Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I feel that I truly owe a post to the fabulous transportation that has gotten me to and from France and then the amazing transportation that gets me around Paris. It's so meaningful to a commuter who depends on the public transportation. And we really do have an exceptional system here. Despite the fact that every morning I extend my elbows out and resolve to push anyone who gets in the way of my getting on my train or who does not respect the universal code (walking on the right), I love the Metro. It is one of the absolute most amazing things about this city. It's brilliant. Part of the reason that Paris feels like home now is that I never EVER feel lost. For a girl with little to no sense of direction, this is a remarkable feat. I can be dropped off pretty much anywhere in the city (and just outside), and, as long as the Metro goes there, I absolutely know I can find my way back easily. I'm never nervous about this. My Pass Navigo (72 euros a month for zones 1-3; half of which my employer will eventually be reimbursing) allows me unlimited rides on any of the transportation within the 3 zones.

But, because I am in France, I have the constant reminder of not taking this fantastic system or its workers for granted.

Today is a fabulous day in Paris. We are having a "mega-grève." "Grève" is the all-important French word, meaning strike. If you are interested in living in France, you must must get to know this word. It is an il faut. It will become incredibly important in your life. Some days, it will be nothing more than a huge pain in the butt. Because of certain new laws, trains are supposed to continue operating, even during a grève. The strike, however, causes incredible disturbances in transportation, leaving weary commuters such as myself waiting for trains that normally run every ten minutes for over an hour. Worse, though, is that the trains cannot accommodate all the people wanting to take them when they are running so few and far between. At Gare St. Lazare on a grève day, I've seen people expelled from the train and just popping off it. When the doors close, people have push themselves and everyone else inside even tighter. It is vraiment terrible.

Today, however, is glorious because I (and many many others) cannot even get to work. So, we are not expected to go. It is not just transportation on strike, though. Apparently other unions are also in solidarity, among them education unions. This, I am told, does not actually include me or the other assistants de langue. I have colleagues who are striking today. Unlike American strikes, however, the teachers do not picket outside of their schools. There are no substitutes called in. You strike by not showing up. I believe you are docked a day's pay. Yet, unless you tell them you are striking, the school does not know that you are on strike. They generally assume that you just can't make it because of the simultaneous transportation strikes.

Now, I'm not sure what this mega-grève is actually about. Colleagues of mine who are actually striking were not able to tell me what it was about. Another colleague told me the vague reason: the cost of living is too high and salaries are not matched to it. I'm not sure whether they're actually demanding more money, though. My understanding is that this grève will last only for today and that tomorrow everything should resume normal operation. I am not sure if there are actual demands or that those demands will actually be met. Perhaps people here just really enjoy "making a stand" (read: taking the day off). Either way, I'm pretty grateful.

There is actually going to be a demonstration. I believe about 50,000 people are expected. As usual with demonstrations, it will be passing through my neighborhood. Among the many joys of the Bastille, its historical significance is not overlooked when protesters want to march. I feel proud to be a resident of this highly symbolic neighborhood.

The U.S. Embassy Warden sent this email to Americans registered with the embassy:

"According to local police, there will be a large demonstration organized by the major French trade unions this Thursday, January 29, 2009, beginning at 1:00 p.m. A march will begin at Place de la Bastille and end at Place de l’Opéra. Areas affected will be Place de la Bastille, boulevard Beaumarchais, boulevard Filles du Calvaire, boulevard du Temple, Place de la République, boulevard Saint Martin, boulevard Saint Denis, boulevard Poissonnière, boulevard Montmartre, boulevard des Italiens, boulevard des Capucines, and Place de l’Opéra. Local police estimate the demonstration should end around 8:00 p.m."

This is all pretty exciting. In the States, we don't really get these opportunities to see the police barricading the streets, holding up their riot shields. It's pretty cool, actually.

Sundays

Sundays in Paris are sort of magical.

Once you get over the fact that everything is closed, and you just learn to go with it, Sundays are beautiful. You really are not expected to be accomplishing anything. No one is really accomplishing anything. They're days to be idled outside, to be enjoyed. You see people walking leisurely, strolling. And even the most sour-faced Parisians will be caught smiling on Sundays.

I just got back from Reims today (post to come), and my friends and I spent part of the unusually sunny Sunday morning in Cafe Francais. I had a pain au chocolat and just enjoyed being where I was.

All along my commercial street, Rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine, everything was mostly closed, but people still strolled. Across the street, at another part of the circle that makes up the Bastille area, the open air market was going on. It was a relaxed sort of day. The kind of day that Sunday should be, but almost never is back in the States.

I find myself not even feeling what Theo and I dubbed "the Sunday feeling" when we were kids. The infamous Sunday feeling is a guilty-in-your-stomach-horrible feeling that we'd get on Sundays. Sundays brought Mondays and the beginning of the school week.

Now, Sundays are meant to be relaxing. I actually enjoy having the time to do the laundry on Sunday and to do not much more than walk around. There's something special about them in the same way that there's something special about the buildings here. At first I was so unbelievably frustrated by the fact that there were beautiful building facades that sometimes led to hideous, bereft interiors. Now, though, that I've seen my share of the inside of French residential buildings, I know that they often hide something else.

Many buildings are "digicode" protected. You type in an alphanumeric code to open up the front door. More often than not, though, this does not lead to an apartment building hallway. Rather, it often leads to a courtyard. These courtyards range in style from the terrifying one in a building in Belleville (where I briefly considered an apartment) to the historic buildings I've been in. The first one had my eyes warily darting behind garbage cans, looking for axe murderers lurking in the shadows. Then there was the hidden oasis in the 20th arrondissement where Sarah and I stayed. This one was overflowing with flowers and trees in pots and a golden dog who greeted us when we entered. Then there was Sarah's historic building with its dramatic courtyard. After a few glasses of wine, we would stand in this courtyard and pretend to be statues or to put on Greek tragedies.

I'm coming to discover that much of Paris is like this. There are all sorts of hidden pleasures behind the doors.

Milk and Milk's Favorite Cookie

I've been too scared to buy milk here. It's not refrigerated. Seriously. They have stacks and stacks of "milk." This, obviously, totally freaks me out. I've been buying chocolate soy milk to eat with my cereal, "Wheatabix."

Now, for my American friends reading my blog, Wheatabix is a British cereal that I discovered when I stayed in London with Mimi.

(Side Note: Here is the little poem Mimi taught me about Wheatabix:

"The queen pulled down her nicks*
She licked her bum
And said, 'Yum, yum!
It tastes like Wheatabix!'")

Wheatabix looks repulsive. It's about a gagillion layers of fiber or something. Totally boring and kind of gross. There is an exception, though. Drenched in chocolate soy milk, it is absolutely DELICIOUS. Also, it's a miracle food. It keeps you full for hours and hours. Really amazing. Especially since I prefer not to eat at school (The reason for this is, of course, that I have never in my life been able to wake up early enough to make myself lunch in the mornings [no matter how late my classes are], and you try finding ziplock bags here in Paree. Buying lunch near school is OK, except that the only boulangerie puts sliced eggs in absolutely all their sandwiches [there are actually only two types of sandwich available: thon (tuna) and poulet (chicken)], and sometimes I just don't want eggs [or tons of non-Hellman's mayo] in my sandwich.)

Now, my dilemma was this: I brought back double stuffed Oreos from home. I clearly could not eat the Oreos sans milk. I mean, I guess I technically could do that. But who would really want milk's favorite cookie without milk?

So, I braved my grocery store, Monoprix, and scavenged for refrigerated milk. Miracles do happen! I found some! Baking soda and chickpeas are mythical things in this grocery store, but, luckily, I found some milk! It was obviously not skim milk, but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose. I happily put it into my chic old lady shopping cart and rolled it through the teeny tiny aisles (an American shopping cart from a real super market would never fit through any aisle in France's markets), and I brought it to the teeny tiny register.

Yesterday, I enjoyed a cup of milk and too many delicious Oreo cookies. Mmmmm.



*Abbreviation for knickers.