where it is about 1:2. To buy a spot would be about 15000 €, and to buy a garage would be about 30000 €. Renting a spot is about 100 per month. Which quickly becomes worth it after a few parking tickets at 35€ a pop. Trouble is, there are waiting lists to RENT a spot.

So anyway, I have done my fair share of parking on crosswalks and on sidewalks. I haven't double parked yet, but it is definetely done around here. Sometimes people leave their phone number on a piece of paper on their dashboard. I guess you are supposed to call them first instead of the towtruck to come move their car. This happened to me the other day. I was parked not exactly legally but less illegally than the camionette that was parked on the sidewalk, blocking me (on the sidewalk) and blocking a garage exit. Luckily, the number of the company was on the side, so I wrote it down, walked back home in a panic, called the number at 7 am. Hey, I don't care if you are sleeping buddy. I finally got through, I guess it was the boss. He asked where I was (I guess to figure out which of his workers would be in that area). He said he would call them and get them to come and move it. Meanwhile, I looked up Forriere Marseille. I finally see from our window walking about as slow as one can walk without a walker, he finally gets in his truck, and pulls out. I run down, get in the car, about 15 minutes later than I had hoped to leave. Just the time to hit all the traffic jams.

After about 7pm you might as well forget about finding a legal parking space and can only hope there are some illegal spots left.

The most annoying thing about parking is that behind our building, in the inner courtyard, are about 3 covered garages and 5 open spots that are- empty. Apparently they belong to the family that had this piece of land, and they don't want to sell or rent the spots. No idea why they don't at least rent, but no. The available parking spots sit there, empty, taunting me, day after day as I fruitlessly search for parking spots within a mile radius.

So the plumber came yesterday and tore apart our bathroom. When the boss had come a few weeks ago to give an estimate, Alain had specifically mentioned that the wall was thin, and asked if the frame could be installed without breaking through to the other side (ie the bathroom which we have just finished tiling after many many month). Yeah sure! No problem!

Working in France has taught me so many things about crazy rules. This is a General French Job Rule, not a Specific My Job Rule, so I feel I can safely mention and complain about this one. Everyone knows about the five weeks of vacation per year in France, which works out to 2.5 days per month, which works out to surprisingly 30 days per year. Then, divided by five days per week, you get 6 weeks, not five. Yet the French have come up with an ingenious way to work out this little dilema.
For the week of August 15th (Ascension Holiday here in France, which I happily spent removing wallpaper), I figured I would have 4 days deducted from my vacation account. Let's count them now together, shall we? Monday- one vacation day hahaha (à la the Count from Seasame Street). Tuesday- two vacation days hahaha. Thursday- three vacation days hahaha. Friday- four vacation days! hahaha! Four vacation days!
Only to my surprise when I received my paycheck that five days had been deducted. Huh? I went to the accountant and asked what happened, and she said that they deduct one extra day. That way, when you take your five weeks of five days, then the extra 5 days are removed for a total of 30 days. Hmm. So if I take fifteen individual days (such as to do le Pont between a national holiday that falls on a Tuesday or Thursday) they would take two, for a total of 3 weeks not five per year? What a fabulous idea!
How about giving 2 REAL days per month, for a total of 24 days, then give one more day as a great Christmas/whatever present per year?! Wow!!

So, after a whole month of NOT being on strike, the SNCF (national train company) decided enough was enough and went back on strike again.

Why? because the new president, Sarkozy, wants to pass a law mandating a minimum service for commuters when the public transportation is on strike, and require that they give 48 hour advance notice that they will strike? So the SNCFs response? STRIKE!

I was coming back home on Tuesday evening, and at the first stop the train just sits there for about 30 minutes. No explanations. No announcements. No "We are sorry, but we are experiencing technical difficulties" or "We have to wait while the track up ahead clears." Nothing. I was so frustrated and hot and tired after a long day of work, I just started crying on the train. Not big boohoos, but a quiet sniffling in my corner (nobody else in my area). I probably would have cried more, but I didn't want to look too pathetic.

Crying BECAUSE of public transportation is a new and exciting experience. Crying ON public transportation I have done before. Just broke up with a guy, or don't want to go back to a certain military school after vacation, things like that. But tears of frustration are new.

The news said that they have been on strike 40 days in the past 3 months. Fantastic. So now I am back to getting up even earlier to take an earlier train. The train to come back at night, which is supposed to leave at 6:49 is now often 30 minutes late. Thanks for adding an extra hour to my 12 hour days SNCF! Still lovin' ya and so glad I paid for a monthly pass!

(Top picture, Marseille Blancarde station. Notice the time)


(Middle picture, tried to take a picture of the board with all the Trains Supprimé)

(Bottom picture, Aubagne station 7 a.m.)

Yes, gentle readers, it is that time again. Time for my monthly rant. Only this time, not about La Poste. I think that a) there is nothing left to say (that hasn't already been said) about how bad it is and b) I haven’t been subjected (knock on wood) to it lately.
No, my new topic is the SNCF. Yep, the trains. They decided to strike, again. Heaven knows why. All they will say is “Due to a social movement by a certain number of our employees...”I feel like going up to the desk and saying “Please! Explain to me what your problem is. Then I can maybe understand why it has become my problem for the past two months!” So I have been taking the bus from Marseille to Toulon, which takes a good 50 minutes. So glad I bought the monthly train subscription! I really feel they should be paying me back for this. So I have to walk to the bus stop, which takes a good, 10-15 minutes I would say. I could take a bus, and then switch, but they never come on time. So I wait about five minutes past the time they say that they are going to come, start walking, and have it wizz by me several minutes later. In defiance, when I take the train to go home in the evenings, I sit in first class. It is my own personal recompense. It is not like the difference between first and economy from New York to Paris. This is slightly better seats and less grafitti. I dare any SNCF ticket collector to come along, check my ticket, and try to fine me for sitting in first when I haven’t paid for it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Oh no. Hell hath no fury like a megan forced to put up with an entire country on strike for two months.
Alain thinks it is because of the elections coming up. Certain public sectors want to show that they are important and need to be dealt with by the new government, so they do this by making the Ordinary Citizen’s life miserable until the OC complains to the government, demanding that something be done. Hey, to make things really super duper, how ‘bout you throw in a garbage collector’s strike too? Seriously, they want more people to take public transportation for pollution, traffic, and parking spots reasons, but then make it infuriatingly impossible to actually get to work on time, or get home after a long day of work. The price is reasonable, but when you can’t count on being on time for work, one gets ready to say “Screw it, we’ll just buy a second car. To hell with the environment!”
Yesterday, I was sitting on the quai, reading the newspaper and waiting for the train. A guy comes up to me, dressed in a white t shirt and khaki pants, holding a SNCF blue hat. He asks to see my ticket. He didn't look like a ticket collector, he looked and acted like a guy trying to get my number. (He said it in the way that guys do when they think they've thought up a great pick-up line). I said no. He said -No, Why? Because you don't look like a SNCF ticket collector. -But I have this hat. Then show me some ID. (You never know, he could take my ticket and run off with it). Finally another guy (dressed in the full blues) comes up and asks to see my ticket. So I show it to him and complain about the strike. Vous faites chier à tout le monde!
This afternoon, on what would have been my day to get home early, I spent an hour playing musical trains. First it was quai 1 at 17:52. Then quai 2 at 18:12. Then quai 2b at 18:30. That train was announced, but then blew right past without stopping. Another train pulls up, the announcer says that it is going to Marseille, everyone piles on. And sits there for about 10 minutes until the message gets fully passed that no, this train is not going to Marseille. Everyone piles back off, goes back to quai 2 to finally catch a train at 18:55. Apparently it is because of the elections, because I overheard another guy talking about it. Wow, one more reason to love politics!

And no, for once I am not talking about La Poste. I am talking about the SNCF (Societe Nationale des Chemins de Fer- national French train network). Around about, oh, the second week after I started working, they decided to go on strike. No real reason why, or at least no reason that was explained to the disgruntled passengers. The day before they would post a notice saying that they were on strike, but that the following trains would still be in operation.

There are two trains that I can normally take to get to work on time. One leaves at 7:37 and gets to Aubagne at about 7:53, the other that leaves at 7:49 and gets in at 7:59. They said that the 7:37 was canceled, but that the 7:49 was still running, as well as the 8:11 and 8:48. I figured that that would be okay, even if I had to do an all-out sprint to catch the bus. It typically makes a loop through the centre ville and then passes close by the train station before heading out to the industrial area. It usually gives me a five minute margin to sprint to the stop. So I got there a little before 7:49, only to find out that it was canceled. But the 8:11 was still running, which meant I would get to Aubagne in time to catch the 8:40 bus, only being an hour late for work (my second week, woohoo! That could be a record!) So I waited for the 8:11, only to then see a sign that it would be ten minutes late. Okay, can still make it.

Then 8:21 came and went, no train. They then said it was canceled and the next train would be the 8:48. But this is a direct train, so I would get to Aubagne in enough time, if not to catch the bus when it leaves the train station, at least to catch it on the loop. That time came and went, and now I am starting to get nervous that I won’t even make the 9:00 bus. Finally the train came, at 8:51. I figured I could still catch it if it went direct. But nope, it stopped at the three smaller stations (La Pomme, St. Marcel, and La Penne sur Huveane) because of any commuters who needed to go (or leave from) those stops. So I got into Aubagne about 9:10, too late to catch the bus. I called my work and asked if someone could come pick me up with my tail between my legs. One of the guys came and fetched me, so I was a whopping hour and a half late to work. Yikes. That entire week not a day went by that I did not have some problem with the train, either going to work or going home. The other option is to take a bus, which is about a 20 minute walk from our apartment, leaves three times per hour, and takes about 40 minutes. Still no guarantee that you will catch the Aubagne bus on it’s once per hour run though.

The picture above is a pamphlet from the SNCF that I picked up in the middle of strike week.

Basically, it says "With the TER, no more stress!" Yeah!

So finally, after six months of waiting, three temporary cards, countless hours spent in the Prefecture, 55 euros (not including fees for photocopying, bus tickets, ID photos, translations, etc) I finally get my (temporary) resident card!

see related entry "I love the Prefecture"
http://megankay4.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-prefecture.html

On Friday I got the yellow sheet of paper telling me to come down to the Prefecture and pick up my card. I went yesterday, and proceeded to spend the entire morning there. First I had to buy an OMI stamp for 55 euros. Not sure exactly what OMI stands for, but it is a way to pay for official fees. Usually you can buy these from bar/tobacco shops. I went into the nearest one, nope they don't sell them. Proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes trying to find one that did. Finally bought it, and went to wait in line at the Prefecture.

Surprisingly, it didn't take that long, as there were only four people in front of me. I handed the lady my multitude of papers, she went off and fetched my card. She said "Is this your address?" (On my card it had the old address) Nope. And do you remember when I specifically told you people that my address had changed? Nope. I was afraid they would have to send it back and make a new one, but she just put a sticker over the address part and wrote the new one on.

I was a little miffed to find that the card is only good for one year and from the date my file was received last October, not from when I received it. So at the end of July/beginning of August, Alain and I have to go back and start the whole wonderful procedure over again! Hopefully they can just put a sticker over the date as well and extend it by a year. If not, it will really be a pain to have to send it back in and get a new one issued. I asked when can I get the 10 year card, and she said after three years of marriage. Come on 2009!

While I was there, I decided to go deposit the paperwork for my driver's license. France and certain US states have a direct exchange agreement for driver's licenses, meaning that you don't have to retake the test. Thankfully, Virginia is one of them. As this direct exchange option is only possible for (I think) six months after you receive the carte de sejour, I had to move quickly. I had already gotten my driver's license translated into French (42 euros for two copies). So after waiting in line at the driver's license office and watching a woman go ballistic on the poor lady behind the counter, I got up to the desk. I handed her everything, and she told me I needed front and back photocopy of my carte de sejour, which I had just received but hadn't had time to photocopy.

I went down to the main level where there was a photocopier, but only had bills, no change (20 centimes per copy). There was no change machine around, so I went to a nearby bar and ordered a coffee. In the bar there were several cages with about 20 small flying squeekers. (those small birds, I don't know what they are called, but they make a squeeking noise). They were let out of their cages and zooming all over the bar. It was amusing watching them, but I was just hoping they wouldn't poop in my coffee. Got my change, went back to the Prefecture, photocopied my carte de sejour, went back upstairs, and butted in line and gave the lady the papers. She said it would take about two months to get the license. I really hope that a) they don't loose my original VA driver's license and that b) they don't keep my license. The only positive thing is that the French driver's license is permanent, so I don't have to go through this process again.

Here, dear readers, I present my tips for surviving the Prefecture.

1) Upon arriving, go around to all the ticket machines and take one ticket from each machine for all the different lines. Don't think you will need to use the line for retired people? Doesn't matter, take one anyway. You never know where the officials will send you to stand in line. You certainly don't want to spend an hour in one line, thinking it is the right one, then get to the front and realize that nope, you have to be over in the retirees line (but I'm only (ahem) less than 30! Doesn't matter, go stand in that one). If you have a ticket for that line already, you'll only have to wait ten minutes or so.

2) Make photocopies of everything. Even things you don't think they could possibly want.

3) Bring extra ID photos

4) Bring extra change for photocopy machines and ID photo cabins.

5) Bring a book.

6) Bring a sense of humor and clear your schedule for the rest of the day.

One thing that I am not sure I will ever get used to about city living is the noise. We have double-paned windows, but still hear the noise of the road (it is a busy boulevard). Strangely, the noise that Alain finds the most annoying (the cars), I find the least. The barking dog and our elderly neighbor's loud TV from 7-10 pm non-fail are much more annoying to me. I guess that is apartment living for you. The car noise just kind of blends together, like the sea only more polluting.
Thankfully, the dog has somewhat stopped. It was barking one night until 11 pm, so when we heard our neighbors come home, Alain went to go talk to them. He said that the dog is old and blind and when it is all alone it doesn't smell it's family so it gets lonely and barks. Okay, thanks for making me feel guilty about imagining death scenarios! He had tried giving the dog to his sister in the country, but he just wailed non-stop. We said that if the dog continues to bark, we will buy one of those shock collars, and he said they would try that. But I guess they have been home more regularly, because it has barked hardly at all. (thank god). I guess I am just used to our dogs, who had a barking rate of 1 bpa (bark per annum).
As far as our neighbor is concerned, I feel bad asking her to turn down her TV as well. She is most likely a little hard of hearing and has been nice to us (collecting our mail when we were on vacation and the box was overflowing).
And one final thing I hate are those cell phone/MP3 players. Mainly because teenagers get on the bus/metro and feel like EVERYONE needs to hear "loosen up my buttons uh-huh" for the millionth time. Hey buddy, I don't force my musical tastes on you so I would appreciate if you didn't force yours on me. Otherwise I'm gonna start blasting "The Phantom of the Opera" or something else I am sure you will hate.