je vais et je viens // i go and i come

I always have so many "Only in France..." moments that I forget to blog about. For example, only in France...

...will you see a woman, dressed to the nines, smoke a joint as she is walking down the street.
...will said woman be wearing five-inch stilettos. On cobblestones streets.
...is the aforementioned woman at least sixty years old.

...is taking forever to bring out the entree, the plat principal, and the dessert considered good service (the waiters assume that you want to spend forever talking, which, admittedly, is true some of the time).
...will sitting down double the price of your coffee.

...will you see some of the most creative parking on Earth.

...will you see huge posters with full frontal nudity while walking down the street.
...will no one bat an eye at said posters (the U.S. is too hindered by our puritanic roots).

I have more, of course, but you get the point. Anyway, the reason that I bring this up is that today, I had my medical visit to obtain my titre de sejour. It is basically a stamp in my passport that goes along with my visa and states that I am not in France illegally.

It was quite the process to get my visa.

To get your titre de sejour, you had to have a complete dossier filled with things like: attestation of housing insurance, attestation of lodging, attestation that you are registered at a university, etc. After your dossier is complete, they send it off to the OFII office (the equivalent to the INS in the United States). Once OFII receives it, they schedule a time for you to come have a visite medical. In theory, they will also send you a convocation.

After a catfight with my housing coordinator (in which she assured me that I would not need my convocation), I went off to the OFII office.

Of course, the first thing they told me was that I needed a convocation to even enter the building.

D. was right, though, it all eventually worked out (although with a lot of frustration on my part). I think it helped that there were at least seven other kids from my program, all sans convocation. The guy eventually took pity on us and looked up our names on the computer. Thankfully, there were no mishaps and it showed that we actually were supposed to be there.

It was then that I had my first "only in France" moment of the day: despite the fact that I had an appointment and all my paperwork in order, I was told that I would have to reschedule if I did not have my timbre with me. I did.

Just to let you know, that little stamp cost me 55 Euro. A piece of paper the size of my thumbnail. 81.19 USD. Fucker. So, only in France will a little piece of paper be worth a month's supply of food.

As I was in the process of having my medical visit, I encountered a few more "only in France" moments. Only in France...

...will the doctors shout out your weight from across the room (thanks, man).
...will your vision test include famous passages to see how well you can read up close.
...will you take off your shirt & bra in front of a huge black man and have it be completely nonsexual.
...will said experience of you being completely naked from the waist up also include said huge black man pressing you against the wall that is the upright x-ray machine.

They even had a hair clip attached to the x-ray machine so that I could get my hair out of the way. But then again, I was attached to the x-ray machine.

Just for future reference: as good as the French health care system is, they do not include paper dresses for these kinds of examinations. There were also nothing protecting my ovaries when the chest x-ray was taken. I would like to have babies eventually, but I guess the French don't really care.

I also ended up undressing for an old Asian woman (she was the doctor who took my blood pressure and heart rate and all that shit). Who knew you needed to undress for a stethoscope to be useful?

I thought my French was pretty good, but apparently not enough. That second time, I only needed to take my shirt off (and was allowed to keep the bra on).

Guess who didn't realize that until much later?

First step: pressing yourself against a wall while completely naked from the waist up.
Second step: ...going to nude beaches?

Sometimes I really miss the United States and its uptight sensibilities.

elle attend le jour // she waits for the day

I got my visa, sans problèmes. I'm not quite sure how that happened, since so much random shit has been happening to me. But there is a beautiful color picture of me stuck to one of the pages on my passport. And unlike my driver's license, the image of me does not:

1. show me with three chins
2. make me look stoned
3. emphasize my resemblance, such as it is, to the chimps from which I descended

How could a girl be any happier? Unlike the people who look at my license, the airport people won't have to do a double take. This means that with any luck, I won't be mistaken for a terrorist and denied entry to France.

I have approximately three weeks until I depart for the City of Lights. I am not even close to having started packing. I haven't contacted my host mother since June. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do once I do get to Paris. I have not shown my mother show Skype works. I haven't called the credit card people to let them know that heyI'llbeabroadandit'snotbecauseI'mavictimofidentitytheft.Ihope. I have not finished work. I haven't gotten all my loose ends tied up. I haven't said goodbye to people.

Yeah, I basically haven't done anything.

As always, I subscribe to the "desperation is the best motivation" method of living one's life, at least in regards to getting things done on time. I have also never missed a deadline. Ergo, I must be doing something right. Is "ergo" even used right in this context?

The point of this entry was to announce my success in the quest for my visa. But because I am so nice, I will leave you with a picture. Or nine.

Voilà! Some of the different faces of Paris I, courtesy of the Université de Paris Panthéon-Sorbonne website.

Centre Bourg-la-Reine



Centre Michelet



Centre Panthéon



Centre Pierre Mendès-France



Centre Rue d'Ulm



Centre Sorbonne



Institut de Géographie



Maison des Sciences Economiques



Maison Internationale / Arago

With the exception of a few (obvious) ones, I have no clue what actually takes place at these buildings. That's for later, I guess. But for right now, I'm fascinated by the vast differences between the buildings.

It's also interesting how there are pretty much no people in the pictures. When does that ever happen in Paris?

un geste de vous // a gesture of yours

Three things in three days that are of import in my life:

1. I went to the French Embassy and applied for my visa yesterday.
2. S. left today for Ecuador.
3. C. leaves tomorrow for Brazil.

Just recently, as you may have noticed, I discovered a fondness for lists. I think it helps me feel as though I am more in control than I really am. Anyhow, without further ado...

~1~

I left home on Tuesday morning at 7:30 for a 9:00 appointment at the French Embassy, a mere 20 miles (and supposedly 30 minutes) away. Thanks to the modern wonder that is traffic, I arrived at my destination at 8:45. Of course, there is no visitor parking inside the French Embassy--that would be too convenient. Fortunately, my father chauffeur was driving and so simply dropped me off on my merry way.

It did not get any easier once I made it inside the embassy. After reading on their website that a driver's license was an acceptable proof of residence, I crazily assumed that it was...y'know...an acceptable proof of residence. Alas, it was not so. The French lady at the Visa Office told me and about four other people there that "ve no longher accept zee driverr's licenses," but that since the website had been wrong, she would "check vith zee bosss to see vat he vould say." (Side note to the French Embassy: I am a student. How the hell would I have a utility bill?)

...I'm only making fun of her accent because I'm bitter at the snooty way she looked at me and the trouble she gave me.

In the end, zee boss decided that it was acceptable (since otherwise they would've lost the revenue from like...10 bewildered people). So they took my paperwork. And half of my life savings.

I'd read up on things in my preparation to go abroad, but it didn't really sink in how expensive it'd be to get a visa. To even file paperwork for a visa, I needed to have a confirmation letter from CampusFrance ($60). Then, I paid for the visa application itself ($70). Afterwards, I had to provide a prepaid Express Mail envelope for them to mail my passport back to me, with or without the visa ($17.50).

In total, I paid $147.50 for a visa application that could potentially be rejected. I mean, I don't see any reason why they'd reject my visa application, but still...

~2~

S. is a good friend of mine that I've only gotten to really know just this past year. The thing that I admire the most about her is her strength and confidence. Nothing gets this girl down, and it just amazes me to see how she just picks herself up and just keep going.

S. has traveled extensively, and is pretty good with Spanish, so she certainly seems much more prepared for travel abroad than I am. She was not, however, as lucky as I was to be assigned a homestay family months in advance. Her program waits until she gets there to pick a family. That just sounds terrifying.

Her journey seems to be off to a good start, though. I got a text from her while she was at the airport. It was about the numerous cute international boys that were there. I figure she can't be too stressed out.

Good luck and enjoy Ecuador, my dear! I am so excited for you!

~3~

C. is another good friend, someone I've known for a bit longer than S. She has this certain joie de vivre that never fails to bring a smile to my face. Her happy dances are a sight to be hold. C. is also one of the most caring and empathetic people that I've ever had the fortune to meet.

C. is leaving for Brazil tomorrow. I've made her promise that she will come back with a Brazilian male model on each arm. Or at least buy a dildo. (I want all my friends to be sexually liberated so that I can live vicariously through them.) I know you want to improve your Portuguese, and your host-family will surely help you, but just remember that the language of looooove is universal. ;)

Enjoy yourself! Literally/physically. Teehee. Hee.

dans quel monde oublié // in what forgotten world

So I definitely just tore my house apart looking for three things that are of Vital Importance to me obtaining my visa:

1. a letter of enrollment at a French university
2. proof of health insurance coverage
3. proof of housing/accomodation

They weren't in the last place I would've looked. They were in the first place I did look. Except that those three things weren't in separate letters as I had thought, but in one big envelope. I really do wish that my mother wouldn't move things that I had set aside.

But how I am sobbing in relief. Huge fat tears of relief. As relieved as I have ever been. Now I don't have to cancel my appointment. Now I don't have to call the Study-Abroad Office and pitifully beg for them to send new copies andifitsokaytodosointhenexttwodaysthanksbye.

If there's one thing I hate, it's looking stupid and knowing that it was totally my fault.

...Well, I hate other things too. I am no angel. But that particular state of being is the one that comes to mind at the moment.

I shouldn't be complaining, though, as the process for going to France used to be much harder. Instead of a long-stay visa, they used to make students get a visa and then apply for a carte-de-séjour once they were actually in France. This means that there used to be even more bureaucracy and hidden fees. All in a foreign language.

As I'm so lucky as to escape that fiasco (just imagine what kind of a mess I'd be right now if that were the case), I really should be doing a happy dance. Or lighting incense to thank the gods. Or making a donation at some church. Or something. Instead, I'm going to go eat (hey, it's how I express thankfulness, okay?!)

So. Crisis averted. Next up:

1. take actual passport photos
2. fill out a bazillion and one forms
3. find silly things like proof of residency and proof of sufficient funds
4. buy a self-addressed prepaid envelope
5. a sugar daddy

I'm kidding on that last one. Sort of. Cash would be nice to have if one is to live in Paris. Maybe if I win the lottery....?

ETA: This is scary as shit. Thankfully I will not have that problem.

même au creux de tes bras // even in the shelter of your arms

Forty-seven days until I leave for France. This seems so far away, especially with my friends’ much-more-imminent departure dates looming in my mind. Seven days. Seven days. Fifteen days. What is forty-nine compared to that?

The title of my blog—je n’veux plus attendre—means “I no longer want to wait.” I can’t wait for France and all the new experiences it will bring. At the same time, though, I can’t help but notice how frantic I am now to make good memories here in preparation for France. With the knowledge that I won’t be able to see my friends at all, I am doing silly things like taking impromptu trips to a city five states away. I go out much more than I ever did in summers past.

This frenetic energy is visible in smaller ways as well. Due to the fact that I won’t be able to bake properly while I’m in France, I’ve been on a baking frenzy. Of course, my life is made more difficult by the fact that my entire family seems to be on some sort of diet. How do I compensate? I bake cookies and hard-to-spoil stuff, and then I pack it and ship it all off to different parts of the country. But I digress.

A week until I go and suck up to strangers and pay the French Embassy an exorbitant amount of money for my visa. I’m not sure that I even have all the stuff that I need to get it yet. Oops. But as I always say, desperation is the best motivation when it comes to procrastination!

The motto above probably doesn't apply to language, though. I've been trying to practice my French, but I feel as though I am going to arrive in Paris and forget how to say my own name. J'ai peur. I also have this nasty feeling that the sophisticated Parisians are not too moved by desperation. Guess I need to practice my walking-with-a-purpose walk so as to...not impress, exactly, but to not unimpress les Français.

My host family is leaving for vacation the week after I get there, about when my orientation starts. Good timing on their part, I guess. Madame was super nice when she told me about this, only to inform me that she had taken steps to ensure that I'd be taken care of. While she's gone, I will be pampered by a friend of hers who has apparently hosted students from my college before. I guess I also get the apartment to myself then. Wine and cheese extravaganza at my place, anyone?

Haha, just kidding. What I really meant is that the week that she's gone, I'll be having wild sex in every room of the apartment.

Just kidding about that too. Watching Taken and Human Trafficking has forever disenchanted me from the notion of taking cute foreign boys home.

...I guess it's pretty obvious that I'm a boring lame-o.

But I still need to actually make it to Paris. I don’t think I can deal with all the shit that needs to be done before I leave for France. Actually, I can't deal with my life.

I think I'm going to go listen to depressing French songs now.

le prologue // the prologue

The creation of a blog to chronicle my adventures in Paris--like many other things in my life--was a spontaneous decision, made during a moment of whimsy. In retrospect, however, the idea was a sound one (hey, it's not like I was original or anything), with various benefits:

• friends and family would--in theory--be able to keep in touch with me, see France through my eyes, yadda yadda yadda (translation: this blog will be a confirmation that I am not dead in a ditch somewhere)
• a record of my travels would be something nice to have when I get old, or whenever my memory goes, whichever comes first
• I'd get to feel important and loved whenever I get comments or gain a follower (I hate how this part depends entirely on reader participation)
• my writing will improve (this part I have little faith in)

I've never been a particularly dedicated blogger, but hopefully this won't be the case anymore. Besides, don't they say that creating a routine is a good coping mechanism when one is in a strange situation or something? Obviously I've never been a particularly dedicated psychology student either.

If you're reading this, hopefully you already know the pertinent information about me. Like where I go to college, what kinds of things I like, my favorite foods, my ultimate sexual fantasy...(just kidding on that last part. Sort of.) Details about me will probably emerge as the year goes on, but they'll probably be heavily sanitized (remember, I'll have family reading this!). If you really want the dirty laydown, you know how to contact me. ;)

That said, here are some details about my upcoming year in Pah-rhee:

• I am doing a homestay with a retired French couple
• said retired French couple lives in a snazzy, large-for-Paris apartment in the 8th
• for those not in the know, le 8è arrondissement is one of the most "chic" (chic-est?) neighborhoods in Paris, home to notables such as Nicholas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni, and the location of the US Embassy, and the site of various Parisian landmarks
• previously-referenced French couple also own a family home outside of Paris, which, according to the girl who previously lived with them, is a chateau

Before this last weekend, I'd planned to explore Paris by going around and sampling all of the culinary delights it had to offer. More specifically, I meant desserts. After I applied this idea on a smaller scale by traipsing around NYC in search of the perfect tiramisu, however, I discovered that some of my ideas are only good while they fester in my head.

I've made an appointment at the French Embassy in DC to get my student visa. In theory this should work without a hitch. In practice, I'm not sure that this will be the case. Mais que sera, sera, eh?

Because I'm being boring, I will end this with an image. Of what my room will look like. Be jealous.